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Lucifer Morningstar was not a friend.
In fact, if Detective Daniel Espinoza were ever asked to describe his relationship with the extremely inappropriate, barely competent, supremely irritating club-owner-slash-civilian-consultant, “acquaintance” would be just about the only polite-sounding term he could muster.
Acquaintance , sometimes muttered with an edge of poison, once encompassed the entirety of Dan’s dislike for the man when they’d first met. From the very moment Morningstar had flashed that shit-eating smirk at him outside his daughter’s school, Dan had known that – hoooo boy – there was no way they’d ever get along.
Lucifer could make him feel so small, so insignificant, with barely a flick of a raised eyebrow and a glint of a condescending smile. It didn’t help that Morningstar was the shady guy who kept following his wife around, trying to get her to sleep with him. Sure, Dan and Chloe had been separated then, but still .
But Malcolm happened. And Lucifer saving his wife and daughter happened. And the demotion and the divorce happened.
For a while, acquaintance meant the guy who’d traipse into the precinct like he owned the place, pilfering all the Cool Ranch Puffs from the vending machine before anyone else could. A partially open glass door and the hundred dollar bill jammed uncaringly into the protesting money slot were usually the only indicators of who’d been by that morning.
He was the guy who’d constantly steal Dan’s (LABELLED!) pudding; who’d occasionally leave Post-It notes with lewd jokes stuck to Dan's computer screen; who’d casually liberate Dan of his coffee and spike it with whiskey. The guy whom Dan had briefly fanboyed over cheesy action movies with. The guy who’d revealed, right in front of Dan, how he thought the world would be a better place without him.
The guy who he’d opened up to on a darkened improv stage, dim lights warm against their backs. As Dan had watched their long, distorted shadows stretch over unoccupied seats – for a moment, however brief – Dan thought they understood each other.
What had Lucifer said that day?
Afraid you don’t know the whole story.
Then Charlotte happened.
He was barely an acquaintance anymore, the months after. Somehow, he’d come to signify everything that had gone wrong in Dan’s life, everything that was ugly and hurting. He was the guy Dan blamed – for Charlotte, for Pierce, for every bad thing that’d happened since he showed up.
Dan did things. Things to hurt him, things Dan wasn’t proud of. Things he could never confess to anyone.
Then Lucifer had left, quietly and unexpectedly.
Despite Chloe’s devastation – the ache and longing flashing across her face when she thought no one was looking – Dan couldn’t help but feel relief. In Lucifer’s absence, he could finally start picking up the pieces of his life, carefully glueing them back together.
They became acquaintances again, when Lucifer had returned, and Dan simply couldn’t hate him anymore – not as Lucifer had wandered through the precinct like a befuddled lost lamb after what seemed to be a particularly relationship-altering row with Chloe.
Acquaintances who acted out badly written screenplays and laughed at each other. An acquaintance who’d asked him for relationship advice about Dan's own ex-wife (of all things). An acquaintance who Dan was beginning to think might not be that bad after all.
Then Dan saw it , and–
The illusion shattered.
He wasn’t a person . He couldn’t be.
A creature of nightmares; a monster in human skin. A deception. A lie.
Dan never thought he’d point a gun at an acquaintance – a sort-of friend. But that’s exactly what he did.
Worse still, he’d pulled the trigger.
Detective Daniel Espinoza drove his cruiser up the Strip, pulling up to park directly opposite the imposing facade of Lux.
He turned off the engine and slumped over, banging his forehead against the wheel. The last time he’d driven here and parked in this exact spot, he’d ridden the gleaming elevator up to the very top floor, stepped into the penthouse suite, and shot a man he’d known for years at point blank range.
Dan plucked his phone out of his pocket, unlocking the screen and staring at it. Maybe he should call Amenadiel for support? Granted, he hadn’t seen his tall, imposing friend at Linda’s that evening, but Dan knew he would come if asked. Amenadiel: overprotective father, his best pal, awkward sports fan, archangel , older brother of the Devil himself –
Daniel groaned and lifted his head, only to bang it against the steering wheel again. This was it. This was his life now.
But no, he had to do this alone. Towing Amenadiel along would only prove to Lucifer that Dan was terrified of him.
Dan was terrified of him, but Lucifer didn’t need to know that.
It wasn’t like Lucifer could pull anything on him in a crowded nightclub, right? A nightclub with dozens of witnesses...many of whom Lucifer had most definitely slept with, and who were all possibly under his thrall – however his Devil-desire-powers worked.
Dan clenched his fists, feeling fresh fear claw through his gut. He tried to remember all the times he’d worked with the eccentric ( literally otherworldly) civilian consultant. All the times Lucifer could have hurt him or stolen his soul or something , but didn’t. The surprisingly enthusiastic fist-bump they’d shared just a few days ago, the moment Dan thought he could actually get over all the bad blood between them.
Nope. Not working.
Frustrated with himself, Dan slid out of his cruiser and slammed the door shut with more force than necessary. Better to get this over with before he lost his nerve.
The bouncer waved him in as Dan strode up to the crowded entrance, foregoing the ridiculously long line and the smattering of dirty looks thrown his way. The staff here knew him well from the couple of months Amenadiel had been in charge, when Dan was around Lux more often at Amenadiel’s insistence to “hang out”.
However, Amenadiel wasn't running things anymore, not with the original owner back in town. You'd think that, at the bare minimum, Lucifer would've blacklisted the man who'd shot him a few days ago. But nope, of course he hadn't.
Then again, Lucifer had never cared much for security. In retrospect, his nonexistent self-preservation instincts made a scary amount of sense.
A deep bass beat thumped through his shoes as Dan emerged at the top of the mahogany staircase, strobing neon lights flashing in his face. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and alcohol and sweat. The grand piano sat forlornly in the middle of the club under a lonely spotlight, the leather seat in front of it conspicuously empty.
Maybe he isn’t here , Dan found himself thinking desperately, after all, Chloe was here earlier and he wasn’t…
But Daniel Espinoza had no such luck.
Just as he was about to turn away, Dan’s searching gaze alighted on a dark-haired figure sitting primly at the bar, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and an empty glass at his elbow. The club was at capacity tonight, dancing and milling patrons pressed almost body-to-body, yet a semi-circle of empty space had inexplicably formed around Lucifer Morningstar.
Even from above the main floor, it was immediately evident to Dan that Lucifer was in a terrible, brooding mood; knuckles clenched tightly around his bottle of booze, sharply handsome features set in a deep scowl. Either by instinct or by pure common sense, his usual admirers and hangers-on were giving him a wide berth tonight, the bar stools around him unoccupied.
Dan swallowed thickly and descended the staircase.
The crowd pulsed around him, rolling waves washing over a drowning man. Dan pushed his way to the bar. Twenty metres, ten, five.
There’s still time to turn back , he reminded himself.
But before he knew it Dan was standing at the bar, one hand braced against it as if he might fall over from the force of his own heart hammering against his ribs. He gave Lucifer about five feet of space, unwilling to get too close too fast.
From this distance, Lucifer was visibly disheveled – crumpled jacket, loose strands of hair, missing pocket square. There were shards of – was that broken glass? – lodged in his shirt.
Dan opened his mouth, closed it, unsure of what to say to get the Devil’s attention. Unsure if he even wanted to get the Devil’s attention.
Lucifer raised his head, catching sight of him.
Dan stared into those deceptively human brown eyes, almost onyx in the partial darkness of the club, and remembered how they’d flared hellfire red.
“Oh,” said the Devil, with a tone of flippant nonchalance one might use when discovering a stain on one’s clothes. “Hello, Douche . Come to murder me again?”
Dan winced at his words, the iciness in them. It reminded him of when they’d first met, when Lucifer had regarded him as a human might regard an ant, or a really, really small speck of dust.
Dan didn’t like it.
“ Well? Give me your best shot,” continued Lucifer, smiling mirthlessly at his own pun. “Though we both know it'd be a waste of a perfectly good bullet. A shame really. Even going back to Hell would be preferable to…”
He trailed off, his jaw clenching.
“...never mind.”
Dan tried to speak – he really did – but all his brain would allow him to do at the moment was stare like a deer caught in headlights. Keeping with the analogy, Dan was starting to feel uncomfortably like prey.
Lucifer arched an eyebrow. “Did you not hear a word I said? Chop, chop! Hurry up and get your gun out, we haven’t got all day!”
While his voice was still bitingly cold, its slight increase in volume betrayed...something. Anger? Hatred? Hurt?
Dan swallowed his fear and stepped forward. Lucifer stared at him in incredulity as Dan gingerly pulled himself onto an empty bar stool next to the Devil, eyes averted, still saying nothing.
Lucifer’s bartender flitted past, leaving a bottle of Dan’s favourite brand of beer in front of him before moving onto the next customer with professional disinterest. Dan eyed the bottle warily – surely his always-drinks-for-free status instated by Amenadiel would have been revoked by now?
Another moment passed. Lucifer topped up his own glass, polished words rolling over Dan’s silence as if he couldn’t bear the absence of conversation. “So. If you’re not here to banish me back to Hell,” Lucifer knocked back his drink, barely flinching as the liquid burned its way down his throat. “Then what are you here for? To berate me? Castigate me? Maybe you thought yourself brave enough to face down a monster – tell it to leave your former wife and spawn alone?”
Something flickered in Lucifer’s eyes then, a spark of emotion which was rapidly squashed by a familiar mask of contempt. Dan caught but a glimpse of it as he’d finally raised his head, meeting that ancient dark gaze. He swallowed but didn’t respond, his supply of words as thoroughly dry as his arid throat.
Lucifer’s fist clenched. A single crack split its way down his glass at the sheer force of his grip, startling Dan. “Come on! You know you want to! I assure you, whatever you came here to say can’t possibly be worse than anything else I’ve heard in the past millennia!” His eyes flashed red; Dan gasped as a hot spike of primal, wild terror shot through his body like a lightning bolt.
The hellish light in Lucifer’s eyes was gone as quickly as it’d appeared. Dan struggled to draw breath, to fight past the fear. He didn’t look away.
The frustration in Lucifer’s expression shifted to confusion. “Why… Why didn’t you run?”
Dan inhaled. Somehow, actually enunciating the words he’d come here to say felt more terrifying than facing down the Devil in a mood.
“Look, man,” began Dan. “I didn’t… I didn’t come here to fight or anything. I…” He swallowed again, past the stubborn lump in his throat.
“I came here to apologise.”
6 hours ago
Dan sat alone in a dingy booth, nursing a beer as he stared out at the almost empty dive bar.
He knew he should really be back at the precinct – to welcome Chloe back after she’d been so rudely kidnapped by the archangel Michael. Dan felt a laugh bubble up in his throat at the thought. Abducted by an angel. Who also happened to be the Devil’s identical twin. Like what even?
But instead of being there for her, he was here , downing his third bottle of cheap beer. And not only because he really didn’t want to run into Lucifer, but because maybe – Maybe he couldn’t help but feel guilty for her pain.
If he’d doubted Michael’s intentions more, perhaps Chloe wouldn’t have had to go through that. At the very least, she definitely wouldn’t have had to watch him shoot her partner in the chest.
Admittedly, Lucifer came out of that miraculously fine. But judging from the panic in her eyes and the surprise on Lucifer’s face, there had been a decent chance that Dan could have actually killed him that night.
It all made his head pound. Dan had been a Catholic all his life, and while he had somewhat stopped going to church since Palmetto, the notion that angels were holy while the Devil was the root of all evil had been hammered into him from a very young age.
He rubbed at his wrists absently, the ache having not quite subsided from when Lucifer had slammed him up against the interrogation room door.
It’d been terrifying, coming face to face with him after finding out. But Dan also knew that if Lucifer had truly wanted to get back at him, the Devil could have done much, much worse. Very much worse. Dan had seen enough hardened criminals reduced to blubbering, tearful idiots in mere seconds to know that.
The question was why?
Why was the Devil himself prancing around playing cop with the LAPD? Why spend copious amounts of time solving murders and catching criminals if he was evil incarnate? Why care so much about Chloe?
Because it was real , wasn’t it? What Chloe and Lucifer had. God only knew what it was she saw in him.
God. Who was real too. Apparently. Ha.
Dan jolted upright as his phone flared to life, buzzing across the sticky surface of the table. He picked it up and checked the caller ID: Chloe.
Dan hesitated for only a moment before shaking his head and accepting the call. “Hey, Chlo. Uh, how are you doi – ”
“Have you seen Lucifer?” she asked sharply from the other end of the line.
“Lucifer?” Despite himself, Dan jerked to attention. He glanced nervously around the deserted bar, as if the Devil could be summoned by mere mention of his name. “I – Uh, no! Of course not! Not since we rescued you, at least.” Dan paused, almost afraid to ask. “Why would you think I’d know where he is?”
“No...no reason,” said Chloe unconvincingly. “Just checking. Right, goodbye.”
“Chlo,” spluttered Dan before he even knew what he was saying. “Can...can we talk?”
There was a beat of silence as the line buzzed in his ear.
“About what?” her tone had grown cold. Of course she knew where this was going.
“About uh, you know, how you’re literally fucking the fucking Devil himself?”
“Wow. Real classy, Dan. You know what? My sex life is literally none. Of. Your. Business.”
Ooooh she was pissed. Perhaps he could have worded that differently.
“Look, just – ” Dan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m just worried, okay? Our daughter is spending time with the actual Devil, and an actual demon, and – ”
“Do you think he’ll hurt her?” asked Chloe bluntly. “Hurt me?”
“I – ” Dan hesitated.
Just a few days ago, after Michael had convinced him, Dan might have replied “yes” without preamble. But now… After he’d seen how desperate Lucifer had been; how the Devil had embraced Chloe when they’d found her, holding her like she was the most precious star in the universe, every line of his body tense with anguished what-ifs…
“I don’t know,” answered Dan with full honesty.
Chloe sighed. “Look. I’m pissed at you, Dan. Really, really pissed. He could’ve died that night – ” her voice wavered, as if she was reliving that awful moment. “ – and I would’ve lost him. For good. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you for that, but...I do understand how you feel.”
Dan blinked, surprised.
“I was scared too, when I found out,” Chloe exhaled. “I let the words and misconceptions of strangers mess with my head. I let someone I thought holy lead me astray with fear and circumstantial evidence. I allowed myself to believe in the myth...instead of the person. I hurt him too, Dan. I really, really did. And I just don’t want you to keep making my mistakes.”
Dan laughed, a little desperately. “Chlo, I literally can’t hurt him. I tried, remember?”
“I didn’t mean physically,” she said, voice quiet.
Dan was stunned. She can’t possibly be serious?
“Look, I can’t tell you what to think,” a light chuckle, muffled by static. “Lucifer wouldn’t approve of that. But you’re a damn fine detective, Dan. You still are. Don’t let a couple of sentences written thousands of years ago by people who’ve likely never met him define what you think of him. Trust your gut. Talk to people who actually know him. Amenadiel. Linda.”
“I…” Dan searched his mind for something to say. “How do I know that they will tell me the truth?”
“I guess you’ll just have to decide if you still trust them.”
The line hummed in the silence that followed as Dan inhaled a ragged breath. Did he trust Linda? Maybe. Did he trust Amenadiel? Probably. Definitely. Would he believe their word, though?
Finally, Chloe sighed. “I'm sorry, I really need to go. He’s disappeared and the precinct is in chaos and I – ”
She stopped herself, but Dan knew what she’d been about to say.
I’m worried about him.
It was almost hilarious. His ex-wife, concerned about the Devil.
“Have you checked Lux?” proposed Dan.
An indignant snort. Of course she had.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Chlo. I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Dan took another swig of his beer. Why was he trying to reassure her? “He always does.”
A pause. “Thank you.”
The line clicked, and Chloe was gone.
Dan groaned, tossing his phone back onto the table.
I didn’t mean physically.
Yeah right. Like the Devil actually had feelings .
Lucifer Morningstar stared at him as if Dan had grown a second head.
“I beg your pardon?”
Dan gritted his teeth. “Come on, man. Do I really have to say it twice?”
Lucifer cocked his head at him, swiftly replacing his cracked tumbler with a brand new one. “Oh no . I broke you, didn’t I?”
Dan blinked. “ What? ”
“Exposure to divinity – or in my case, devilishness – is sometimes able to push humans to the brink of madness,” Lucifer shook his head in sympathy. “I shouldn’t have assumed that you would be mostly unaffected. You’ve been driven completely insane, haven’t you?”
Dan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Chloe and Linda were absolutely right. He really was the same Lucifer. The same arrogant, stuck-up, assholish, insufferable –
“Prick,” muttered Dan, before blanching at his own callousness.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow in – was that amusement? “Ah yes, that is so much more in character of you. Tell me, have you truly lost your mind, or is this just a come-and-go sort of thing?”
Despite himself, despite the anxiety and residual fear still curling through his gut, Dan snorted with laughter. “Does everything have to be a joke to you?”
“Eternal existence wouldn’t be much fun otherwise,” Lucifer smirked at him, tossing back another drink. Now that Dan was really looking, he noticed no less than three empty bottles scattered around the bar in Lucifer’s immediate vicinity; another two littered the polished floor at his feet.
Lucifer licked the residual taste of alcohol off his lips, humming thoughtfully. “I’m fairly certain most of the humans who’ve tried anything remotely similar to you in the past have never apologised after,” he paused, seeming to contemplate something. “At least, not without breaking down in tears and begging for their pathetic lives first.”
Dan felt a rogue shiver slither down his spine. “Um, are you?”
“Hmm?”
“Going to make me beg for my life?”
Lucifer glanced at him as if he was seriously considering it. “No,” he decided. “Not right now, at least. I do so enjoy a healthy serving of punishment, but I’m just not in the mood tonight,” he poured himself another glass to emphasise his point. “In fact, for the first time in your hideously boring life, Detective Douche, I’m finding you quite fascinating.”
Dan tried not to bristle at being called boring. He knew he should be more concerned about Lucifer’s coolly delivered threats of “punishment” – it was hard to tell if he’d meant it – but Lucifer’s familiar humour was causing Dan to gradually relax in his presence. “Oh yeah?”
“Humans don’t usually seek forgiveness for their wrongdoings, not without...appropriate encouragement,” said Lucifer on the basis of established experience. “So why apologise? Unless…” his expression darkened, eyebrows knitting together into a frown. “This doesn't have something to do with some preposterous notion that I decide who goes to Hell, does it?”
“ No! ” spluttered Dan automatically. “No! I mean, sorta? But not in the way that you think!”
Lucifer didn’t look convinced. The hairs at the back of Dan’s neck began to prickle – was it just him or was it getting...hot?
“Linda and I talked today...like really talked,” said Dan, taking a quick swig of his beer to calm his nerves. “And she told me. About the whole guilt thing. I just–"
Lucifer’s eyebrows raised, and the oppressive air lifted. The Devil gave him another incredulous look. “So you feel...guilty about shooting me?”
“Um, yes?” Dan fluttered his hand weakly in a half-aborted gesture. He’d apologised! What the hell else did Lucifer want from him?
“Why?” asked Lucifer, as if it was the most natural question in the world.
Now it was Dan's turn to stare at him, completely flabbergasted. What did he mean why?
“Obviously there was no lasting harm done,” Lucifer shrugged, gesturing vaguely at himself as if to indicate his clear still-aliveness. “You're lucky I regained my invulnerability around the Detective when I did, otherwise I would've ended up on the ground bleeding through my rug. Do you know how terribly wearisome it is to get blood cleaned off that material?”
Dan spluttered a little on his second sip of beer. Lucifer was worried about his furniture ?
“And, well,” Lucifer leaned back against the bar. Dan watched as Lucifer’s ever-present, sometimes almost manic energy seemed to seep out of him, his languid posture betraying a deep-boned exhaustion. “I’m certainly under no delusions regarding your feelings towards me. You hated me–” Dan flinched at the brutal honesty of it all.
“–You always have.”
2 hours ago
It took a couple more hours for Daniel to finally muster up the courage (and sobriety) to drive to Linda’s house.
He’d called Amenadiel first, but the archangel’s phone had gone straight to voicemail. Well, so much for that.
After some reluctance, Dan had swiped further down his contact list and called Linda.
Linda was his therapist. But she’d been Lucifer’s therapist longer than she’d been his. And Dan was pretty sure that they’d slept together at some point. Surely she would instantly take Lucifer’s side? Didn’t he want an unbiased opinion?
Dan snorted to himself at the thought. He wasn’t naive enough to think that there existed an unbiased opinion anywhere in the world when it came to the Adversary. Beelzebub. Satan. Lord of Hell –
Before Dan could spiral into another rabbit-hole of celestial-induced panic, Linda picked up.
“Hello, Dan. Chloe told me to expect your call.”
Dan blinked once.
“Would you like to come over?”
The door had opened before Dan could even raise his arm to ring the doorbell. Linda had smiled gently at him, ushering him inside with such care and tenderness and trivial small talk that Dan felt his eyes prick with wetness – it’d been a long couple of days.
He found himself perched on her couch, a cup of tea nestled in his hands as Linda bustled around, explaining that they should have plenty of time to talk now that Charlie was sleeping soundly.
“Dan,” Linda seated herself opposite him, cradling a steaming mug of her own. A benevolent smile graced her features. “I just wanted to be clear that I invited you to my house as your friend , not as your therapist. If you did want to work through your feelings through therapy...that’s fine too, and I’m happy to help you with that in a formal session. Right now though, I’m here to listen, answer your questions, and make sure you’re okay.”
Her smile turned cautious, and she watched him gingerly as Dan struggled to find the words to express his turmoil.
“I just...I feel so confused.”
Linda nodded. “That’s completely understandable.”
“I feel like– I just don’t know what to think anymore. I shot Lucifer,” he laughed, a despairing, choking sound. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought Chloe was insane for being upset with me, for letting him near our daughter. But now I…”
“You’re realising that it might not have been your best moment?” said Linda, voice gentle.
Dan laughed again, moisture clogging up his throat. “That’s an understatement,” he swiped at his eyes. “I just need to know, Linda. Is he dangerous? Is he a threat to me and my family? Is he a threat to humanity ?”
Linda paused, thinking carefully about her response. “You want my honest opinion?” Dan nodded weakly. “Then, yes, of course he’s dangerous.”
Dan felt his gut squeeze with apprehension. For a moment, Dan was standing outside the window of this very house under a starlit sky, staring at a charred and monstrous face, inhuman eyes flickering with fire–
“Is he a threat to us?” Linda’s voice pulled him from his reverie. She shrugged. “He could be.”
Dan snorted. “I thought this was supposed to be reassuring.”
“I’m being forthright with you, Dan. And the truth is, Lucifer is the Devil. That means he has powers and abilities beyond my understanding. Abilities that do make him dangerous. Honestly, the man has wings for crying out loud.”
Dan couldn’t help it. A strangled chuckle escaped his throat. “He does, right? Oh God,” he stared at her with wide eyes. “ Amenadiel has wings too.”
“Oh yes,” said Linda, a hint of a smile pulling at her lips. “But I digress. The real question is, does Lucifer’s abilities make him a danger to Chloe and Trixie? A danger to you?” For all that she insisted this wouldn’t be a therapy session, the way she was looking at him expectantly, nudging him to find the answer himself, was the exact same look she used when they were speaking at her office. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
Dan opened his mouth to deny that – no! He did not know what the fuck was going on anymore – but he paused.
His thoughts pulled him back to a moment almost four years ago.
Trixie, sitting in the back seat of his car, waving enthusiastically goodbye to– Who the hell was that guy? And why was Chloe casually towing him along to their daughter's school?
"Trix, honey," said Dan firmly, trying to keep the bitter edge of irritation from stealing into his voice. "Remember what we talked about speaking to strangers?"
Trixie blinked back at him. Oh his sweet girl. Always looking for the best in everyone, even though there sometimes wasn't a shred of decency to be found. "Lucifer's not a stranger, Daddy! Mommy knows him, and he made sure that Patty was sorry for picking on me."
Lucifer? Was that really his actual name? Dan pondered over this before the rest of Trixie's sentence caught up to him. "What do you mean he made sure she was sorry?"
"He just did," Trixie shrugged. "He said she won't ever bother me again."
Dan hadn't even known that Trixie had been going through that at school. And this man – this stranger who literally barely knew her – had defended her from her abuser?
Albeit, the way that Trixie had worded it... making her sorry… What did that mean?
Disquiet flickered in his gut, but he was quickly distracted by Trixie's oh-so-innocently asked question:
"Daddy, what's a hooker?"
He emerged from the memory, only to be unceremoniously slingshotted into the next one.
Chloe, lying on a hospital bed with one arm in a sling, her good arm wrapped firmly around Trixie as their daughter nuzzled into her side.
Dan had been speaking to one of the nurses at their station as Trixie had run ahead, but now he leaned against the door frame, rapping it with his knuckles. "Knock knock."
She glanced up. Smiled at him. It was a cordial, guarded smile, so unlike her affectionate ones from when their marriage was still new; yet, it still made his heart skip a beat painfully. She'd been shot trying to do her job; shot trying to uphold justice. Trixie had almost lost her mother. He had almost lost her.
"Hey, Dan. Thanks for bringing Trixie."
"Hey," he returned her smile. "How are you feeling?"
"Not dead?" she laughed, but the sound was hoarse, forced out of her windpipe. "Did you see Lucifer? He left before I could really–"
"Lucifer? That club owner you brought to Trixie's school?" Dan felt himself bristle. "Why would he be here?"
Trixie burrowed deeper into her mother's side at Dan’s sharp tone. Chloe wrapped her arm more firmly around her daughter and looked Dan straight in the eye. "Dan, he saved my life."
What? Dan frowned, unable to comprehend how some flippant club owner – who named himself after the Devil, mind you – could possibly have any abilities that his wife, a seasoned detective with a gun, didn’t.
"I… I don't know how he did it," said Chloe, a fine tremor to her words she couldn't quite hide. "I could have sworn Jimmy shot him too. But he shielded me, and then– I don't know, I was out of it for a while."
She turned watery eyes to him, and Dan could see it in her gaze, how the indisputable fact that she could have died today was just sinking in.
"I'm just really glad he was there," she admitted quietly. Dan hadn't known what to say after that – hadn't known how to reassure her when he hadn't even been there to protect her.
Dan clutched at his head, snippets of memories flashing past glazed eyes. Being told only after he'd been released from custody that Trixie had been kidnapped by that bastard Malcolm, that Chloe had confronted him, and that Lucifer had been there – distracting Malcolm long enough for Chloe to take him down.
Chloe, poisoned and dying in a hospital bed; a text from Lucifer, the life-saving formula he'd somehow procured. Dan hadn't thought about it too hard at the time.
A shot-up loft, broken glass crunching underneath his feet, shell casings clinking in an eerie symphony as each one was painstakingly collected and tagged by forensics. Dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Dan, standing amidst the destruction, wondering how Chloe had survived it. Wondering if Lucifer had anything to do with it.
Trixie, cowering in Eve's arms, her face tear-streaked and terror-marred. Lucifer, standing over Tiernan's defeated thugs – thugs Dan had a hand in sending to his penthouse – fists clenched, body tensed to rush to Trixie's side if a new danger were to present itself; the picture of a seriously pissed-off avenging angel.
“...No,” the word was soft as it left his lips, disbelieving, almost. “No. Even from the very beginning, Lucifer would...he would never hurt Chloe. He would never hurt Trixie either. When I couldn't be there for them, he was, even when he barely knew them.”
Linda set her cup down in her lap, gaze brimming with sagely patience. “Then why are you so afraid?”
Dan inhaled, breath shuddering through his lungs.
It's not really Lucifer I'm scared of – he realised – At least not entirely. It's… It's…
"It's everything else," he choked out. "Because if the Devil exists, then Heaven and Hell must too. And – " his shoulders shook, the familiar fear coiling up his chest to wrap around his throat in a vice-like grip. A serpent whispering in his ear that yes, he knows now. He knows.
"I think I know where I'm going."
When Michael had come to him, promising him a way to redeem himself, he'd taken it. He'd taken it without thought or hesitation, justifying committing murder with flimsy excuses such as "Because he's the Devil" and "Because he hurt people". He'd justified killing a person , a man, an acquaintance he sometimes even liked – for no real reason at all.
And by doing that, by grasping at Michael's sweet words of salvation, Dan had a sinking feeling that he'd doomed himself for good.
A gentle pressure on his arm snapped him out of his panic. Dan realised that he was panting hard, trembling, the tightness in his throat giving way to bile.
Linda smiled at him, her fingers resting on his forearm, and Dan felt like he could breathe again.
"Good. That's good. Admitting your mistakes is the first step."
Dan swiped absently at his cheeks. "The first step…to what?"
"To redeeming yourself. To making amends," Linda's smile turned sad, thoughtful. "Maybe even...to forgiving yourself."
Daniel blinked; the pulsing lights of Lux above them suddenly too bright, the smell of spilled alcohol too sharp, the invisible hands around his throat too tight.
You hated me.
Those words, uttered so casually, so matter-of-factly, because of course it was fact – Lucifer always told the truth, he knew that now – caused unpleasant memories to ripple to the surface.
Because – and the irony of it isn’t lost on him – Dan truly hadn’t hated Lucifer the night he’d shot him. Sure, he’d hated him before, when anger and grief had consumed him after Charlotte’s death. The only time Dan had genuinely tried to hurt him out of pure spite was with Tiernan, which backfired so spectacularly Dan unknowingly put his own child in the line of fire.
But when he’d actually shot him? No, all Dan had felt that night was terror.
Lucifer watched him, chin propped up on one hand, elbow resting on the bar. Studying him, gauging his reaction.
“I didn’t… I didn’t hate you,” Dan swallowed. Honesty – Linda had said. Oh, how it burned his throat on its way out. “At least not then.”
Lucifer, surprisingly, seemed to contemplate this.
“Charlotte’s death wasn’t my fault,” Lucifer’s words, muttered quietly through parted lips, sounded uncertain. Lucifer paused, twisting his ring around his finger. When he next spoke, his voice was firmer. “Many, many things are. But the tragedy that befell her...wasn’t.”
Dan nodded slowly, feeling shame burn as hot and viciously against his insides. “I know. I think I’ve always known,” he pressed his heels against his eyes, replaying that moment in his head again, when he’d held her cold, bloodied body in his arms. “But Pierce was dead, his criminal network dismantled. And– Well– Who else could I blame?”
“Ah yes. The Devil. Natural target for everything that goes wrong in your puny human lives, hmm?” Lucifer emptied another glass, his words like the top-shelf whiskey he’d just knocked back – silky smooth and bitter.
Dan fisted his hands against the bar and said nothing. What could he say? What could he say that didn’t feel like some shoddy excuse, a weak justification, a lie?
Dan heard a short huff of breath as the Devil scoffed to himself, followed by a rustle of fabric as Lucifer collected his half-empty decanter of whiskey and a second unopened one. “In any case, I think I’ll be able to savour my drink more thoroughly without the unpleasant company,” he shrugged, leaning over the bar to pick up a bottle of scotch he then added to his pile. “Even if it admittedly was an improvement from last time, considering the lack of lead projectiles. In fact–”
“I’m really sorry, okay?” said Dan, hands clasped around his beer bottle like a life line – or a prayer.
Lucifer froze, the third bottle dangling between his fingertips.
“I’m sorry for shooting you. No matter how much you act like an asshole or how many pudding cups you steal–” Dan couldn’t help but laugh at his own audacity. “You...you didn’t deserve that. I was just kidding myself, thinking I was ridding the world of some massive evil, but I should’ve known it doesn’t work that way.”
Lucifer opened his mouth, but Dan steamrolled ahead, not allowing him even a moment to squeeze in some snide remark.
“Don’t get me wrong. I still think you could’ve said something about Pierce, but… You couldn’t have known what he was going to do to Charlotte. I know she was a friend to you. You would’ve tried to save her if you could.”
Lucifer’s expression shifted, indignant to baffled to pensive. He set down his armful of decanters on the bar, head cocked, seemingly – for the first time since Dan had known him – content to let someone else do the talking.
Dan very briefly considered coming clean about who was really behind the Tiernan incident – but no, he wasn’t ready, that was another wound to be addressed another time. “I get it if you can’t forgive me, or if you want to punish me,” Dan winced at the mere thought. “Either way, I know we can’t ever go back to the way we were before all... this .”
Almost on its own accord, Dan’s gaze shifted to land on the pale expanse of Lucifer’s wrist, his previous gift now gone, most likely discarded somewhere after the shooting. Dan remembered being pleasantly surprised when Lucifer had accepted the bracelet, gaudy-looking thing that it was. Despite Lucifer’s complaints about his newest accessory being a horrendous outfit clash, Dan had felt distinctly proud of himself when the civilian consultant had continued to wear it.
Those days felt so far away now. A distant reality unmarred by unwelcome knowledge. Perhaps it would’ve been easier if Dan had remained ignorant. Given time, perhaps they could have really become – dare he say the word? – friends.
“So... Whatever you’ve planned for me, I probably deserve it. I just– I hope that– Maybe someday…” Dan trailed off, sneaking a glance at Lucifer’s face, the terror back in full force now. Surely Lucifer already had some creative punishment reserved especially for him, some torture he’d essentially consented to.
To his surprise, Lucifer merely snorted. “Really, Daniel? And people say I never shut up.” Dan felt himself sag with relief at the use of his familiar moniker.
Lucifer snagged an empty tumbler from further down the bar, placing it in front of himself. He topped up both his glass and the new one, then slid the latter towards Dan.
Dan gaped at it, wide-eyed.
“I believe you humans call this a peace-offering,” Lucifer raised his own glass up to Dan expectantly. “You are right. Perhaps we can’t go back to the way things were, but at the very least, I suppose I can forgive your...mistake.”
Dan couldn’t pick his jaw off the ground. The Devil , the King of Hell himself and apparent Evil Incarnate – was offering forgiveness. Without torture or nasty strings attached.
“I can forgive you, if you promise never to attempt to send me back to Hell again, by killing me or otherwise,” even as he smiled, Lucifer’s eyes flashed with predatory menace. Dan gulped involuntarily. “And if you allow me to continue my current arrangement with Chloe. And Beatrice,” he added after a moment’s thought. “For as long as they will have me. If my conditions are met, I will not attempt to seek further retribution against you for shooting me. Let’s call it all water under the bridge.”
Lucifer’s smile widened, turning almost wolfish. “Deal?”
Ah, of course his forgiveness wouldn’t simply be offered for free. Not much concerning Lucifer was.
Dan eyed Lucifer’s outstretched glass warily. “You...swear that Chloe or Trixie will never come to harm? You swear that they will always have your protection?”
Something in Lucifer’s gaze softened.
“Daniel,” he purred. “You don’t need a deal to make me promise that. I’ve been to Hell and back for them. Multiple times. You have my word that I’ll protect them, with my very life if need be.”
Dan inhaled sharply at the firm conviction in Lucifer’s voice, the naked sincerity in his eyes. This – Dan was certain – couldn’t be anything but the absolute truth.
Dan’s hand was surprisingly steady as he gripped his glass and clinked it against Lucifer’s. The Devil’s smile widened as Dan threw his drink back in a single swallow.
Daniel slammed the glass down, wiping his mouth. “Deal.” Oh my God. He’d just made a literal deal with the Devil. He couldn’t possibly set foot in a church again, not after this.
“How delightful,” Lucifer sipped at his drink, seeming rather pleased with himself. “Honestly, you were the last person I expected to ever accept a deal with me – due to your own pride, if nothing else.”
Lucifer’s phone vibrated against the bar’s smooth surface. It’d been pinging regularly with notifications since Dan had arrived, Lucifer’s eyes always drifting to it whenever the screen lit up, but he’d never once picked it up.
This time though, he reached for it, glancing briefly at the screen. Dan watched as the same tenderness from earlier stole across Lucifer’s face, before he exhaled and set the phone down. It was obvious who’d been texting him all night.
“Trouble in paradise?” Dan asked. The mild warmth of alcohol in his stomach and a confession off his chest was starting to catch up with him, so much so that he couldn’t help but lapse back into his old mannerisms with before-he-was-the- actual -Devil-Lucifer.
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Very funny. We both know I’m more than capable of causing copious amounts of trouble in Paradise.” Despite his deflection, Lucifer checked the screen again, the tense line of his shoulders relaxing minutely when it pinged with another notification.
“Is there a reason why you’re avoiding Chloe?” Again – Dan didn’t say.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” Lucifer replied, but he kept talking anyway. “There’s been some...family drama I don’t want Chloe caught up in. It’s best if I stay away for a while.” His expression crumpled briefly at the word family , a flicker of emotion wiped clean in an instant, a mental wall hoisted back up. Dan was reminded that despite his proclaimed willingness to forgive, earning back Lucifer’s trust was another matter entirely.
Dan shook his head. “Like that’s ever worked before,” Lucifer raised an eyebrow at him, mildly offended. Dan waved his hand. “Communication is key to a solid relationship.”
“More of that patented Douche advice?”
Dan couldn’t help but grin. “Worked the last time, didn’t it?”
Lucifer hummed as the phone pinged again. He retrieved it, cradling it in his palm. Longing stole its way across his expression.
“Much as I loath to admit it, you may be on to something there.”
To Dan’s surprise, Lucifer put down his half-finished drink, sliding off his seat. He hesitated for only an instant before his fingers tapped the screen, speed dialing a more-than-familiar number.
He really had changed, hadn’t he? God forbid the Lucifer of a year ago ever attempt healthier modes of communication.
Less than five steps away, phone still held to his ear, Lucifer paused and spun around with an index finger raised in the air.
“Right, almost forgot. Since you are now forgiven and all that, I suppose I should inform you about the laxatives I sneaked into your pudding cups at the precinct. They shouldn’t kill you, really, but I assume you’d rather avoid the experience.”
Dan choked on his next sip of beer. When he’d finally caught his breath, Lucifer was already gone, vanished amidst the sea of writhing bodies. Dan knew that he would finally talk to Chloe in the privacy and relative quiet of his penthouse. Perhaps Chloe would yell at him for ghosting her for half the day; perhaps he would apologise in that frustratingly sincere way he reserved only for her. Perhaps she would convince him to come over to her apartment, and–
Giving the Devil relationship advice about my ex-wife . Dan sighed, not even surprised anymore.
He still didn't know where exactly they stood. He knew they couldn't go back to the casual almost-friendliness they had before, and he definitely didn't want to go back to that stifling vat of hatred he'd once harboured for Lucifer. So where did that leave them?
An acquaintance, perhaps.
His former-orgy-host, retired-ruler-of-Hell, literally -the-Devil acquaintance.
Dan smiled to himself, then frowned as his mind flashed to the dozens of pudding cups he now had to throw out.
At least that had been one bullet dodged.