07. ARE THESE GOD'S PLANS?

Morning light filters through closed blinds, bathing Lucifer in thin bars of rose gold. Stretched out on Linda's couch, he searches the popcorn ceiling for pornographic patterns in an effort to ignore the heavy weight resting beneath his breastbone.

After seeing Chloe to her home, he tried calling Linda for an emergency, late-night session. Unfortunately, the doctor has developed a nasty habit of putting her phone on silent after ten o'clock. It's as if she doesn't care about her clients at all, really.

He nearly went to her home, but a brief spark of empathy made him realize this would not please Linda. Excepting their brief stint as lovers, she tends to keep her private life separate from her professional life. She may delve into the lives of others, but she rarely volunteers information about herself—her deepest, darkest desire, to give a famous, inspirational TED Talk, being a natural exception.

And so, he has waited, albeit impatiently, while grappling with an eternity's worth of disturbing thoughts. It doesn't suit him. Self-flagellating, retrospective nonsense is more Amenadiel's jam. Lucifer chases highs and thighs to avoid thinking about his feelings or the past, but lately...

Well, lately the distractions haven't exactly worked, have they? Not since Cain got in the way, and certainly not since Chloe saw his true form—devil face, angel wings, and all. And now the detective is acting strange, the complete opposite of how she should behave, and... He draws in a shuddering breath. Can the Devil have a nervous breakdown?

A few minutes after eight, the office door swings open, and the doctor is in. Linda struts to her desk in cream-colored stilettos, ever a fellow paragon of good fashion sense.

He claps his hands together and sits up. "Finally!"

"Oh my Lord!" Linda cries, a stack of binders flying from her hands as she spins to face him.

Lucifer catches a folder before it slams into his face. "Good morning, Doctor. No need to call me lord, you know."

Linda holds a hand to her heart. "Lucifer, what are you doing here? You missed your last session, and then you didn't reschedule. I don't even make appointments this early. I've not had my coffee yet." She stares at the floor. "I need coffee for this, don't I?"

"Mm, well, I wouldn't be here if it weren't a bit of an emergency, so can we get on with it? I'll pay you double. Bring you coffee after? How's that sound?"

"That's not what—" Sighing, Linda falls into the chair across from the couch, scattered binders forgotten. "Okay. Fine." She draws in a deep breath through her nose. "What seems to be the problem, Lucifer? I was worried about you when you didn't show. You didn't return any of my texts, either."

"I've been a bit busy." He tilts his head. "Have you seen the news recently?"

"I saw that Lieutenant Pierce—Cain—died." She narrows her eyes. "Do I want to know the whole sto—"

"I bloody well killed him."

"Ah, you—" She looks taken aback before forcing a more neutral expression. "Okay. I thought you weren't allowed to kill humans."

"I'm not, am I?" he laughs, somewhat unhinged. "But I suppose some rules are made to be broken. He tried to kill me and, more importantly, the detective. What's that rubbish you Yanks say?" He affects an American accent and says, "I stood my ground."

Whether Daddy dearest sees it that way or not, only time will tell.

"Are we talking self-defense here or something a little more...sinister? Actually, don't tell me. Um, so, you're feeling...residual guilt, then? Maybe?"

"What? No, no, no, I'm not here because of Cain. The detective knows, Doctor."

"Oh!" Linda says, surprised and struggling to keep up. "Oh, you told her!" She scoots to the edge of her seat.

"Not exactly. More like my devil face came back at the crime scene and got stuck."

"Stuck. Wow, okay. I can see why you missed your appointment. Thank you for...not subjecting me to that. Again."

"Mm. Think you're supposed to call a doctor if it lasts for more than four hours, but not many specialize in celestial cockups, now, do they?"

Ignoring his evasive humor, she says, "So. How's Chloe?"

"That's just it," Lucifer grouses. "She's fine and fucking dandy. Saw my burnt arse, bloody wings, and everything. Patched up my wounds, even, and that was a right grisly affair, believe me. And then"—he leans forward, as though he's about to reveal a secret—"yesterday, she spent the entire day with me."

"Oh. Well. It sounds like...like she accepts you. That's wonderful, Lucifer."

He falls back against the couch again, his expression skeptical. "But why?"

"Why not? You've been friends for a long time now. And you're a charming fellow. Handsome. Funny. You can be thoughtful."

"Yes, but none of that works on her, does it? Not really." Sometimes he believes it does, but mostly he sees how often he fails her, both as a partner and as...well, whatever they sometimes seem to be. "Also, I'm the Devil. Bit of a mark against me."

"From all of our sessions together, it's never sounded like Chloe wasn't open to knowing the real you. In fact, it often seemed like that was exactly what she wanted. You were afraid of sharing yourself until very recently. It's okay to discover your fears weren't warranted. It's okay to feel happy about that."

"But what does it all mean?"

"Only Chloe can answer that question. But, what do you hope it means?"

Lucifer looks down at his hands. "Well, I suppose I hope... Well. But I'm left wondering again: Can she really control what she's feeling, or is it a manipulation?"

"We went over this, Lucifer," Linda reminds him gently. "You can't know what your father's plan is for Chloe or for you. Who's to say there even is a plan! Maybe Chloe was placed in your path, or maybe she's here to be used against you, or perhaps you were brought here for her."

What a load of bollocks.

"You don't know," Linda stresses. "You may never know."

"It's just Dad's not exactly a big advocate of consent, now, is he?" Lucifer laments.

"You want to be sure Chloe's feelings are real, that she has free will."

"That's the idea." It's a point of pride for the Devil, that all in his company enthusiastically choose to be there.

"Okay, are you willing to entertain a scary idea for a minute?"

"What could possibly scare me?"

She looks at him doubtfully. "For just a moment, let's imagine Chloe has been placed here for some reason, that she doesn't have complete control over the situation or her feelings. Have you ever considered that that might still turn out okay? That it might not even conflict with her free will?"

"I don't bloody well see how," he seethes.

Linda raises a placating hand. "Free will is very important to you, I know, but it's also a very tricky subject. Sometimes what we believe we're choosing, our minds and bodies have chosen for us before we ever became conscious of our decision. Is that still free will?"

"Where are you going with this, Doctor?"

"Let me put it this way: We don't choose to sleep. We're built to sleep. Now, we can choose to deprive ourselves of rest for a time, but not forever, and that's okay. That's a constraint, not the complete absence of free will. It just means we work within the context we've been given. If Chloe is truly made to be a certain way, Lucifer, that is real for her, just as real as needing sleep.

"And that's where you may need to be careful with her. If she's here for a reason—whatever the reason—contradicting that to soothe your own philosophical conundrums may not help her. It may actually hurt her, just like forcing her to stay awake for days on end would."

"So I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't. As always."

"I didn't say that. But, what's the harm in not worrying until you need to, until you have more information? What's the harm in...accepting her acceptance?"

Lucifer is quiet as he considers her words. "So, tell me what I should do next."

"I think you need to tell Chloe what you know, which is that Amenadiel blessed her mother so she could conceive. Leave it at that. Let Chloe draw her own conclusions and make her own judgments. But don't hold back if she asks questions."

"And if she wants nothing more to do with me after this?" he asks ruefully.

"If that happens, I'll be here. It's not something you would go through alone."

Lucifer clears his throat. "Right. Thank you, Doctor." He rises to leave, his chest hollow. He'll never admit it aloud, but he knows nothing, no amount of therapy, liquor, or easy lovers, would ever mend the damage Chloe Decker might yet do.

"Lucifer?" Linda calls before he leaves her office. He turns from the hallway. "Have you spoken to Maze?"

"No." He narrows his eyes. "Have you?"

"Oh, nope." Interesting. She's lying. Horribly. "No, just wondering if you had."

"Mm. Well, if you do happen to see Mazikeen, tell her to be very careful, would you? I am still the Devil, and she's earned a reckoning."

There's no parking available on Chloe's narrow street. There never is if you don't hold a permit; sometimes there isn't, even if you do hold a permit. Building a city where cars are a necessity, but then not bothering to offer enough parking: a very special corner of Hell, that. No wonder L.A. feels like home.

Lucifer blocks a driveway with his Corvette and gets out of the car. Bending, he peeks at himself in the side mirror. His hair sits at odd angles on his head, curling up, out, and away. Dark circles surround his eyes. His suit is a mess of wrinkles. "You look bloody knackered," he tells his reflection. Why didn't he stop by the penthouse?

But, he thinks with a sigh, this can't wait. He won't let this be another secret revealed at the worst possible time. Fingering a cufflink, he cuts his eyes up to the blue sky, whether out of defiance or wariness, he's not sure.

At Chloe's door, he's just raising his fist to knock when it swings open, leaving him knuckling air.

Ella Lopez stops short on her way out. "Oh my God," she gasps.

Lucifer sighs. "The Devil, Miss Lopez."

She sputters nonsensically.

Chloe peeks around Ella's head. "Lucifer. Now's really not a good time." She squeezes Ella's shoulders. "It's all right. Come back inside." She gives Lucifer a pointed look, which he chooses to ignore.

An awed, slack expression paints the typically bubbly forensic scientist's face. He'd know that look anywhere, but he rarely sees it without purposely revealing divinity. It's a look of complete recognition.

"Well, well, well." Grinning, he tilts his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "You've figured something out, haven't you, Miss Lopez? Good for you! Maybe you should be a detective. I'm sure I could make a few calls and get you Daniel's job."

"You're...not a method actor."

"Goodness, no. Just the Devil. And a consultant for the LAPD, of course."

Ella shakes her head, as if she might dislodge the truth. "Holy shitballs, I made you go to church."

"You what?" Chloe laughs.

"She did indeed," Lucifer confirms. "Don't worry, though. All is forgiven. Your church was absolutely crawling with deviants. I had a wonderful time."

"This. Is. Crazy," Ella exclaims, her hands animating her thoughts. "Like, I've been praying for proof, right? My whole life. And I know God works in mysterious ways and all, but, uh, you're not exactly the sign I had in mind, you know? No offense."

"None taken! Let me guess, I'm more handsome than you expected? Better-dressed?"

"More like a narcissist," Chloe interrupts. She tries to drag Ella away from the door, but the smaller woman digs in her sneakers. "Just give her a break, Lucifer. No—"

"Devil business?" he quips. "Tell me, Miss Lopez, what's made you a believer all of a sudden?"

Ella raises her right hand, in which she clutches a plastic evidence bag. The single feather within catches the light, its long, translucent quill poking against one corner of the ziplock. "I found this at the crime scene before they suspended me. I...took it home. And looked at it under a microscope."

"First cars, now evidence. Whatever will you nick next?"

"I couldn't help myself! But, here, do you...want it back?" asks Ella, holding it out to him.

He snorts. "I've no use for the thing, but..." He grabs the bag and unzips it to remove the feather. "Put it in something nicer, would you? Something silk, preferably in black."

"Uh, okay. Is that important?"

"Good taste is always important." He twirls the feather between his thumb and forefinger, his expression thoughtful, before handing it back to her.

"Oh," she exhales. "I hadn't touched it before now. It's so soft."

"Keep it on you at all times. If you're ever in a bind, it may prove useful. It's good for healing life-threatening wounds—one-time use, of course."

"Wow. I—" She blinks and then stops speaking, her eyes glued to the feather.

"Oh, dear," Lucifer sighs. "I suppose touching it directly is a problem."

"What did you do to her?" Chloe asks, her nose scrunched. She gives Ella a small shake, which goes unnoticed.

"It would seem I've rendered another woman speechless," Lucifer replies. "Oh, don't worry, Detective. She's just a bit high on divinity. Should right itself in a few hours."

"High on divinity." Chloe frowns. "That didn't happen to me."

"Yes, well, we've already established you're a freak." Saying as much reminds him of his reason for visiting. Taking Ella by the shoulders, he guides her out of the apartment. "Right. Time to be on your way, Miss Lopez. Enjoy the prezzie."

"She can't drive like this," Chloe protests.

"Very well," he says, fishing his cell phone from his breast pocket. "I'll organize an Uber. Do you have her address?" Chloe searches her own phone before rattling it off.

In a daze, Ella gazes up at Lucifer. "Thank you, Lucifer."

"Er, yes, you're quite welcome. Perhaps it's best if you—" He reaches out and tucks the feather inside her jacket, then presses her arm toward her body to hold it in place. "Can't go about, showing it to everyone."

"When will I see you again?"

"As soon as the detective has a poor soul for you to pick at, you little vulture." He gives her another gentle shove. "Trevor and his blue Prius will be here for you soon!" The door swings shut.

"Will she be okay?" Chloe worries. "She's been...existential for the last hour."

"Oh, she'll be fine. It's not like she saw my wings. One little feather won't fry her."

"Aren't you concerned that she knows?"

"Whatever for? I go about telling everyone the truth all the time. It's refreshing to have a bevy of believers for once. Perhaps I'll start a proper cult for once. How novel."

"You could have believers any time you wanted, if you went around showing people the truth."

"That's how you start a religion," he says with distaste. "I prefer the intimacy of a cult or nothing at all."

Chloe looks him up and down. "You're wearing your clothes from last night."

"Uh, yes." He pats at his suit, then runs a hand through his hair. "It was a long night."

"Does this have anything to do with why you freaked out on the roof?"

"I did not freak out. I was merely concerned for your well-being." Timidly, he puts a hand between her shoulders and guides her to the couch. "But there is something else you need to know."

"Hah, great." Chloe laughs nervously as she sinks into the cushions and draws a pillow to her chest. "What, is a plague coming?"

He pauses, considering. "Probably not."

"Probably not," she echoes.

"That was more Mum's doing. Dad's very fond of you lot. And, as you're about to learn, he still occasionally tinkers with Creation, as he sees fit, so you can't say he's lost interest yet."

For a moment, they don't speak. Then Chloe reaches across the cushion between them and takes his hands in hers. "It's okay. Whatever it is."

"You don't know that," he scoffs. As if she should be comforting him. Sighing, he says, "This isn't about me, Chloe."

"Then who's it about? Your...dad?" He can see how much Dad = God bothers her. That makes two of them.

"Actually, it's about you."

"Me? What about me?" Her hands break into a sweat around his.

"What do you know about your conception?"

She makes a small sound of amused disgust. "Not much, I guess. Thankfully. Why?"

He forces himself to look her in the eye. "Your parents struggled to conceive."

"Did they? They never told me." She tilts her head. "How do you know that?"

"Because my father," he says, "took a special interest in their woes. He sent Amenadiel down to bless your mother, your mum and dad shagged, and, bam, Penelope Decker became Mama Decker."

Chloe takes her hands away from his, leaving him cold. "Is that something that's done?" she asks. "Like, some sort of supernatural IVF?" Her joke falls flat over both of them.

"To my knowledge, it's never happened before or since. You are...a miracle."

She snorts. "That's what my mom always called me when I was little." Her mouth forms a hard, stubborn line. "But, no, I'm not. And even if I am technically, I don't know what to do with that info."

"Neither do I," he admits, taking some comfort in that, as Linda keeps suggesting he should.

"You think I'm here for a reason?" she asks.

"Who bloody knows what Dad's on about? But maybe."

She frowns. "Well, if I am, I don't know what it is. Do you have any ideas?"

Oh, how he wants to lie. But he doesn't. "Nothing concrete," he stalls.

Chloe squints at him. "Just spit it out, Lucifer."

"I don't want to say anything," he says tightly, "because, as has been pointed out to me, I have no evidence to support any claims. You're always telling me not to come to hasty conclusions, Detective."

"Okay, sure, but humor me, just this once."

He swallows hard and wishes his flask weren't bone dry. "There are several possibilities. The timing is suspicious, what with our crossing paths during my retirement." He reaches for the most positive assumption. "It's possible there's a reason I'm here for you, that there's something important you must do that I can help you with."

"Uh-huh. My own personal Devil support system." Chloe folds her arms over her chest. "And what are the other theories? The opposite of that, I'm guessing? That I'm here, for you?"

"Well, you are quite the curveball, aren't you? What with how I can be mortally wounded in your presence. Perhaps Dad's trying to off me once and for all."

"That's... I know he's God, but if that's true, or could even be true, that's not okay." She glances up at the ceiling in concern.

"Yes, he's a right tosser."

"But there's no evidence for any of this?" she says, and he can sense her pinning items to a mental investigation board.

"None other than knowing Amenadiel blessed your mother."

Chloe blows out a long breath and shrugs. "Okay."

"Okay?" Bloody hell.

"Yeah. Okay. What else am I supposed to say? It's like Hell. I get that that's a real place now, but it's not like I understand it personally. This is no different. What's it mean to me that Amenadiel blessed my mom? I'm here. That's all there is to it. I'm still me."

Lucifer throws his head back and laughs. It's a high, tired sound that matches his rumpled clothing. "Here I've been fretting over telling you this, over what it all means, and you..." He shakes his head. "You simply accept it and move on."

Perhaps she's here to drive him insane. That would be quite the warped punishment.

"I guess that's just part of being human." Chloe shrugs. "We wrestle with huge, unanswerable questions, and we don't have the luxury of time to get any answers."

Lucifer studies her face. "You know, you're very strong." Headstrong, too. Part of the appeal, really.

"Thank you." She sweeps her hair over her shoulder. "Is this... This is everything?"

"Everything of note. Oh! Actually, I suppose Candy's related to all this, so let's hash that out, shall we?"

Chloe's eyes narrow. "The stripper you married."

"One," he says, lifting a finger, "not a stripper. Owns a lovely little nightclub and occasionally dances exotically."

"Of course, how could I be so wrong?"

He raises a second finger. "Two, that whole thing was annulled, so we were never married." Chloe scoffs as he lifts a third finger. "Three, I did all of that for you. My mum was here at the time and up to her usual manipulations. And I was worried your feelings weren't yours, that Dad was making you feel a certain way."

"So, you forced yourself to plow into a hot blond for me. Gee, thanks."

"We had a business arrangement," he insists. "There was no sex involved, I assure you." Though it had certainly been on the table. No need to mention that.

She laughs. "You'll forgive me for not believing that."

"She was merely there to help cool things down between us and help me figure out what my mum was up to. I don't lie to you."

"No," Chloe growls, and stands suddenly. "You don't lie, but you...you dance around the truth." Her hands land on her hips, and Lucifer doesn't know whether to be worried or turned on. "And I don't know if God can manipulate my life and feelings, but you did by marrying her."

He deflates. "I suppose I deserve that."

"Yeah, you do. Now, I need you to leave."

"Detective?"

"Go. I need some space."

He staggers to his feet. Of all the things he thought might upset her, Candy was very low on the list. "I didn't—" he starts.

"No, you didn't," she snaps, shoving a finger into the middle of his chest. "Didn't talk to me, didn't let me make my own decisions. Nope, none of that. The usual."

"As if you would have believed me!"

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "Sometimes you really piss me off."

"Oh, what? Because I'm right?"

"Don't push it." But she smiles faintly.

Ah, a smile. There's hope yet. "I propose we make a deal," he says, a beat later.

"And what deal would that be?"

"I'll refrain from marrying strippers for you, if you'll refrain from marrying absolute knobheads for me."

"So, you admit she was a stripper. And I didn't marry Cain."

"I didn't marry Candy, either," he says gleefully. "But Cain was a knobhead, wasn't he?"

Chloe snorts. "Fine. Deal."

"Come now, Detective, you have to do it proper." He holds out his hand.

They shake on it, holding a little longer than necessary.

The next day, Lucifer finds himself loitering on the veranda outside Montgomery Funeral Home, a cigarette wedged between his lips. It's a warm, sunny Friday, perfect for happy hours and sex-filled siestas, so of course the humans are set on ruining it with pointless death rituals.

Charlotte Richards was well known and controversial. Her visitation has brought out the masses. He doesn't count himself among them. He's only making an appearance because Linda nagged him to do so.

"It's important to the people in your life," she told him in a phone call.

And, bloody hell, he sure has people in his life now, doesn't he? Chose them of his own free will and everything. A true earthside experience. Not exactly how he always imagined it would be. Far more inconvenient, far less naked calisthenics.

He watches as people dressed in shades of black and gray file in and filter out, some to grieve, most to rubberneck, and a few to no doubt spit at the foot of Charlotte's solid mahogany casket. No good lawyer goes to the grave without her share of admirers and enemies. Charlotte was a very good lawyer.

As earthly as a funereal experience may be, it's making Lucifer feel fidgety and more removed from this plane than he has in a while. They're like ants, really, rushing about their business, utterly incapable of seeing how limited their perspective on the universe actually is.

Before the detective, he would have had some fun with these grieving fools. He wants to laugh at them openly, make them face the reality of their inevitable afterlife. A hundred billion souls have come before you, he would shout. What does this one little soul matter when your own mortal coil is desperately trying to unwind with each passing second? Carpe diem, for Dad's sake.

And what's with Charlotte's made-up, chemical-bloated body? That isn't her. Even the humans can't quite pretend it is. It's expensive refuse slated to be chucked in the ground because it no longer sparks joy.

Lucifer scowls at a smarmy man as he enters the building. He may yet burst in and make a scene. It's very tempting. But even he knows that's poor timing so close to revealing himself to Chloe, thus his restrained loitering and contemplative chain smoking.

As if she's sensed him thinking about her, there the detective is, finding his eyes from thirty feet away. Actually, all "his" humans are there. Three lovely women and a cake-obsessed imp, all flitting about Daniel as if he hasn't only recently learned how not to be a complete douche.

And what a sad sack Daniel is today. Lucifer would openly sob, too, were he dressed in that off-the-rack suit. But, my, what a support system he's got in spite of it. Chloe is pressed up against her ex-husband's left side, his arm thrown over her shoulder. Trixie follows along on Chloe's left, clutching her mother's black dress, her concerned gaze fixed on her parents. Ella is pressed against Dan's right, that silly crucifix back around her neck. And walking in front of them all, as if she might bat away anyone who dares interfere with the grieving process, is Linda, her chin held almost as high as her heels.

Lucifer's chest spasms uncomfortably at their united front. His family doesn't rally like this, never has. Although, perhaps Amenadiel, of all angels, might be on his side now, might actually appear if he prayed to him, and not just because he's been the "misbehaving" black sheep, either.

With Trixie near, Lucifer drops his cigarette to the ground and stamps out its embers. He steps forward to join them, but Chloe shakes her head before refocusing on her ex. Lucifer remains in place, frowning. Is she still angry about Candy? He thought she was over that.

Chloe, Daniel, Trixie, and Linda enter the funeral home, but Ella hangs back. She meanders over to him, a sad smile on her face. "Hey, Lucifer."

He quirks a brow at her. "No longer drunk on divinity, Miss Lopez?"

"Sober enough to drive," she assures him. She nods to a coworker from the precinct before saying, "Bet all of this seems really dumb to you, huh?"

That's a trap of a question, if he's ever heard one. "I can't say your rituals aren't...puzzling." He waves a hand. "All this is for the living, who collectively pretend it's for the dead. Now, the Vikings, with their pyres and feasts and drinking... That was a party I could get behind. None of this dour bollocks."

"Come on," she says, nudging his arm with her shoulder as she leans against the veranda's railing beside him. "You gotta feel a little sad. You liked Charlotte."

Lucifer gives a long-suffering sigh. "She's not gone, Miss Lopez. She's relocated. You'll see her one day."

"It doesn't feel that way to us. I mean, I've always believed in Heaven, and"—she glances at him meaningfully—"now, more than ever. But life is looong, dude. I know eighty years is nothing to you, but to us, it's everything. It sucks that we go can go decades without seeing someone we love because of some freak accident or cancer or diabetes or some other BS. And, then, I mean, not all of us...go to the same place."

"Never waste your time on guilt. You'll go to Heaven. You'll see her. It's that simple."

"I hope so. I'm aiming for it, or I'll die tryin', right?"

He smirks, sharing in her gallows humor. "But what does any of this have to do with such a costly charade?"

"People just wanna say goodbye. Whether they think they're saying it for forever or just for a little while." She looks out toward the rolling hills of the connecting cemetery when she says, "It's gonna be pretty hard for you to see Charlotte again, isn't it?"

"Try impossible," he answers with false amusement.

"That blows. Well, maybe you should say goodbye, too. Could be cathartic. You never know." Standing straight, she claps a hand to his shoulder. "I'm gonna head in. Let me know if you wanna come say goodbye and need some moral support. I know how you feel about all the"—she lowers her voice—"G-O-D stuff. I totally get it now." She winks dramatically.

He watches her walk away and marvels at how he has not one, not two, but three humans who know and accept him, the real him, to varying degrees. What is happening?

When she's gone, he turns and rests his elbows on the white railing. He resumes his chain smoking and stares at the rows of stone teeth that are occasionally broken up by garish statues and obelisks. He's made his appearance. Chloe's seen him. He should go. But he lingers, some part of him troubled by Ella's words, by the absurd finality of it all. Just more of Dad taking the piss out of his creations.

A gentle tug on his pants leg makes him twitch.

"Can I stand out here with you?" the detective's spawn requests.

Lucifer sighs and tosses his cigarette. "Really, I just lit this, Beatrice."

"Smoking causes cancer."

"So does the sugar in chocolate cake. But still we have our vices, don't we?"

As usual, the detective's daughter doesn't mind his prickliness. And, if he's honest, he doesn't mind her presence. She's a clever little minx, much like her mother. How she's made up of fifty percent of Daniel, he'll never know. Broken clocks and all that, he supposes.

"I don't like funerals," Trixie gripes.

"What's to like? They're boring, earthly affairs, urchin."

She leans half her weight against his leg, and hangs the rest of it over the railing, much like, well, a monkey. "Charlotte was nice."

"She did have her moments." Once the fear of Hell was in her.

"I think my dad wanted to marry her."

"Well, your father has had a track record of marrying above his station, hasn't he?" They're silent for a moment, until suddenly Trixie begins to sniffle. "Dear me," Lucifer sighs, "let's not bring Niagara Falls into it, child. You couldn't have even known her that well."

"Mommy's always getting hurt," Trixie sobs, her little, round face scrunching. "I don't want her to die, too."

Oh. Oh. Lucifer's world tilts alongside Trixie's as he imagines Chloe's body lowered into a hole in the ground, her soul forever beyond reach. His heart stutters. But she's alive now, he reminds himself. That has to be enough.

In one smooth movement, as if he's done it a million times before, he lifts the little girl onto the railing to face him. Her black dress swishes and bunches around her. Holding her arms tight, his long fingers stretching all the way to her bony shoulder blades, he bends and looks her in the eye.

"Beatrice, listen to me. So long as it's in my power—and I've a great deal of that, never you fear—your mother will live long and well. She will watch you drive a car and graduate and kick some undeserving wanker to the curb. Do you understand? I will upend Hell before I allow your mother to die an untimely death."

"But I don't want you to die, either," she wails.

How strange. He clears his throat uncomfortably.

"No need to worry about that." Not now that he has his wings back. "I came back last time, didn't I?" he challenges quietly, daring to remind her of Malcolm and her kidnapping. "Only died a bit."

Trixie hiccups and nods, but the tears still flow. Exhaling shakily, Lucifer yanks his purple pocket square free and wipes at her face. "There now," he says. He hands her the square. "I believe you can blow your nose for yourself." She honks into the fabric, then has the gall to offer it back to him. He grimaces. "No, no. That belongs to you now."

Sighing, Trixie throws her arms around his neck. Lucifer shudders, trying not to think about the snotty fabric trailing down his Prada, but he also makes no move to untangle himself from the child's embrace. Instead, he pulls her closer and palms the side of her head.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Trixie asks, her voice wobbly with fatigue.

"Of course." He strokes her hair. "I do love a good secret."

"You look different from how you used to," she whispers. "More like Mom."

Lucifer's brows furrow as he looks down at her head. Aren't children supposed to speak less obtusely by this age? "Whatever do you mean by that?"

"Your light," she says, as if this explains anything.

Before he can quiz her any further, Chloe rushes up to them, a look of relief, then shock, on her face as she takes in the sight of them together. "Trixie! I was looking everywhere for you! You were supposed to stay with Dad." She looks up at Lucifer, suddenly flustered. "You didn't have to— You could have brought her to me."

"Ah, well," Lucifer says, putting distance between himself and the little girl. "We were perfectly fine, Detective." He glances at Trixie pointedly. "We have mutual interests, your spawn and I."

"That so?" With a groan, Chloe picks Trixie up from the railing and puts her back on her own two feet. "Have you been crying, baby? You're really gonna miss Charlotte, huh?"

Trixie sighs. "I'm okay now." Then she grins up at Lucifer fondly. He forces himself not to return the smile. He has a reputation to keep. The Devil doesn't smile at children, no matter how precocious.

Chloe clasps one of Trixie's hands in her own, and then laces the fingers of her other with Lucifer's. He looks down at her, surprised. "Thank you," she says, and does the unthinkable as she rises to tiptoe and kisses his cheek.

He clears his throat, confused, but pleased. "If I'd known this was the reaction I'd get from embracing your offspring, I'd have done it ages ago. What do I get for a piggyback ride?" He shudders at how eager Trixie is about the prospect.

She laughs softly. "Do you want to come back with us? Have some lunch, maybe?"

Lucifer would like nothing more, but he shakes his head. "I think I... Well, I might need to go say goodbye. To Charlotte."

"Oh," she says, surprised again. "Okay." She gives his fingers a squeeze. "You'll be at the precinct when I start back?"

He pauses. Even after the day they spent together, even after she welcomed him back into her home, he hadn't dared hope for this much. "You need the eggs?" he says quietly.

"That," she admits, "and my partner." She smiles. "Don't be late."

Lucifer watches them leave. He feels things he is too frightened to give words to, even deep in his own mind.

When he finally enters the funeral home, visitation is nearly over. Save for a few clusters of softly-speaking humans, he is alone. There's Daniel, too, sitting in a chair off to the side, staring blankly at the floor. Charlotte's ex-husband and children left long ago.

Lucifer stands before the casket and looks at Charlotte Richards' pickled body. A violent burst of anger rushes through him as he takes in her golden hair. Charlotte, oh, many of these humans will see her again. But Mum... Mum, who'd used this shell to walk and talk and embrace him with? Bloody gone forever. By his own hand.

He holds the edge of the casket, struggling not to crush the wood. The depth of his bitterness is shocking, even to him. How could he possibly care after all these months? It's not as if Mum were some shining example of motherhood. She was a manipulative, all-powerful bitch. And, he thinks, his teeth setting in a snarl, she tried to kill Chloe.

And yet she also held him, many, many eons ago, when she was pure, disembodied light, and he was a winged boy, a light-bringer, who took after her. Always playing pranks on siblings who liked him well enough, but never quite understood him. Always bending rules and incurring his father's wrath.

How many times did she intervene on his behalf? Often, as far as he can remember, and perhaps more than he knows.

He hasn't forgotten what she told him, that he was only sent to Hell because of her pleas, that his father intended to destroy him. Maybe it's the truth. She seemed to believe it was. But he'll never know now, will he?

"Hey, man," Daniel says, tearing him from his thoughts. "I'm surprised you came. I know you didn't always get along with Charlotte. Must've been weird having her for a stepmom."

Poor sod. Always so dreadfully out of the loop.

"Yes, well, I'm realizing I may actually miss her." He swallows. "More than I expected." In his mind's eye, he sees his mother pulled apart, her shining light drawn into that other place and time, a place he hopes she has made her own. He feels the weight of Azrael's blade, the burden of free will and responsibility.

"Charlotte had a bigger heart than a lot of people gave her credit for," Daniel says. "Maybe she didn't always know how to show it, but I'm sure she loved you, man."

She did. She loved her children fiercely, if imperfectly.

So few have loved him.

Lucifer can't speak, can barely breathe, around the knot in his throat. Blindly patting Daniel on the shoulder, he turns away, taking long strides out of the funeral home. His hands fumble in his suit jacket for his flask, cigarettes, and lighter—anything, anything, to turn off these ghastly emotions.