((AN – Okay, so this is a bit of a departure in that it takes place mainly between Luci and an OC. I had the storyline in my head and I just couldn't make it work with any of the characters we knew so, hello OC. If you're not a fan of work containing OCs, please feel free to skip this chapter.))


POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING: Mention of suicide – no details, just referenced.


"Excuse me, Mr. Morningstar, may I speak to you for a minute?" the young woman said as she stepped up beside Lucifer at the bar.

Lucifer looked at her and grinned. The silver dress she wore barely contained her ample bosom and was so short that she was one thoughtless bend from an indecent exposure arrest. She was pretty, on the taller side, nice legs, but something was off about her appearance. She looked like she was somehow trying to stand out and hide simultaneously.

"Sorry to disappoint, miss, but I'm a married man now and as such tabs can no longer be settled with sexual escapades," he told her.

"Oh, n-no, that's not, I…" she stammered and even in the dim lighting he could see that her face flushed at the suggestion. "I needed to…" She attempted to discretely pull the front of the dress up, but that only served to slide the hemline closer to revealing areas which he was certain she'd rather not. "Never mind. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you. Good evening, Mr. Morningstar."

Lucifer watched as the girl turned and walked away. She was clearly out of her element in the club and something about the way she'd backed down didn't sit right with him. Something he'd caught a glimpse of in her eyes; she wasn't just deterred, she was defeated. He killed his drink, sat the glass on the bar and followed her toward the door.

"Terribly rude of me to have not even gotten your name," he said as he caught up to her.

"It's Trysta," she said as she tucked a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. Something about her mannerisms reminded him of Beatrice.

"Well, Trysta, why don't we have a little chat, you and I?" he suggested.

"I shouldn't have interrupted your evening. Really, I'm very sorry, Mr. Morningstar," she muttered the words. When she looked up, he spotted the telltale sign of tears on her cheeks.

"Please, I'd like to apologize properly for my crass comment at the bar," he insisted.

"That's not necessary. Honestly, I shouldn't have even come here," she shook her head.

"Maybe not, but you're here now and obviously something drove you to come here and seek me out. You can't leave me to languish over the mystery of your presence, can you?" He was genuinely intrigued about what had motivated the young woman to come to him.

"May we speak in private?" she asked him after a few moments.

"Of course," he nodded and gestured toward the elevator doors. They ascended to the penthouse in silence as she attempted to cover her chest with her arms. He made a point of not looking at the fact that crossing her arms had only served to thrust her breasts into more prominent display. "My wife and step-daughter are at a movie premiere so they shouldn't be home for a while yet," he told her as he walked in and crossed to the bedroom. She stood nervously by the elevator until he emerged a minute later with a pair of jeans and a white button-down shirt which he held out to her. "You look uncomfortable in your current attire. You look to be about the same size as my wife as far as pants go, however I believe her shirts would be too snug about the chest. One of mine should suffice. The washroom is up the stairs and to the right if you'd care to change."

She opened her mouth as if she were going to protest then quietly muttered "Thank you," as she accepted the clothes and followed his directions to the large bathroom. He'd been right about her being the same size as his wife for the jeans. They fit like they were custom cut for her. His shirt was loose but far more concealing than the ridiculous dress she'd borrowed from her roommate and she was glad to be out of the flashy, impractical garment.

"There now, you look more comfortable already," he said as she returned to the main area of the penthouse. "Would you care for a drink, Miss…" he let his voice trail off. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your last name in the din downstairs."

"Because I never said it," she shrugged. "It's Mackenzie. Water would be great."

"Sparkling or plain?" he asked her.

"Right, LA, everything has a basic and an extra version. Just plain, please," she replied as she draped the dress over the back of one of the chairs at the kitchen island. She smiled as she took the bottle from him. "Thank you, Mr. Morningstar."

"Lucifer, please, Mr. Morningstar sounds so formal when we're just having a chat," he insisted as he gestured towards the large couch. She perched on the edge of it as she automatically grabbed a coaster from a stack on the low table and placed one under her water. "So, Miss Mackenzie, what brings you to LA and specifically to Lux in search of yours truly?"

"I understand that you're the man to speak to for a favor," she said simply.

Lucifer grinned as he took a sip of the whiskey he'd poured. She put on a good façade, had he not been who he was, he might almost have bought the calm image she was struggling to keep in place. But he was who he was, and he could see the slight tremble in her hand and could sense the nervous energy that was pouring off her in waves.

"I have been known to accommodate certain requests from time to time. Tell me, Miss Mackenzie, what is it you truly desire?" he asked as he reclined against the cushioned back of the sofa.

"I want you to bring me to Hell," she breathed as she was caught up in his persuasive energy.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" he asked her, genuinely taken aback by what she'd said.

"I realize that your life is here now, but you are still the guardian, the gatekeeper, are you not?" she asked as though they were discussing him working at a security firm.

"Yes, I am, however people try to avoid going there, myself included," he replied. "Why on Earth would you make such a request?"

"I have my reasons," she said evasively. "I'm not asking to be taken there right now. I just need to know that when it's my time to shuffle off this mortal coil, as they say, that I'll be taken to Hell."

"You can get there without my assistance, I assure you," he told her. As he said it he, he had a feeling that she actually wouldn't be able to. There was something genuinely innocent about her.

"I'm afraid I can't. I made a promise to someone very dear to me that I would live my life in a way that would avoid me facing eternal damnation."

"Just so we're clear; you've promised to live a life that will put you on the path to Heaven, however you want to go to Hell so you're asking me to drag your soul down there when the time comes, even though you won't deserve it," he summarized.

"Yes," she answered simply. "Can you help me, Mr. Morningstar?"

"Dear, strange child, why are you asking me this?" he inquired as he absently sat his glass on the low table and leaned slightly toward her.

"I told you, I have my reasons."

"You do realize that avoiding my questions will in no way persuade me to indulge you, don't you?" he quipped.

"Someone I love is there. I don't want to go to Heaven knowing they're in Hell. I know there's no reason to think that I would ever see them, but at least I would know I was in the same place. I can't stand the thought of an eternity without even a chance," she admitted as she looked down at her hands.

"Who is it?" he asked quietly. His voice was gentler than she'd expected.

"My sister."

"And why do you believe she's in Hell?"

"Because she murdered someone. It was someone who had…" her voice failed her for a moment, she took a deep breath before clearing her throat. "Someone who had hurt me. She tracked them down, planned the best way to get to them and murdered them in cold blood. When the police came to arrest her, she couldn't face jail and she chose to die by suicide." She wiped a tear from her cheek. She looked up at him now, the expression on his face was unreadable. "I'm not asking for anything other than just making sure that I end up on the same plane as her. I don't want you to bring me to her or to help us find one another, I just need to know our souls are in the same place. Please, Mr. Morningstar, whatever you ask in return, I'll gladly oblige. I just need your word that when judgement is passed, that you'll bring me to Hell regardless of the outcome."

"What's her name?" Lucifer asked after she finished speaking.

"Melody, Melody Mackenzie. Why?"

"Because, before I come to a decision about whether or not I'm going to make a deal with you, I want to ensure you're not operating under a false pretense," he told her.

"You're going to make sure she's there before you agree to bring me to Hell," Trysta remarked. "I'm certain she is, but, as you wish."

"Come back tomorrow evening, I'll find out if your sister is there and if you haven't changed your mind by then, I'll give you my decision about whether or not I can help you," he told her. "In the meantime, I hope you'll think long and hard about what you're asking me."

"I assure you, I won't change my mind, Mr. Morningstar. I'll see you tomorrow evening," she told him. "Would it be alright if I brought your clothes back then? I'd rather not have to put that dress back on if I can avoid it."

"Of course, dear girl."

Trysta collected the dress and bid him goodnight before she left. He quickly grabbed a pen and the notepad from the desk and wrote a quick note for Chloe, just in case she and Beatrice returned before he did.

He left the note on the bar before he went out to the balcony and unfurled his wings. He took a deep breath before he took wing, focusing as he flew. Before long, the unmistakable scent of brimstone and scorched flesh caught his nose as he touched down at the gates. He tucked his wings away as he moved toward one of the doors.

He placed his hand on the door and pushed it open. He looked in and saw the faceless demon sitting motionless in the center of the room. He walked up to it and spoke. "I'm in search of a soul. Is she here?" he asked. He knew that the demon could sense his thoughts and knew who he was looking for. The demon nodded once. "Where is she?" Lucifer asked. An image flashed in his mind and he knew what cell to find her in. He turned and left, making sure the door was closed securely behind him.

He unfurled his wings and took to the sky once again. He heaved a heavy sigh of relief as he returned and landed back on the balcony.

"Welcome back," Chloe's voice said from the chair a few feet from where he landed. He tucked his wings away and sat on the arm of the chair.

"My apologies, Detective. I had hoped to be back before you and Beatrice got home," he remarked as he kissed the top of her head. It felt to him that it had only been a few moments, but he realized it had been several hours since he'd left.

"Why did you have to go to Hell?" she asked him. He briefly recapped the conversation he'd had with Trysta. "So is Melody there?"

"She is," he confirmed.

"What are you going to do?" Chloe asked him.

"I've no desire to condemn young Trysta to an eternity of damnation, so ideally I'm hoping she'll come to her senses and withdraw her request."

"Yeah, my gut tells me that's not likely to happen. Are you going to agree to it?"

"I really don't know. My instinct says no, but if you'd seen the sadness in her, I think sending her to Heaven might actually be a punishment to her," he commented.

"I realize I'm not informed about all the policies and procedures of Hell, but is there any way to get her sister out? Like explaining to her how to release herself from her guilt so that she could leave?" Chloe asked.

"Unfortunately, I don't believe there is," he sighed. "I'm going to speak to Amenadiel in the morning; perhaps he'll have some insight into a possible solution."

"It's sweet of you to be trying to help this girl," Chloe told him as she took his hand.

"Well, don't go spreading that around. If word gets out that the devil has turned into an old softie there'll be Hell to pay."

"Oh, does that mean that you'll punish me?" she asked with a suggestive purr to her voice.

"Maybe I will, my naughty Detective," he answered as he leaned down and kissed her. As their lips touched his prior dilemma was erased from his mind and all he could think about was getting her to their bed.