S01E01: Pilot

Lucifer couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled out of him as Jimmy screamed. The sound of his terrified cries, the smell of his fear, the look of panic as he saw his damnation in Lucifer's hellfire eyes, all before he dissolved into a blithering wreck, pulled a cruel smile across the Devil's raw lips. It felt...good, satisfying, this need...this...want he hadn't realized he'd had, to exact punishment. Not just for Delilah, but for himself. To reclaim a piece of himself that had been lying all but dormant, buried under five years worth of parties, sex, and drugs.

A labored breath drug his attention back from his small Hell-on-Earth. He slid his hand almost lovingly down Jimmy's cheek, relishing the feeling of the raw skin of his hand scraping down the human's stubble, allowing the claw of his index finger to drag a little, not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a pale red mark in its wake, before dropping the human stain and leaving him to collapse in an undignified heap of incoherence.

Lucifer shifted his appearance, banishing the monster within, and allowing the...other to return, before turning back to the Detective.

"Bloody hell" he muttered as he looked down on her. The puddle of blood beneath her had grown considerably and he feared for a moment that she'd die from that if nothing else. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized, as he kneeled over her, "guess I got a little caught up in the moment." Her frantic eyes locked with his and he faltered for a moment, struck with the sudden realization that if this mere mortal would die, the blade of grief would be plunged deep.

"Right," he said, as he tore his gaze away from hers. "Let's see what we've got, shall we?"

He grabbed a hold of her shirt collar and tore it slightly, the light fabric yielding readily to his light touch. He could decipher little from the wound. As extensive as his knowledge was of human anatomy, he could not discern through the blood and the small hole what damage had been done. The only clear indication of the extent of the bullet's damage was the ever-growing pool of blood and harsh sound of her breathing.

"This would be so much easier if I still had my wings," he told her with a self-deprecating smile. The admission had him reaching for the amputated limbs, drawing phantom pains to the stumps buried in his back. He looked back to her, the fear in her eyes refocusing him to the task at hand. He reached up to cup her cheek. "I can't heal you," he told her, regret heavy in his words, "but...perhaps I can hold onto you. If you allow me."

Lucifer took her hand in his and held it tightly against his chest, whilst the other continued to caress her cheek. "Chloe," he called to her. She was looking at him, but not really. Her gaze was turned other-ward and unfocused.

"Chloe, I need you to look at me," Lucifer demanded, his tone gentle but leaving no room to be ignored, dragging her back from the threshold where no doubt Azrael was waiting. "Hold on to me," he ordered, clutching her hand tighter as he pressed it against his chest, anchoring not just her body but her soul to his.

"Trix!" Dan called loudly, essentially shouting from the kitchen to be heard over the overly-loud TV in the other room. "You want chocolate syrup on your ice cream?"

"Duh!"

Dan couldn't help but smile, shaking his head at his daughter's antics as he took the Hershey's syrup out of the fridge. He'd just finished topping both bowls off with a generous helping of chocolaty goodness when his phone rang, the caller ID displaying an unknown number.

"Espinoza," he answered distractedly, pinching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he returned the syrup to the fridge.

"Dan, it's Paolucci."

Dan frowned into his fridge, wondering why the hell Tony was calling him. He hadn't even realized the other detective had his personal number.

"I'm down here at KMB Recording Studios, on Washington Blvd." Paolucci continued, before Dan could voice his confusion. "Turns out that bit...that wife of yours got shot making an arrest on Jimmy Barnes. EMTs are taking her over to Dignity."

Dan froze, fridge only half closed, the motion aborted as he tried to process what Paolucci had just told him. But the only thing his shock-addled brain could muster was a confused "What?" followed by a half-whispered "Is she alright?"

"Fuck do I know. She was conscious when the EMTs took her, but apart from that…"

Dan licked his lips, attempting to push down the worry growing in the pit of his stomach, before shaking his head. "Right. Dignity?" he confirmed.

"Yeah, Dignity."

"Ok. Thanks...thanks, Tony."

"Sure."

"Shit," Dan muttered, looking down at the bowls of melting ice cream. He stood there, locked in place, the thought 'Chloe's been shot' running on repeat through his mind.

"Dad! Hurry up!"

Trixie. "Ok, kiddo!" He called back, forcing his thoughts to stop spiraling. Compartmentalize. He could do this. "Shit," he muttered again as he picked back up his phone and scrolled through the contacts.

"Hola mamá. ¿Podrías ver a Trixie durante unas horas? Chloe se lastimó en el trabajo y necesito ir al hospital."

Snatching up the two bowls, Dan shouldered the freezer open and stuck them inside. "No no. Ella está bien. Ok, en realidad, no sé ... no sé nada. Acabo de recibir la llamada."

"No, no se lo he dicho."

"No quiero que se preocupe, especialmente si no hay nada de qué preocuparse."

"Gracias mamá. La dejaré de camino al hospital. Te veo pronto. También te amo, adiós."

"Daddy?" Trixie yelled from the other room, "you're missing it!"

"Sorry, Munchkin," Dan apologized as he made his way back into the living room, allowing his regret for his daughter to mask his concern for his wife. "But Minions are going to have to wait."

"Why?"

Dan couldn't help but grimace at the thoroughly dejected tone of her question. It tore at his heart, but he couldn't see anyway around breaking hers. Again. "Work called," he told her as he crouched down beside her on the couch, "and Daddy's going to have to go out." It wasn't a lie, not quite the truth either, but he could at least find comfort in the fact that even though he was breaking her heart, he wasn't lying to her.

"Can't I come with you?" She asked, small and dejected, looking at him with a sadness that cut him to the bone. "Please."

"You know you can't. I'm going to drop you at Litta's, so I need you to run upstairs and grab your pajamas and toothbrush and put them in your overnight bag."

"Ok," she said, her disappointment almost palpable, as she slid off the couch and shuffled towards the stairs.

Dan blew out a breath as he stood up. He ran his fingers through his hair as he watched his daughter sulk up the stairs. He hated hurting her, but it was all he seemed to be doing recently. He was constantly being pulled away, usually by work, being forced to break promises. At least tonight, though she'd never know it, it was for a good reason.

It didn't take long before she was shuffling back down the stairs, her overnight bag dragging behind, accenting each of her steps with a woeful thump as it followed her descent. "You got everything?" he asked, coming to pick up her bag once she made it to the bottom.

"Yeah," was her detached response.

"Ok, let's go then," he said, placing his hand on her back to gently push her towards the door.

Lucifer grimaced as he shifted position in the pitiful excuse for a chair. His side was killing him. It was uncharacteristically tender and the cheap plastic he was currently perched on was doing nothing to alleviate the pain radiating up and down his ribcage.

It was concerning. Mostly because it shouldn't be there in the first place. He'd been tempted to see to it, but hadn't wanted to leave his vigil over the Detective as it was. There were still two uniformed officers mulling around, but none of them seemed truly concerned. It was as if the Detective truly had ostracized herself completely from her colleagues, both beneath and equal to her. Which was the reason he'd stayed, or so he told himself. So that she wouldn't wake up alone. That, and he wanted to be sure that he hadn't stuck his neck out for nothing.

Tethering her soul to the Earthly plane was potentially enough selfish use of divinity, enough tampering with humanity, to piss off dear old Dad enough to send someone other than Amenadiel. Someone less sympathetic and unwilling to bargain with the family's castaway. Like Michael or Gabriel. With them, there would be no discussion. They would toss him back down to Hell without so much as a by your leave. And without his wings, there'd be little he could do to stop it and nothing he could do to get back. It had been foolish, risking so much for this nobody. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd never done anything more right in his entire existence.

The emergency doors burst open at that moment, breaking his reverie and dragging his attention to the person responsible. The detective's ex-maggot. Lucifer watched as he crossed the room, spoke briefly with the intake nurses, before finally turning his attention to the uniformed officers. He couldn't hear what was said given the distance and the prattle of the news anchor on the many television screens. It ended when one of the two officers pointed in his direction.

Lucifer remained the image of composure as the Douche approached, leaning back in the torturous seat, despite the discomfort that flamed up his side, casually crossing his legs and resting his hands upon his thighs.

"What the hell did you do?" the Douche demanded, hands resting defensively on his hips as he attempted to loom over him.

"You mean other than save her life?" Lucifer asked, exuding innocence.

"A situation, I'm sure, she wouldn't have been in if it wasn't for you."

"Now hold on," Lucifer demanded, as he rose smoothly to his feet, forcing the smaller man back, his ire growing despite himself. He in no way needed to defend himself to this human, but he'd defend her.

"She was the one that put the pieces together, discovered what Jimmy was up to, and insisted on going in alone. A situation, as I understand it, that's been perpetuated repeatedly by your lack of support." He smiled knowingly as the other man flinched, revelving in the effect his words had on the lesser being in front of him. "Seems to me you should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?" the ex-maggot asked incredulously, "for what, almost getting her killed?"

"For taking your place," Lucifer retorted, voice like silk. "For filling the opening that you left, because, otherwise," he paused briefly, "she'd be dead." He met the other man's eyes, forcing his attention with only the smallest hint of his power. "And the guilt," he tutted, "the guilt of it would drag you down, deep into your own self-made hell."

Dan couldn't look away. Truth was, he didn't want to look away. He was both equal parts terrified and enthralled. A cold sweat broke out and he was subconsciously aware of it rolling down both his spine and temple. He couldn't breathe. His chest continued to rise and fall, but no air was getting in. He was suffocating in the depths of the other man's gaze, could almost see the hell he spoke of, could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, crushing him.

"Family of Chloe Decker?"

The words called loudly across the room broke whatever hold the other man had had on him, and Dan was able to look away. He took a cautious step back, before taking a deep breath and nervously licking his lips. "You just stay the hell away from her," he told Morningstar, the threat ringing hollow to his own ears. "You hear me," he added, trying to strengthen his resolve, "stay the hell away."

Dan turned to the staff member who'd called for him, presenting his back to Morningstar. An act that should have conveyed dismissal, but only left him feeling exposed, as if a seed of fear was deposited into his stomach.

"That's me," he said to the staffer. "How is she?"

"If you'll follow me." He said as he gestured towards a wall of doors.

The doors, it turned out, led to a small conference room. Big enough to hold a small table with four chairs surrounding it, two on either side, with a second door leading out opposite of where he'd entered. Dan took the seat that was offered to him by the staffer before the man excused himself with a promise that the doctor would be with him shortly.

Dan was glad to put some distance between himself and the weirdo nightclub owner. The guy took freak to a whole new level. Between the whole devil bit - whether it was an act or a delusion was irrelevant, crazy was crazy - and the hypnotic staring, it left him feeling downright unnerved.

Dan all but jumped at the light knock on the door set opposite to him. "Mr. Decker?" a female, the doctor if he were to guess, confirmed.

"It's Espinoza," he corrected, before explaining. "Chloe kept her maiden name. How is she?"

"It was a little touch and go there at the beginning. She lost a lot of blood due to the bullet tearing the subclavian vein. Luckily, it wasn't the artery, but even so, large veins can cause significant blood loss. However, aside from that, there was relatively little tissue damage. All in all, we expect her to make a full recovery."

Dan sighed in relief. "So she's going to be ok?"

"Barring any unforeseen complications, she should be good as new in a few weeks."

Dan bit back a laugh, overwrought from dispelled tension, before wiping at his eyes, surprised to find moisture there. "Can I see her?"

"She's in recovery right now. In an hour or so, she'll be moved into her own room and you can see her then."

"Thank you."

The doctor nodded as she stood up. "If you'll head back out into the waiting room, someone will let you know as soon as she's allowed visitors."

Dan nodded, before he stood and shook the doctor's hand. "Thank you, again."

"You're welcome."

Dan took a minute to further compose himself before returning to the waiting room. He found that while the two uniforms were still there, Morningstar wasn't.

"Where'd the nightclub owner go?"

"Last I saw, he was headed towards the restrooms."

Dan nodded, as he glanced in the direction of the men's room before turning back to the officers. "What's his story? Why was he with Detective Decker?"

One of the uniforms shrugged. "He was on scene when we showed up. Refused to leave. Insisted on riding in the ambulance with her. And we just," he frowned, as if he were struggling to recall events. "We couldn't...couldn't say no. None of us could."

"He wouldn't let go of her hand," the other added. "And she was fixated on him. Like if she looked away that was it. Weirdest thing I've ever seen."

Dan looked back towards the restrooms, narrowing his eyes as if glaring at the nightclub owner through the wall. "Did he give a statement?" he asked, keeping his eye on the restrooms.

"Not yet."

"Alright." Dan said as he finally turned back to the officers. "The doctor said she's out of the woods and that it might be a few hours before she's allowed visitors. Why don't you guys head out. I'll get Morningstar's statement and notify the precinct when Decker's awake and able to give hers."

The two men nodded before turning and walking back out the emergency room's double doors. Dan watched them go for a minute before moving off in the direction of the restrooms. He pushed the door open and found Morningstar standing in front of the mirror, jacket removed and shirt pulled up, exposing his right side. Dark blues and purples camouflaged the entirety of the exposed skin, radiating out from what looked like three distinct impact points, almost like old paintball or pellet gun welts.

The bruising in and of itself wasn't what was strange, at least not overtly. After all, Dan had no idea what weird ass shit Morningstar was into and quite frankly he didn't want to know. What was strange; however, was the utterly dumbfounded look on the other man's face. Like this was the first time he'd seen what had to be four to five day old bruising given the size and coloring of the marks. Upon noticing his arrival, Morningstar, with feigned indifference, lowered the shirt and tucked it back in, unable to hide the wince as he did. Dan however, was more interested in the three small holes in the now replaced garment.

"How's the Detective?" Morningstar asked, pulling Dan's attention from the damaged clothing.

"Doctor said she should be fine."

"Wonderful. Then I guess my work here is done."

He went to move past, but Dan stepped over blocking the door, holding up a hand to stop him. "Not yet." At Morningstar's raised eyebrow, he continued, "I told the officers out front that I'd get your statement. Plus, I'm going to need your clothes." Morningstar practically leered at him for that comment, causing Dan to scoff. "As evidence. They're covered in blood."

"Right," Morningstar replied, before taking a step back to lean casually if not gingerly against the sink. He then gestured to Dan in a take-it-away manner.

"Not here. I'll see if I can't get us access to one of the small conference rooms you meet with the doctors in and get a hazmat bag for your clothes. Do you have someone you can call to bring you something else to wear, or should I ask for a pair of scrubs or something?"

Morningstar scoffed at that. "I will not subject myself to sandpaper articles of the healthcare profession, thank you. Mazikeen can bring me something, but I'll need to borrow your phone."

Dan looked at him in disbelief. "You don't have a phone?"

"Downfall of society, if you ask me."

"Whatever, man." Dan took his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He hesitated a moment before handing the device over. "Don't make me regret this."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Dan couldn't stop from shaking his head yet again. "Just...meet me back in the waiting room when you're done."

"Of course."

Dan gave the nightclub owner one last warning look before leaving the restroom. He quickly secured both a room for their interview and a bag for Morningstar's clothes, during which time Morningstar re-emerged from the men's room. Dan herded him into the small conference room and motioned for him to sit, which he did with an air of graceful boredom.

"If it's alright with you," Dan started, "I'm going to record this on my cell phone."

"Absolutely. I have nothing to hide."

Dan opened his voice memo app, hit record, and set the phone down on the table between them. "Can you state your full name for the record."

"Lucifer Morningstar."

"Can you describe the events leading up to you and Detective Decker arriving at KMB Recording Studios?"

"The Detective and I were at Lux sharing a drink, discussing the case...amongst other things. When we heard about the skyrocketing sales of Delilah's last album on the news. The Detective put together that Jimmy orchestrated Delilah's last rise of fame by using the watch she gave him to pay for her murder. A quick call to Jimmy's office gave us his location and off we went."

The almost playful manner in which Morningstar relayed the events grated on him. As if neither of their safeties mattered. "And neither of you thought to call in for backup?"

Morningstar shrugged. "As I told you earlier, my understanding was that there wasn't anyone to make that call to."

Dan scoffed, but he couldn't truly dispute the claim. "What happened when you got there?"

"The Detective and I confronted Jimmy. In response, he produced a gun and acquired a human shield. I placed myself between Jimmy and the Detective, intent on administering the much deserved punishment, at which time Jimmy turned the gun on me, and the Detective foolishly opened fire."

"Detective Decker shot first?"

"She felt my life was in danger."

"But you didn't?"

"Devil, remember," he stated as if he were speaking to someone a little slow on the uptake, "means I'm immortal."

"Right." Dan said before leaning forward. "How did Detective Decker get shot?"

Morningstar looked away at the question, something close to guilt flickering across his face. "I thought Jimmy's wound to be fatal and might have...distracted the Detective as a result."

"Distracted her?"

"I may have...accused her of denying Jimmy his punishment."

Dan raised an eyebrow at that. "Care to elaborate on that?"

"No. All that matters is that I distracted her, distracted us, and Jimmy was able to fire off two rounds. One of which struck the Detective."

"So it was your fault?" he accused. The anger and frustration and worry that had been building up inside of him all night threatening to boil over.

The look Morningstar turned on him made Dan's breath catch in his throat. Jesus, it was almost as if they literally burned with fury. "No. Jimmy Barnes is the only one at fault here."

"Ok," Dan conceded, raising his hands slightly in a placating manner. He paused to take a calming breath as Morningstar turned away and, damn if he couldn't find another word for it, released him. He cleared his throat, before asking, "what happened next?"

Morningstar shrugged, once again the picture of playful indifference. "I enacted my punishment on Jimmy and then proceeded to save the Detective's life."

"How'd you get the holes in your shirt?"

Morningstar looked confused for a moment, before realizing. "Oh! That's where Jimmy shot me."

Dan blinked. Wait, what? "Barnes shot you?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

Morningstar pursed his lips as if considering. "Three times in the side, twice in the chest, and once in the leg. Though the leg was more of a graze. I think it's safe to say that at that point panic was affecting his aim."

"You're telling me Jimmy Barnes shot you six times?"

"Yes."

"And you expect me to believe that?" Dan wakes incredulously. "Believe that a six times over gunshot victim is sitting here...completely fine."

"Well, not completely, as you noticed. Strange, that," he muttered, more to himself than to Dan.

Dan felt the anger returning. "You're telling me that the four-to-five-day-old bruises I saw are from Jimmy Barnes shooting you. Tonight."

"Yes." Morningstar replied with a hint of exasperation, as if Dan was the one being unreasonable. "Think of me what you will, Detective, but I don't lie."

"Sure." Dan conceded, if the man truly believed his own delusions, then technically they weren't lies. "Anything else you want to add."

Morningstar shook his head. "Nope. I think that about does it."

Dan nodded just as there was a knock on the door leading back out into the waiting room.

"Mazikeen Smith is here," the staffer said after he stuck his head inside.

"Thanks," Dan replied as he reached across the table and stopped the recording. As he stood up he once again addressed Morningstar. "I need you to strip down and put everything in the bag. Clothes, belt, shoes, everything. Then you can go. I'll be waiting outside."

"Sure you don't want to stay and watch?" Morningstar leered as he stood gracefully and began unbuttoning his shirt.

Dan didn't respond, just shook his head in disbelief as he slipped outside, brushing past Morningstar's bartender on his way out.

Maze glared at the human as she pushed past him into the room she'd been told held Lucifer. She didn't understand it, Lucifer's sudden obsession with these humans, these detectives. And what she didn't understand infuriated her.

She'd been patient these past five years. Mostly because she'd had no other option. He was her King and she was sworn to him. That and she literally had no other option. He was her only way home. So she'd waited, biding her time with sex and drugs and other Earthly pleasures. Waiting for him to tire of the monotony of it. But he hadn't. And now, this woman...this human had thrown more fuel on an already raging fire. She found it difficult not to break the door as she slammed it shut behind her.

Lucifer looked up at her from where he was undoing his shirt. "Dearie me, Maze. What's gotten into you?" There was a playfulness to his tone, but then when wasn't there, these days? "Did I spoil your night? If I have, I'll be sure to make it up to you."

She laughed, more in frustration than anything, but any retort she might come up with died on her lips as she took in the sight of him. The bruising along his side, fading from purple to greenish-yellow, and two welts marking his chest. She closed the distance between them in two short strides, tossing the garment bag she'd been carrying on the table as she passed it. She traced her fingers over the wounded flesh, but didn't touch. "Where is he?" She demanded, making no attempt to mask her rage.

Lucifer sighed in what might be called disgusted fondness before reaching past her for the discarded garment bag. "He's not here, Maze, and this," he said as he gestured to the blemished skin, "was not his doing."

"Then who?"

"Not who, but what."

"What?" She practically barked, rage giving way in part to confusion and, though she was loathe to admit it, concern. "The only thing that should be capable of doing something like that to you are these," she said as she withdrew her knives. "And they don't bruise, they pierce."

"Yes, well...perhaps we might need to add bullets to that list as well."

"Perhaps?" She asked. As if the evidence was blatantly obvious.

"Yes. They didn't break the skin, only bruised, so…"

"How can you be so flippant about this?" she interrupted, incredulous.

"Come now, Maze, what is life without a little mystery? Hmm?"

Maze watched in disbelief as he smoothed nonexistent wrinkles out of his fresh suit, knowing he was dismissing her. "Now be a dear and give that to the Detective out there. The douchey one you passed on the way in. I'll meet you in the car."

Maze barely resisted the urge to plunge her knives into his back as he sauntered past. Quelching her anger and concern, she sheeth her knives, snatched up the bag of ruined clothing and followed her King out of the room.