In the beginning…

No, before that.

Right at the very beginning…

The Lightbringer Samael brought his Father's light into the darkness.

And his Father saw that it was good.

The Lightbringer Samael spread the stars across the universe. So that every corner that had been darkness shone forth with his Father's light.

And his Father saw that it was good.

Samael saw his Father's pleasure with the light that he had brought for him.

And wanted to feel the same.

So he brought into the darkness another light. A star, not of his Father. A star of his very own.

And knew his Father's pleasure.

When his Father saw, he cast Samael's star back into everlasting darkness. And turned his face in displeasure.

So that the Lightbringer Samael knew displeasure too.

And gathering together the shattered pieces of his blotted light – all save one…

He became Lucifer of the Morning Star.

-x-

"So everything's fine." Lucifer crossed a leg, draped an arm along the back of Linda's office couch, and grinned.

She eyed him from the chair opposite. "Then why are you here?"

"Well… Actually, I don't know. Maybe I don't need you any more," he added with a flourish. "I'm all cured! Well done, doctor!"

But she didn't punch the air as he expected. "Yeah, it doesn't really work like that, Lucifer."

He chuckled at her adorably unnecessary concern. "But everything's dandy. As I said."

"Although Chloe saw you."

"Yes." He nodded, expanding his smile. He couldn't have felt more smug right now if he tried. And he was trying.

"And…?"

"And… And…" He frowned. "And what?"

"And how does Chloe feel?"

He gave another chuckle, uncrossed and recrossed his legs. "The Detective doesn't have feelings. She's a professional."

"Everyone has feelings, Lucifer." She watched as he shook his head, beaming. "Do you mean she hasn't spoken to you about this since she saw your Devil face, and discovered that you really are the Devil?"

"No need, dear doctor. She's back at work, no harm done. And why shouldn't she be? She's got her head firmly screwed on to her shoulders. There is no one – I mean, no one – who can just go back to solving crimes as though nothing has happened." He leaned back and gazed out of the window. "Yes."

"As though nothing has happened," she repeated. "But something did happen. Didn't it?"

"Well – obviously."

"And you don't think you should ask her how she feels?"

He chuckled.

"Or mention it… at all?"

"But as I said. No need."

"Right."

"No, you see, we're in the middle of this case, and neither of us really have the time."

"OK. But after work?"

"Well, she has her needy offspring." He laughed as he recalled the Detective's replies. "The child does seem to have a fuller social calendar than I these days." He shook his head in wonder.

"OK. Lucifer. I think Chloe may be avoiding the elephant in the room."

"Or the Devil in the room?" He leaned forward and grinned.

She held his gaze. "Exactly."

He blinked, dropped his smile and sat back. "Oh." Linda had that look again. The one she usually had just before she began 'advising' him with some poppycock about feelings that made his head ache. He looked her up and down and wished himself far away, but it appeared there was no way to avoid it.

"You see, when something of ginormous magnitude – like this – happens, it sometimes feels easier to pretend that it hasn't happened at all."

"But you were all right. After I showed you my Devil face."

"Eventually."

"Yes, well. The Detective isn't you." He held up a hand. "No offence. But…"

"OK. Well. It's still huge. I mean mind-blowing. Life-changing. Insane. I don't expect you to understand."

"Why?"

"Well, you know all the worlds there are, everything in existence. You're not gonna be surprised by this… thing just suddenly landing in your life out of nowhere…"

"Really?" He could hardly contain his indignation. "You don't think it was a shock when you humans came along, then? When Dad just suddenly had this brainwave, out of the blue. 'Hey, kids, you know we're all this big happy family, but I've got this great idea, you're going to love it…'" He snorted and folded his arms.

"That's not really on the same level."

"No?"

"No. Because to us you're like some huge mystery, wrapped in an enigma…"

"And you don't think you are? With your relationships and your feelings." He spat out the words. "I mean it's beyond me, it really is. And I am not the only one. Amenadiel still hasn't a clue, after all these millennia. Not to mention your free will. Yes, that one was a right kick in the cojones, let me tell you. Not the fact you got it," he added, raising a hand. "I'm all for you lot giving in to your darkest desires. But the fact we didn't. No, we weren't worthy, apparently."

"I had no idea. So, then, you do have some understanding of what Chloe might be going through?"

"Well…" Did he? Could he? He knew she was only trying to help, but every time Linda tried to get him to think, it only made him more confused.

"At least give it some thought?"

He sighed.

-x-

Lucifer stepped under the police tape bordering the sun-soaked front lawn of the town house.

"Hey, pal, heavy night?"

"Always, Daniel. Why?"

"Cos your eyes… they look a little bloodshot."

"What?" He reached inside his suit jacket for his compact.

"You carry a mirror. Of course you do."

He held each eye open and peered. He'd been suffering from a touch of Devil eye since his Devil face had come back last week. It was something to do with his wings, he'd wager. They were still healing from the many bullet wounds, and were taking up all of his preternatural resources to do so, the bloody things. But nothing to worry about this time. His eyes were a bit crazed, perhaps, but not in an unearthly way.

"By the way," said Daniel. "I've been saving this till after Charlotte's funeral. Which you didn't come to."

"Funerals are morbid," said Lucifer as he exchanged the compact for a bottle of eye drops then squeezed a few in, just in case. "Saving what?"

His nose exploded with pain.

"That's for not telling us about the Sinnerman."

Lucifer held a hand under his bloodied nose. "I guess I deserved that." With the other he pulled out his handkerchief from his top pocket. "I recommend you don't try it again, though."

"You deserve more," Daniel said, but he had the good grace to look embarrassed as the forensics team arrived, passing by as they moved in to the house. "And it's not like you haven't done the same to me. So now we're even." He didn't wait for an answer.

Lucifer dabbed at his sore nose as he watched Daniel lift the police tape, then remembered his eyes. He popped on his sunglasses and went inside the house.

"So what do we have here?" he heard the Detective say. Where was she? He pulled open the blinds.

"Lucifer, what are you doing? Don't touch that." She pulled them closed again. "We haven't swept for prints everywhere yet."

"Sorry, but I can't see anything."

"It might help if you took off the glasses? And can you try not bleeding everywhere?"

"I'm not. I have a hanky." He held it out.

"Just – put it back."

"What happened?" Ms Lopez said, somewhere on the floor. Judging by the smell, she was by the corpse. "Someone hit you?"

"I was attacked by an angry douche."

"Dan hit you?" the Detective said in a strange tone.

"I deserved it."

He heard her breathe in before she said, "So, Ella?"

"Oh… yeah. Claire Foles. Thirty-nine years old. Time of death some time yesterday morning. Found by hubby."

"Cause?" asked the Detective.

"See, that one's tricky. Bruising matches our Robert Bowers a few days ago – around the chest, arms and jaw, suggesting they were both held down and their mouths forced open. But unlike Bowers and his stab wound inside the throat, Claire here was asphyxiated. But no bruising to the neck, just like with Bowers. So" – Ms Lopez stood up – "cos there was no obvious object in her throat like poor Bob's corkscrew, I did a little poking and found these in her epiglottis."

"What are those, paper?"

"Looks like. I'll have to run them in the lab."

"So the perp moved the murder weapon this time. Assuming it's the same perp."

Lucifer stepped forward to see. His shin hit a hard object and there was a soft thud of something falling to the floor. "Oops. My apologies," he said cheerfully. He bent down to clear it up. It appeared to be a stack of fashion magazines.

"Lucifer, just – just leave them." She turned back to Ms Lopez. "So we've got to find the thing she choked on."

"Whatever it was, it was rammed down her throat pretty deep. It would have taken a while for poor Claire to croak."

"Sickening," said Lucifer.

"Some people have a world of darkness inside them, buddy."

"They certainly do, Ms Lopez." He got up from the floor. "This issue's over six months out of date – and right in the middle of this stack. What sadist does that? And look at the state of it. Worse than a dog's chew toy." He held its pages, mangled and torn, at arm's length.

The Detective came forward. "Give me that?" She took the offending magazine from him with a gloved hand. "This is it. Ella, do you have a bag for this?"

"Sure. Good work, Lucifer!"

"Yes. What?"

"Why would the killer pull out the murder weapon from her throat," said the Detective, "only to put it back in the stack? They must have known we'd find it."

"Hey," said Daniel, from the front door, "I have a guy, a neighbour, who says she had a visitor early yesterday."

"OK, we'll ask him what he saw. See you back at the precinct, Lucifer."

"Right," he called after her. "I'll just make my own way back." He lifted his glasses and gazed at the several forensics crouched and standing around the busy crime scene, swathed in protective clothing, taking photos and collecting evidence. "Right." At least the drive back alone, away from the Detective, would give his douche-molested nose a chance to heal.

-x-

"Hey, Lucifer." Ms Lopez moved out of the way as a man carried a box out of the lieutenant's office. She shook her head, folding her arms. "Man, you guys were lucky to escape his evil clutches."

"No longer Pierce's biggest fan, then, Ms Lopez?"

"I've been trying to figure out how he got away with it for so long. Know what I think is the key? Plain sight, my friend." She nodded. "A cop hunting a crime kingpin who is him. No one would suspect. No one did. Yup. Plain sight. What is really hiding right in front of people's eyes?" she asked him. "Nobody knows."

"Yes, well, it's not like I don't tell everyone every bloody day. Do you think if Pierce had gone about telling everybody he was the Sinnerman, they would have dismissed him as a loony?"

"I would have loved to have gotten my hands on his murder weapon. And that is not a euphemism."

"It wasn't murder, Ms Lopez. It was a fair fight."

She dropped her arms. "Hey, Lucifer, I didn't mean –" She slapped her head. "What a clutz. This mind? One track." She said, enunciating each word to give it dramatic effect, "It is trained to see every object as potentially the key item in a homicide. Even now it is thinking about your shades and the gazillion ways such a seemingly innocuous fashion accessory could be used to snuff out the life of some poor innocent victim."

"Delightful." He peeled them off his face and checked his reflection in the glass wall of the lieutenant's office – timeless brown eyes, tick, elegant Roman nose, tick, general fabulousness, tick – before tucking them into his breast pocket.

"But even creepier than that is how some sicko – one of the Sinnerman's henchmen no less – must have wrenched out the blade" – she enacted her idea of the wrenching – "from his still-warm body and fled with it as a warped memento of his beloved boss."

"Yes." He shook his head. "Sicko. Warped." He pictured the Hell-forged blade safely ensconced back at his apartment.

"Well, Lucifer, duty calls." She left him with her biggest smile.

Resting his hands in his trouser pockets, Lucifer gazed across the busy precinct at the Detective's empty chair. It would have been permanently vacant if Cain masquerading as the Sinnerman masquerading as Pierce had had his way.

He pushed the unthinkable thought aside, and focused on a much happier one. Like how well things were going between them. Really, Linda couldn't be more wrong this time. The Detective simply had other things on her mind. Like this case. After all, wasn't it his sole topic of conversation with her too?

He didn't see her come in until she strode past him. He followed her to her desk. "Detective…"

"Well, the main suspect in the Bowers murder is holding back. So we could really use your help on this, Lucifer. You know, do your… thing."

"Of course, Detective. Anything I can do to help."

"Thanks," she said without looking up from the mountain of paperwork on her desk. "Give me an hour, and we'll head down there, OK?"

"Fine. Er… Detective. About that… thing that I do. Now that you know it's not actually a parlour trick. Or auto-suggestion…"

"That's odd."

"What's odd?" He craned to see what she was looking at on her desk.

"Dan, can you come over here and take a look at this?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Just tell me what you think…"

Lucifer stared uselessly at Daniel's head. And he'd come so close. It was almost as if the Detective knew, and didn't want… Oh. He looked at her. No, he was worrying about nothing. Except… she didn't seem very enthused by whatever Daniel was droning on about the case.

"OK," she replied. "Well, I'll take a look into that. Could be something."

"Always glad to help." Daniel's grin vanished on reaching him, as it had a habit of doing lately. The only evidence of Lucifer's morning role as a punch bag was a slight frown, quickly gone. Perhaps the fact his nose was in perfect nick again had wiped his conscience clean.

"Yes," said Lucifer. "Always such a help, Daniel."

"Oh," Daniel said to the Detective as he was about to turn. "One of those witnesses – doesn't speak English very well. So I can look for an interpreter, if you want?"

"Oh…" She nodded.

"Thank you." Lucifer placed a hand on his arm. "But I've got this."

"But you don't know what language she speaks."

Lucifer chortled. "Don't you remember, Daniel? The Chinese mafia? Fighty, fighty? Deary me. Maze, the mafia and Mandarin? And me of course." He flashed his most dashing smile at the Detective.

"Oh –" Something clicked in Daniel's interminably slow brain.

"Ah." Lucifer smiled. "Someone's finally fed the meter."

"Right. You speak everything."

"Because I'm the Devil, yes." He grinned at the Detective again.

But she seemed to be thinking of something else. Because her eyes had taken on a fixed, blank look about them. Probably mulling over their case, professional as she was.

"So," Daniel turned to her. "Want me to find an interpreter?"

Lucifer released his arm in exasperation.

"Chloe?"

"Huh? Oh – yeah." She nodded. "That would be great, Dan, thanks."

Lucifer watched him leave. The Detective was poring over the files on her desk. "Maybe I should fill you in."

"Hmm?" She flipped a paper over.

"The triad. It's a funny story, really." He moved to pull up a chair. "When they suggested we settle things with a fight, Daniel actually thought…"

"Oh, you don't need to." She looked up at him with the perfect smile that always made him feel like he was back in the Silver City.

"I know I don't need to. I want to."

"No, it's OK."

"Really?"

"Yep."

He hesitated with the chair still in his hand. "So everything's OK?"

"Well… yeah." She flipped another page. "Apart from…"

"Yes?" He waited.

"This case is taking forever to get really started. You know?"

He smiled back. "Right."

"But we'll get there, don't worry. We always do."

"Yes." He held his smile, though he wasn't feeling it any more.

Bugger. Linda was right.

-x-

"You'd better not be screwing me about this time." Maze's voice echoed in the empty club as she came down the stairs.

"I'm not, Maze." Lucifer twisted round on the bar stool towards her. She was ready for a fight. But when wasn't she? "My wings have healed. I can take you home. If you still want to?"

"You can. But will you?"

He sighed as he looked at the suspicion coiled into every part of her demonic body. "I will. I'm sorry." He swallowed as he thought of the horror show of the last few weeks. "I should have done it sooner."

The harshness in her eyes dimmed. But like a true demon, she wasn't going to let her rage go so easily. "Show me you mean it." She folded her arms.

He moved away from the bar, and unfurled his wings.

Licking her lips in anticipation, she nodded. "About freaking time, Lucifer."

"I know. And I'm sorry. Again." He held out a hand.

Pacified, she stepped forward.

He smacked his head and laughed. "What am I doing? I almost forgot." And he stepped back to the bar and reached over for the blades.

"You want me to take them back to Hell?"

"They don't belong here. One almost fell into human hands recently. I won't allow that to happen."

"Since when do you care what humans think or see?"

"I don't. But in this case those hands would have been Ella Lopez's. Besides, I don't need them any more."

She jerked her head. "You're keeping them, huh?"

He glanced to his back. "Yes, well," he said with a dismissive smile, "they proved quite useful recently. And they're mine. They come only from me. I know that now."

She took the blades from him, and he watched her turn them thoughtfully in her hands. They were as much part of her as she was of them, forged from the same Hell fires. She didn't really belong here either. He should have realised. "So," he said, "let's get a wriggle on if I'm dropping you home." He held out his hand again and wiggled his fingers. "You'll forgive me if I don't hang around, won't you?"

She considered him. "Tell Decker… I'm sorry. And the kid."

Lucifer smiled.

"And look after yourself."

He chuckled. "Maze, have you forgotten who you're talking to? If there is anything a good Devil does best, it's to look out for my own interests."

-x-

"I only have her interests at heart, doctor."

"I know you do, Lucifer. But Chloe's in denial. No –" she added as he leaned forward on the couch with a grin. "I do not mean the river in Egypt."

"Oh." He sat back. Linda had an annoying habit of spoiling a good joke, even if he had done that one before with her. "You see, she said I wasn't the Devil, not to her."

"That was … before or after?"

"Before. But…" A weight dropped inside him. "She didn't mean it." He looked questioningly at Linda sitting opposite. "Did she?"

"I'm sure she did. But she didn't have all the facts then. Sometimes the truth can change things."

"Yes."

"But it's always worth being truthful. Don't you feel relieved, now she knows?"

"Relieved. Yes." Except why wasn't that damned weight shifting?

"Lucifer. This is not healthy. I think you need to speak to her. Confront her."

He thought about this while Linda continued waffling on. "So what you're saying is I should shock her into acknowledging the truth."

"No."

"I should shake her into seeing sense."

"No."

"I should tell her to pull herself together."

"No–"

"Genius, doctor!" He got up to leave, eager to crack on with this infallible plan. Already he was feeling much, much better.

"Lucif–"

He shut the door and clapped his hands. Although he was still disappointed he wasn't showering Linda with kisses, caresses and whatnots any more, at times like these he was glad he was showering her with cash instead, far more than the piddling amounts she billed him for. Because sometimes the good doctor proved she was worth every single penny.

-x-

"So," said the Detective outside the interview room, "that issue you found that was used to murder Claire Foles – turns out it was her last one as photo editor for the magazine."

"So no coincidence the killer pulled that one out of the stack," said Lucifer.

"The question is, why? Why would the killer care?"

"Someone linked to the magazine? With a vested interest?"

"She'd lost her job. Well paid. Her estranged husband – they were still together when she was fired – he had to get work in a restaurant. They split soon after. Seems he took it badly."

"So badly six months later he decided to feed her final issue to his redundant spouse?"

"That's what we need to find out." She pushed open the interview room door.

"Mr Foles," she said as she took a seat opposite the tired but fit-looking young chap at the table and consulted her notepad. Lucifer followed. "You haven't yet said where you were the morning Claire was killed."

Foles shifted in his chair. "Ask my father."

"You were with your father?"

He folded his arms and shrugged.

"Mr Foles, you're not being very helpful." But it seemed he didn't give much of a damn about that. She turned to Lucifer and cocked her head towards Foles.

"Oh – yes." Lucifer stood up, approached Foles from around the table, and grabbed him by the t-shirt. "Tell us what you know! You're the killer, aren't you? Admit it!"

"Lucifer! What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm confronting him."

"I'm sorry," she said to a scared-looking Foles, "my partner is –" She stopped and stared down at her notes.

"I didn't kill her," he said as Lucifer released his grip. "I didn't."

"Then what did you do?" Lucifer asked. He perched on the table next to Foles and locked eyes with him. "Tell me," he said with a sympathetic smile, "what is your deepest, darkest desire?"

"I –"

Lucifer smiled encouragement. "Yes?"

"I want to make the most beautiful movie about what it means to be human and alive today. And win a truckload of Oscars so everyone who ever rejected me worships me on their knees." He blinked as a disappointed Lucifer returned to his chair next to the Detective.

"OK," she said. "What has that to do with your wife losing her job?"

Foles straightened his t-shirt. "I'd been working on my screenplay for the last four and a half years. I started it a few months after we got married, handed in my notice. She was very supportive. She understood its importance. Then she lost her job. I had to get work in a kitchen. You know how much I've written since then? One freaking page. In six months. It'll never be finished now."

Lucifer shook his head. "And the world will never know how much poorer it is."

"So tell us where you were on the morning your wife died," said the Detective.

Foles tensed up again. "I told you. Ask my father about that."

"We've already spoken with him. We'd like to hear your side."

"He told you I was with him then? Well, then, there you go."

"OK." The Detective gave Lucifer a resigned look. "I think we're done here, Mr Foles. We'll be in touch."

"Well, that wasn't shifty at all," said Lucifer once they'd left the room. "Notice how he carefully avoided supporting his father's alibi?"

"I really did."

"As for him being a failed screenwriter with an axe to grind… If they all had murderous intent, half of LA would be in mortal danger. And if it really was the motive in his case, you'd think he'd have fed his wife his unfilmable epic instead of her final issue."

"I agree. I think there's something else going on here. Something wider. And how could this be linked to Robert Bowers's murder – if it is?" She thought. "I think we should check out his alibi. We need to follow up on Bowers first, though."

-x-

The frizzy-haired bespectacled receptionist at Bowers's old place of work proved to be more forthcoming than Claire Foles's erstwhile hubby.

"He had it all," she said, sitting behind the front desk of the sales room. "Beautiful wife, company car, house, a cushy job here. Until he decided to try driving the boss's car on a bottle of wine."

A door opened behind them, and a burst of lady giggles turned Lucifer's head. "Congrats on your new house, ladies! Just head on over there for the paperwork," said a portly man with questionable hair and a salesman's leer as he pointed the two women towards Lucifer. He welcomed them with an appreciative smile. One pored over a brochure while the other returned his look.

"What about his clients?" the Detective asked the receptionist. "Did he know anyone called Foles?"

"Lemme see." She punched the keyboard. "Fitzimmons, Fong. Nope. No Foles. At least it isn't here."

"OK, thanks. Let us know if you hear anything?"

"Sure. Hey, y'all know he owes the boss a ton of money, right? He felt sorry for him when he said he was gonna lose the house." She leaned forward over the desk and lowered her voice. "We all knew the bastard was using it to pay his lawyers."

The Detective nodded. "So he was in denial about his insolvency."

"Denial!"

Everyone looked at Lucifer.

"Not about me," he reassured them. "For a change. No, it's –" He looked at the Detective, but she was giving him those soulful eyes, and he swallowed it back.

Sensing he had finished, they drifted away, the receptionist dealing with one of the women, while the Detective headed for the portly chap's door. Lucifer turned to the delectable young lady still hovering loyally next to him. "A river in Egypt," he told her. She gave him an empty smile and undressed him with her eyes. "Yes," he said cheerfully to no one in particular. He straightened his suit and gazed across the lobby at the Detective.

This confrontation business was trickier than it sounded. At least it was with her. He would have to play dirty. He allowed himself a sly smirk. Fortunately, dirty was his favourite kind of playing.

-x-

Lucifer's phone rang. He answered it. "Detective! You've caught me in the middle of some… thing." He smirked at the naked young picture of loveliness named Felicity sprawled across his bed.

"Lucifer? Have you seen the Bowers's file?" There was a sound like papers being shuffled. "I can't find it anywhere."

"Yes. I have it."

"You have it?"

"Yes. Here. In my penthouse. I've been indulging in a spot of homework." He grinned at Felicity.

"It's three in the afternoon. I need the file, Lucifer."

"Apologies, but I can't come right now." At all. He gave Felicity an apologetic look. "And don't you usually retrieve your offspring from school around this time? So why not just pop in here on the way?"

She didn't answer. She was onto him. Was she? Who was he kidding – this was Detective Chloe Decker. Of course she was onto him. "I'll be right there," she said at last. "Have the file ready." She ended the call.

"Right," said Lucifer, tossing the phone onto the bed. "Do you mind if we finish this later?" he asked a very patient Felicity. "My apologies. I don't usually stop at third base. But duty calls."

He left her to put on her clothes while he went for a shower.

When he came back in, buttoning up his shirt, she was dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, wrestling with a shoe. "Chop, chop." He helped her with the straps. "I promise I'll make it up to you, my dear."

He saw her out with a smile.

"Right," he said to himself once she'd gone. "Now for the tricky bit."

He studied his pale face in the mirror behind the bar. Linda had better be right about this. Or he was about to make a horrible mistake. The man in the mirror appeared to believe he was. "Scotch first, I think!" he told him, and poured and drank it in one. Then poured and drank another. And then lit a cigarette.

The elevator numbers began to move up from zero. Crap.

He stubbed out his cigarette and wafted the smoke away so she wouldn't smell it. As if that would be the thing she would notice.

When he was ready, he examined his reflection until he was satisfied. If this didn't shake sense into the Detective, nothing would.

He faced the elevator as it pinged open.

A/N: If you prefer Lucifer acting more mature, don't worry, he will grow up as the story goes along - I just want to keep this occasionally fun, especially at the start.