Hey everyone!

"L'Étoile du Matin" is done TT The next part "Des Ténèbres naquit la Lumière" will come after the end of this story. It's time to continue "Le Diable n'a jamais peur"! Happy? I am!

Well this chapter isn't really joyful...

But I hope you'll like it anyway!

Enjoy and let a review: D

THE SORROW

Linda put the file that had occupied her for several minutes in the drawer of her desk. This day finally came to an end. She finally could have a break. The young woman settled herself a little more comfortably on her seat, thus relieving the dull twinge between her shoulders. Linda removed her glasses and placed them on the desk, rubbing gently with her other hand the edge of her nose irritated by her frame.

She was exhausted. Listening to people for hours and their problems was much more time-consuming than we might think. Definitely more tiring. And Linda was actually exhausted tonight. Going home and enjoying the rest of her evening was pretty tempting.

If she managed to finish her paperwork.

Linda gently opened her eyes and put her glasses back on her nose. She reached her hand toward her desk lamp and turned it off, plunging the back of the room into darkness. Only occasional cars briefly enlightened her office with their headlights. The young woman stood up and walked slowly to the sofa near the door.

It was time to go home. Go home and savor this bottle of wine offered by Lucifer for her birthday. It certainly was a great vintage, knowing him. She couldn't wait to taste it...with a warm bath to relax her sore muscles.

A wonderful program.

Linda leaned toward the lamp near the sofa, but straightened up quickly as she heard a broken glass noise from the outside. She turned to the door, intrigued. She should have been the last person into the building at this time. She had no other appointment either. The therapist slowly approached the office door, worried.

Who could it be? And what did this person want?

It couldn't be a wandering cat! This kind of ridiculous storyline only worked in horror movies. It wasn't a movie, but reality. Linda took a deep breath, grasping the handle with one hand, trying to calm down. Slowly, she turned the handle and slightly opened the door. The corridor was almost totally plunged into darkness, preventing her to distinguish anything.

The young woman continued to stare anxiously at the darkness without leaving her office. Another sound rang a little farther down the corridor, opposite to her office. Noise quickly followed by a curse mumbled by a voice with a very characteristic accent.

British accent.

Linda opened the door wide before turning the lightning in the corridor on, staring incredulously at the spectacle offered to her a little further.

She watched Lucifer forcefully turn the handle of the door leading to the broom closet, cursing frequently against its lack of cooperation. She couldn't distinguish his face from here, Lucifer facing the stubborn door. However, Linda was able to notice the wretchedness in which her patient was.

His black hair – usually perfectly coiffed – was here only a mass of rebellious locks trying to reproduce the coat of a porcupine to perfection. He was wearing his usual white shirt with a black vest over it. His shirt miserably out of his pants, partially unbuttoned. The collar was crumpled and shapeless around his neck. He mumbled once more before knocking the door with his fist, his other hand forcefully holding an half-emptied bottle.

Linda opened her mouth before closing it quickly, puzzled as the spectacle offered by Lucifer. She noticed near the window some broken glass on the floor : single remains of the vase previously there. An indirect victim of Lucifer's terrible state.

A state that created a lot of interrogation in the therapist's mind. What could have happened to put him in such deplorable state? An important question among many others. Linda stepped into the corridor without moving away from the entrance of her own office.

" Lucifer?! What are y-…?", she exclaimed, finally drawing his attention to her.

The latter stopped to pound on the door of the broom closet, finally turning his face towards the therapist. And finally allowing her to totally grasp the gravity of his condition. Deep dark circles streaked the bottom of his eyes, which were much darker than usual. He was frightfully pale, his stubble accentuated the wrinkles of fatigue on his face. He focused his blurry look on the young woman, a silly smile quickly appearing on his lips:

" Doctor! I was looking for you! Did you move your office? ", he asked her, pointing vaguely at the door he was trying to smash open a little earlier.

Linda narrowed her eyes - confused – before pointing her hand to her office:

" No...My office is right here, Lucifer. That's the broom closet...", she informed him, still continuing to observe with a critical eye his slightest gestures.

Lucifer looked alternately the closet door and the opened door leading to her office, each time frowning more his eyebrows before bursting out laughing. He leaned heavily against the door, drinking a long sip of alcohol from the bottle. He straightened up and walked awkwardly to her office, passing before her without saying a word to half collapse on the sofa. An act which made him laugh uncontrollably.

Linda stared at him for a moment, puzzled, before closing the door of her office. Lucifer straightened up as best as he could, falling once more lamentably against the cushions before standing upright, a new silly smile on his lips.

" Lucifer...Are you alright? " , asked the therapist, more and more worried.

She'd never seen him like this. Not even after Uriel's death. He was far beyond. This was very troubling.

Lucifer nodded absently and stammered in an uncertain voice:

" I feel perfectlyyyyyyyyyy fine, Dr. ! I am on cloud nine! "

He laughed again, leaning his body forward for a few seconds before drinking another sip of alcohol. He tried to explain – awkwardly – something to Linda:

" Cloud...Did you get it? That's a...a...reference...t-...to...! ", he laughed, pointing a finger at the ceiling.

The therapist opened her mouth again before closing it, dismayed. Before being able to say anything to him, Lucifer walked with a hesitant step towards the piece of furniture in which the basket and its famous decorative balls of fine wood were placed. He put the practically empty bottle next to it and took two balls in each hand, looking at them with great interest. He turned to Linda, pointing them out:

" I'm sure this is for juggling! Do you love circus? "

" Lucifer...", she whispered, gently approaching him.

The latter began to throw balls into the air, trying to catch them in mid-air. A complete failure. The decorative balls fell on the floor in a muffled noise before rolling a little further into the room. Lucifer let out a groan of frustration and took back the bottle behind him.

" Lucifer...", Linda tried again, the latter finally focusing his blurry gaze on her. " Are you...drunk? "

He didn't say anything for a few seconds, seeming seriously to think about this possibility. He finally shrugged, uncertain. Lucifer reeled dangerously on his feet before leaning against the window.

" I think so...'Hard to say, really...This bloody supernatural metabolism keeps going to give me a hard time. But I guess that a massive dose of alcohol and illicit substances can get rid of it after all...", he said, examining the contents of the bottle with an uncertain look.

" How many glasses did you drink? ", asked his therapist once more, coming closer to him.

She watched carefully his pupils: they were indeed dilated, the white of his eyes strewn with fine red veins. He actually smacked of alcohol. And even more than that. What had happened to disrupt him so much? Linda's last question made Lucifer laugh again, the latter bursting out laughing as she opened her very troubled patient's eyelids with her fingertips.

" Glasses? Are you listening to me, Dr. ? About supernatural metabolism? I need more than a glass to have some fun...Ask me how many bottles, instead! " , he replied as he gently moved her aside.

Linda watched him go to the sofa and sit down there roughly. She stood by the window, quiet. She still didn't know why he was here and under the influence of alcohol.

" How many bottles, Lucifer? ", she asked, worried about his answer.

How many bottles did it take to deaden a body with unusual abilities? To deaden the Devil's metabolism? Probably much more then she actually could imagine. That anyone could imagine. Lucifer cogitated a long time again, pinching his lips strongly under concentration.

" I really don't know...I think I drank the entire Lux's storehouse, so...One hundred? One hundred and fifty bottles, maybe? ", he suggested after a while.

Linda didn't reply, too stunned and too worried to say anything. She looked at him for a moment without saying anything, trying to give a valid reason for his behavior. It was Lucifer. And Lucifer was quite stubborn to avoid direct contact with his emotions. In its entirety. He avoided dealing with negative emotions in general. This oversized drinking hid something. Something that made him suffer. That he wished at all costs to bury deep down somewhere.

But it wouldn't work.

Problems didn't vanish so easily. On the contrary.

The therapist sat down beside him without a word. Lucifer leaned his elbows on his knees, the bottle against his leg. He deliberately avoided her gaze, hoping to prevent her from asking questions with unpleasant answers. Linda put a hand on his shoulder, claiming to be comforting. He closed his eyes, a long sigh escaped from his lips, releasing his body from the unbearable tension stuck into it.

" Lucifer...What happened? ", she asked softly, holding her hand on his shoulder.

He stared at a point before him, quiet and drank another sip of alcohol under her insistent look. He deeply sad smile was born on his face.

" Oh, just the usual drama...Nothing more. ", he whispered, running his hand though his hair.

" Someone's dead?! ", Linda yelled, remembering the latest drama.

Lucifer let out a mocking exclamation with a bitter aftertaste. He gently rubbed his thumb against the bottle, pensive.

" If only, Doctor. I'd have preferred...I-...I'd have preferred to be de-…", he mumbled before stopping talking, a worrying gleam in his eyes.

He straightened up quickly and walked back to the window, searching frantically something in his pockets. He finally pulled out his phone and began dialing a number as the therapist continued to stared at him, puzzled.

" Who are you calling, Lucifer? "

" Mazikeen. She must have it... ", he mumbled, bringing the device to his ear, still dangerously reeling on his feet.

" Have...what? ", Linda asked, intrigued.

" The Blade! ", he yelled, on edges.

Linda stared at him, muddled. What blade was he talking about? She didn't...

She widened her eyes with terror before straightening up as quickly as possible. The therapist snatched the phone from Lucifer's hand, the latter cursing under this physical raid. Raid which disrupted his precarious balance. Lucifer reeled a little more before falling to the floor on his butt, another curse escaping him. He dropped the bottle, which rolled to the door, the rest of the alcohol flowing and soaking the carpet. Linda threw the phone on the other side of the room, furious and stared down at Lucifer.

He stood sitting down on the floor, the back of his skull against the wall, his blurry, hatred look on her. She couldn't believe he was seriously ready to...No. He wasn't. The alcohol was responsible here. Not him. Alcohol and that thing that tormented him. The therapist crouched in front of him. Lucifer looked away, determined to express his annoyance.

" Lucifer. ", she insisted softly, but firmly.

He agreed to look her in the eye, swallowing with difficulty, feeling uncomfortable.

" What happened? "

He looked at her without saying a word, an immense emotion reflecting in his dilated pupils. He looked so...vulnerable at that moment. Linda worried all the more about the reasons that had led him to behave like this. He answered in one breath one single word. A name that explained everything:

" Chloe."

Linda saw Lucifer's eyes cloud by simply telling this name. Simple and so full of meaning. A slight hiccup escaped him and he raised his hand to his chest, pulling forcefully the fabric of his shirt at the level of his heart. Lucifer stared against into his therapist's eyes, a disconcerted look...confused. Betraying a deep suffering.

" Help me...I've had enough...W-...Why? ", he stammered.

He gripped more the fabric between his fingers, almost tearing it, a grimace of pain on his trembling lips. Linda looked at him without understanding.

" Why...what, Lucifer? "

" Why this is so painful here?! ", shouted the latter, pointing to his chest. " I want it to stop! Make it stop, doctor...I can't take it anymore...I...I ca-…"

Linda saw one tear, then a second and another one gently flowing down Lucifer's unshaven cheeks. He continued to implored her with his eyes, disconcerted by the situation, by this flood of emotions and pain that took possession of his body. He moved his trembling hand to his wet cheek, watching the tears flowing down his fingers.

Linda sighed softly, sincerely sorry to see him so and took him gently in her arms. Lucifer remained still in this embrace before closing his arms around the therapist and burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder.

" Make it stop... ", he begged her one last time.

She tightened her grip around his shoulders. Offering a protective embrace to the man in tears in her arms.

To the Devil.

Being prey to the most basic of human emotions.

The sorrow.

To be continued with..." Maybe "

" Think about it, Lucifer...How did you feel the next morning when you realized she was gone? "

Lucifer opened his mouth again in order to give her a stinging answer, but closed it very quickly. He tried to revive the sensations he had felt before meeting her on the crime scene. What had he felt?

" I felt...I... I had a knot in my stomach and... ", he stammered, lost in thought.

" Were you... anxious? ", his therapist helped him, a slight smile on her lips.

Lucifer looked Linda in the eye, quickly turning his head away, feeling uncomfortable. He sat up, his muscles stiffened by tension. He swallowed before answering in a breath, before barely admitting to his feelings:

" Maybe... "

Told you...not joyful at all! ^^

Thanks for reading me so far. Let a little review as always and see you next Monday for the next chapter :p