Chapter 7

Chloe returns to her desk after lunch to find it absolutely overrun with flowers. Her gut fills with lead as she automatically plucks the card, already knowing who they're from. She grabs three of the vases and storms to the Lieutenant's office, not bothering to knock.

"This has got to stop, Pierce," she growls, plunking the arrangements down on his own desk so he's blocked from her view. "It's completely inappropriate, and no amount of flowers or apologies are going to erase what you did yesterday. We're done here, and I'm going back to work once I bring the rest of your gifts in here so I have an actual workspace again."

She doesn't give him a chance to respond, and it takes her three more trips to completely clear her desk of the offending bouquets. She feels his eyes following her until she plants herself back at her now-clear desk, seething over more paperwork for a couple more hours before Dan stops awkwardly at her desk with a file on a new body at L.A. West Ballet. Chloe nods, relief surging through her at being able to escape Pierce's proximity for a while as she gathers her things and prepares to leave. As she follows Dan up the stairs, she spies Maze stalking thunderously toward Pierce's office. She pulls out her phone and texts her partner.

Maze just walked into Pierce's office. Got a case- L.A. West Ballet, you coming?

I'll see if I can catch Maze, then meet you when I can.

Still on for dinner tonight?

Darling, there is nowhere I would rather be, difficult conversations notwithstanding.

She lets the warmth of that declaration wash over her, pointedly ignoring Dan's odd looks on the way to the ballet theater, where they meet Ella and go over the crime scene and victim details. Cast interviews take most of the remainder of the afternoon, with Chloe letting Dan handle most of the note-taking. By the time they exit the ballet hall the sun has set, and Dan has to scramble to get Trixie from her sitter. For once, Chloe's glad she doesn't have Trixie tonight, since she's increasingly distracted by the fact that it's been several hours and Lucifer hasn't responded to her text requesting an update yet. He always responds… it's like a compulsion. But… he hasn't even read it. And that's almost even more concerning.

I'll just have to find out at dinner tonight. And since he hasn't responded, that means I'm heading to Lux.

"Well, Mazikeen," Lucifer's silky voice rolls ominously from the shadows of the parking garage, "you've been quite the busy little demon lately, haven't you? Plotting with Cain, making friends into enemies, getting framed for murders… how have you found time for your bounty-hunting hobby with all that mayhem going on?"

"Lucifer," The demon acknowledges, crouching into a defensive pose, head cocked, listening for his approach. She knows it's fruitless, knows how silent he can be when he chooses—but she is Mazikeen of the Lilim, and no one knows the devil like she does. "How's those daddy issues coming along?"

"Oh, Mazikeen, do relax," he steps from behind one of the support posts, where he'd been leaning against her Audi R8, his charcoal suit nearly blending with the satin silvery-grey finish in the dim light of the garage. "I'm only here because I've decided to offer you a deal for your stated desire."

"I don't trust you," she spits, warily circling the devil casually standing beside her fender, knives ready.

"That's just fine, Maze, because I've sadly discovered that I can no longer trust you," Lucifer's tone is cold, but his eyes are full of fire and brimstone. "If your plotting had only been harming me, I might have let it slide, but now you've gone so far as to attempt potential indirect harm on not only the Detective and her Offspring, but also the good Doctor as well. And I can't let that stand."

"So you're here to what, scold me?" She laughs, and she can taste the bitterness of it on her tongue

"Don't be absurd," he clicks his tongue in admonition, pulling out his silver cigarette case and nonchalantly lighting one. He releases a breath, and the smoke wreathes his head just as an errant beam of light reflects off a passing car window, giving him a glowing halo for a brief moment. "I'm here to take you home, as requested."

"What's the catch?"

"The catch is that you must go and have a real talk with Linda first. She has some things she wishes to discuss with you before you depart. Then come to me at Lux so I can store your car for you. I will transport you to Hell, then return for you in one Earth week. If you've got… whatever this is out of your system by then, you'll be welcome to return to Earth. If not, then Hell can keep you, and you can keep your siblings in line."

"I thought you said you couldn't lose me," she sneers, flipping her blade idly in her hand. "Not being without your precious pet Detective, too."

"Yes, well," his smile is all teeth and no warmth, and though his stance doesn't change, she's suddenly reminded that he is an apex predator in kiddie pool full of tadpoles. "as amusing as this whole 'frenemies' charade has been, I find I've tired of it. I'll make do without you, Mazikeen. At least I won't need to be looking over my shoulder, wondering if I'll find your blade lodged in it."

"Now who's being ridiculous?" she laughs, "I would never bother stabbing you in the shoulder. It would either be your gut, or your heart."

"I appreciate the insight," he intones dryly. "Now, will you go speak to Linda? I'll repeat that it needs to be a real conversation, and I assure you that Linda will let me know if it is not. And if you harm her, Mazikeen, I assure you that human emotions will be the very least of your worries." His eyes flare red, and this time the wreath of smoke becomes a halo of fire rather than heavenly light.

"I'll go," she decides abruptly. Cain was backing out on his end of the deal anyway, this is her best bet at getting home. "I'll meet you at Lux in an hour."

"I'm willing to wait, if your conversation takes longer," he turns to go, showing no concerns about exposing his back to his former sentinel as he walks away. "Linda's waiting for you."

"Oh, it won't." She settles into the driver's seat, the supple leather squeaking softly against her skin-tight leather pants as she throws the car into gear and squeals from the parking space.

She bursts through the door of Linda's office without bothering to knock. Linda, who had the foresight to clear her office of all patients once she knew Maze was on the way, is very careful not to startle.

"What."

The therapist eyes her demonic friend carefully. She's not afraid that Maze will hurt her, but it's incredibly important that this conversation go well. If she can, she hopes to talk Maze out of returning to Hell at all.

"Hello Maze," she says placidly, "I'm so glad you came."

"Yeah, it's not like I've got a choice, here," the demon growls, stalking into the room and flopping bonelessly down on the couch. "Lucifer's refused to take me back until I have a 'real conversation' with you, whatever the hell that means."

"It means that we have actual communication, that you fully participate in, Maze, rather than simply growling, grunting, or sneering at me while I try to draw you out." Blunt is often best when Maze is like this. Attempts at tact only make her angrier when she's already upset. "You've been avoiding talking with me, and if you're really leaving for Hell, I wanted to try to clear the air between us, and at the very least be able to say goodbye."

"Why bother?" she snaps, fingers twitching to reach for one of her knives to twirl. "I'm just a demon."

"You're my friend, Maze," Linda says simply, and the demon's face blanks in the face of such an easy statement of fact. "You matter to me, what you feel matters to me, and I know that I hurt you by lying about my relationship with Amenadiel." The therapist takes a deep, steadying breath and continues while her friend stares at her in stony silence. "The truth of the matter is, we had already started seeing one another before you came back, but… it was at an awkward stage that we couldn't really put a name to what it was between us. When you came to me about how uncomfortable you were about us being together… I just didn't know what to say."

Maze scoffs, glaring a hole in the wall just beyond Linda's left shoulder. "So you just lied?"

"I did," she admits sadly, "and I felt horrible for it, and I still feel horrible for it. I told Amenadiel not long afterward that we couldn't see each other anymore because I didn't want to lose you as my friend, and we haven't been together since."

"Yeah, well, too late," she hisses. "I am done with Earth, with humans, with everything. Can I go now?"

"If you're still set on going back to Hell, of course you can leave," Linda sighs. "But I want you to know that I don't want you to leave. I think you're going to find that going back isn't going to be as easy as you think it will. You've changed so much in your time here, Maze, you have friends here… do you really want to give it all up?"

"Hell yes I do!" the demon surges to her feet, no longer fighting the urge to fidget with her knives. "Going back means no more of these stupid, human emotions, no more getting inside my head, only blood and sweat and torture and pain—the only real things I can trust."

"I… hope you find what you're looking for Maze," Linda stands and crosses to her office door, opening it and stepping back to let Maze pass. "And I hope you choose to come back when Lucifer returns for you. You have people that care about you here, and we will miss you."

"You'll all forget about me soon enough," Maze sneers as she stalks past the shorter woman. "You're human, it's what you do."

"Good-bye, Maze," Linda whispers sadly, watching the demon stride quickly away.

Lucifer leaves Maze fuming in the parking garage and lands on his balcony with a sweep of his pesky wings. He has little doubt that Mazikeen will arrive in less than one hour, just to prove how eager she is to go back. He growls to himself as he leans on his railing and takes a deep drag from his still-lit cigarette. He watches the ashes flutter from the smoldering tip with distaste, thinking of the trip he's about to undertake. The constantly falling ash is only one of the infinite things he passionately hates about Hell. The lack of light. The lack of fresh air. No view of the sky. The demons (Oh, Dad, especially the demons). The echoing silence in the corridors, broken only by the gentle rattling of the unlocked doors and the occasional creak of the chained ones (the ones for the true psychopaths, that feel no guilt and could easily escape their Loops without due diligence). The fact that, although it's hot as, well, hell, it still manages to thoroughly chill his soul. It's as though it was designed to feed on everything that he is, to drain him of the very things that he holds most dear. Music, light, laughter… love. There is no love in Hell. There isn't even friendship in Hell, only shaky loyalties built on quicksand and sinkholes. The devil has never managed to have friends before now… at least, not real ones… more than the passing acquaintances he would manage to claw from his brief visits before Amenadiel would arrive and hound him back to his despised throne.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, texts Linda to let her know Maze is on the way, and considers letting Chloe know he'll be making a brief hop to Hell, but… no sense in worrying her over such a little visit… he'll be back in plenty of time for their chat over dinner this evening. He places the phone on the countertop and pours himself a tumbler of his current favorite scotch. He considers Mazikeen as he sips it, savoring the musky tang of peat on his tongue and the warmth of it as it slides smoothly down his throat. She'd been the only demon – Lilim or otherwise—to show unwavering loyalty to him in Hell, which is why he had allowed her to stay on Earth when he had decided to stay himself. Since then… well. Her betrayals had been frequent and varied… but always with the same goal—to get back to Hell.

Yet she gave up my one remaining feather to save Amenadiel's life. He muses. He wonders, as he has many times since that day, if the feather would have held enough divinity to actually let them cross the dimensional plane… but as always before, he's unable to surmise an answer. It was enough to heal Amenadiel, I suppose that's all that matters at this point.

He finds himself wishing he had time to head to the murder scene, but even if he flew he'd only be there for twenty minutes tops before he'd have to make his excuses and leave. He sighs and settles at the piano to play. Music has always been a favorite way to spend his time, sometimes even chosen over sex. Fortunately, it tends to combine well with his other hobbies of alcohol and drug use, so he often multitasks… but today he limits himself to only scotch and one of his favorite sonatas. He closes his eyes and lets the music take over, savoring it just as much as the scotch, and for many of the same reasons—where the alcohol warms his stomach, the music warms his soul. As his fingers caress the keys, coaxing forth the haunting melody, he recalls every moment in Hell spent mourning his losses, and also every moment spent celebrating regaining them once he'd returned to Earth. Time courses past, but he pays no mind. After all, what is time to the timeless? Nothing more or less than the relentless memories of yesterdays, and promises of tomorrows.

His phone chimes, tugging him roughly from his reverie. He lets the music flow to a natural stopping point before standing and stretching, then takes his tumbler and empties it as he moves to the bar to receive the news that Maze is on the way, and she's still intent on leaving. Lucifer nods to himself grimly. He hadn't held high hopes that Linda would be able to talk his demon out of her intent to return to the infernal plane, but he'd apparently held some low ones because he feels them falling now.

We'll give her few centuries in Hell to get whatever this is out of her system, then see what she wants to do. Thank you for trying, Doctor.

A few centuries?!

Perhaps a millennium or two. A mere week in Earth time, worry not. A mere blink in her lifespan.

Will you stay there with her?

No, best to let her work out her frustrations without myself as a tempting target. I'll be back nearly as soon as I've gone.

Text me when you're back!

Very well, Doctor.

He's back out on the balcony, basking in the late afternoon sunlight when the elevator chimes and Maze steps warily into the penthouse, allowing her boots to make all manner of noise to advertise her presence as she storms through the flat and out the glass doors to where he's relaxing.

"Let's go," she grunts, crossing her arms over her breasts. "You said you'd take me if I talked to Linda."

"And so I shall," he agrees lightly. "I'll leave you there for an Earth week, then check in to see if you've changed your mind, does that sound fair?"

"Fine," she snaps, eyes flashing. "Let's just go."

"What, no green tea coconut water to go?" he teases her, and she hisses at him.

"I'm traveling light, okay? I've got all my blades in here." She lovingly pats the leather satchel strapped close to her hip, and he nods. One can never have too many knives in Hell.

"Very well," he opens his arms and she steps eagerly into his embrace as his wings unfurl. She pulls in a shallow breath at the sting of divinity at such close range, but doesn't flinch away. She wraps her arms around his lower back, under his wings and clings tight, bracing herself for the dimensional crossing, and then the next breath she takes is full of the sweet sulfur stench of home.

Her smile widens into something feral as the atmosphere of Hell sings through her veins, her natural face coming to the fore without effort for the first time in what feels like millennia. She can feel it thrumming through her, the call of all the damned souls needing her guidance, her attention, her domination.

Lucifer takes a half-step back, his wings held ready to depart as he glances around in revulsion, recalling his earlier musings about Hell draining him of the things he loves.

"Well Mazikeen, do enjoy yourself. I'll see you in a few centuries when I check in to see if you've reconsidered your priorities." She looks up at him and her eyes are wet. He steps toward her again in concern, "You don't have to stay, you know, I can—oh—"

He's not expecting the sharp intensity of pain that blazes to life in his abdomen, and he pitches forward with a gasp, astonished to find one of Mazikeen's hell-forged karambits buried in his gut. His fingers scrabble uselessly at the blood-soaked hilt protruding from his groin like a macabre erection.

"I told you," she hisses reverently in his ear, "I'd never stab you in the back. I also told you that whatever the danger, I'll be there to stop it. Whether you see it coming or not. Earth is no good for you, Lucifer, you're going soft. Now, you just take it easy, I'll throw you in your loop for a few centuries to heal, no one will even know you're there, so you'll be safe enough. If you don't manage to crawl out to try to smite me by then, I'll consider coming to get you to see if you've… re-thought your priorities."

"Mazikeen—" She brings both arms up swiftly and holds them together, bringing them down with all her considerable force on the back of his bent head. His knees buckle and he lands hard, slamming face-down on the heated stone floor of the corridor. The last thing he hears is the shattering of bone echoing inside the darkness of his mind.

The demon uses her connection to Lucifer to locate his loop.

"I should have known he'd land us on the opposite side of the plane from his damn door," she grumbles, dragging her king's inert form through the corridors. Fortunately, demons don't usually roam Hell, they're mostly occupied in the loops, or the torture chambers—where all the action is. She licks her lips in anticipation of joining them once she gets Lucifer into his loop. If she can just keep him away from Earth for a few centuries, he'll remember all the things he loves about Hell. The punishment. The adoration of the demon hordes… Well, no, he never really cared for the near-worship they lavished on him. But the punishment… he definitely misses that up on Earth. That will remind him where he belongs. Where they belong.

Hellfire, she'd forgotten how heavy he is. Maze is supernaturally strong, of course, but Lucifer is supernaturally heavy. You'd think a creature with wings would weigh less. He groans against her and she shushes him, not wanting to draw the attention of other demons. King or not, any injury made you fair game down here, and his feathers would be quite the trophy for her siblings. Her arms are wrapped under his armpits, forcibly keeping his wings folded tightly against his body, and her hands locked around her wrists as she drags his unconscious body through the twisting basalt-lined caverns of Hell. She leaves the knife in place—the better to slow the bleeding— the hilt twitching in time with his shallow, agonized breaths and any time she allows his body to bend. Blood patters slowly onto the pathways as they pass, to be covered in time by the ever-present ashes drifting down like snow from what passes for the sky in Hell. There are no sunrises or sunsets to mark the days, so she rests when she needs it, tugging him into nooks and crevices to hide from any passing demons. She tries to convince herself that she's not concerned when he doesn't regain consciousness after the second month of rigorous travel. She remembers how long he lay like death after his fall, recovering so slowly he may as well have been a corpse in fact. Hell is a vast plane, and the twisting of the corridors adds even more distance to an already arduous journey. At the sixth month, she decides it should be safe enough to remove the blade from the wound—hoping some clotting would have occurred by now. Several things happen now at once: she pulls it out in one swift motion, a fountain of blackened blood spills from the wound in its wake, and Lucifer awakens with a bloodcurdling shriek, leaping to his feet with bladed wings flailing, scoring her deeply across her thigh.

"Shit!" the demon's eyes widen as she claps a hand over her gaping wound as Lucifer hunches nearby, his hand holding pressure to his own wound. "Lucifer?" Blood bubbles readily over both their fingers, mingling with the ash that's blown into their shelter throughout eternity.

"Lucifer?" He looks back at her, eyes wild and blank. She scrabbles toward him, but he spreads his wings and he's gone in a stuttering heartbeat.

Mazikeen of the Lilim, once the most trusted sentinel of the King of Hell, huddles alone in a crevice in Hell and tries valiantly to keep her lifeblood inside her body.

He bounces between a dozen dim, ashy, horrifying locations before he's hit by what feels like a meteor and strikes an unforgiving surface.

"Don't look, honey!" "Is he dead?" "Did you see that!? Just blinked and he was there, right in front of that truck!"

Pain. Myriad new aches join the already pounding dull throb of his head and the deep, draining, incessant ache of his gut. He tries to focus on his surroundings, but there's so much. Voices. Exhaust. Warm pavement beneath him. The feel of blood trickling down his forehead, from his nose and lips, and from his wounded abdomen. He tries to pull in a deep breath and fails miserably, sucking in a thin whistling line of air instead, then trying not to cough as his chest feels as though it will shatter if he does.

"Easy there Mistah, can ya hear me?" Someone shoves something soft under his head and he groans in agony as the bones of his skull grind together. "Just lay still 'kay? We're gonna—HEY! Hey Offisuh! We got a pedestrian been mowed down by a truck over here!"

He flinches as the volume of the samaritan's voice sends a spike of agony into his brain. Hurried footsteps and figures kneeling around him, stealing his air.

"Russ, hey, Russ," one of them mutters, as fingers probe his throat, checking for… what, life? "This is the consultant I told you about. Morningstar." Silence. "You know, the one that works with the homicide detective. What's-er-name, the one that was all over Palmetto. Jeez, he looks like he's been shoved down a chimney, what's up with that?"

"Decker?" the other finally replies, distracted with his radio and calling for emergency medical services.

"Yeah, her!" the first agrees, relieved. "Hey. Hey, Lucifer? Mr. Morningstar, can you hear me?"

He manages to crack his eyes open just as the second voice pipes up. "Ambo is on its way, Mr. Morningstar, just stay still, okay? I'm gonna see if I can get dispatch to put me through to your partner." The officer walks away with his phone to his ear, and he tries to decide what to do now. The officer said to stay put, but he can't. He can't go to a hospital, though he can't think why. He flails for a moment, and the first officer puts a careful hand on his chest, trying to convince him to stay still.

"Hey Russ!" he calls to the other officer, "Looks like he's got a stab wound, too! Bleedin' something fierce!"

He flinches again at the loudness so close to his sensitive head, and the officer beside him quiets. "Man, buddy, you've been through somethin'. I've never seen you look half so rough, and I was on the scene after you pulled Decker out of that burning restaurant." The officer looks around for his partner for a moment, having lost him in the milling scene. When he turns back, he's saying, "Ambos'll get you all patched up, you'll see… where'd he go?"

Chloe's phone vibrates in her pocket and she presses her Bluetooth headset so quickly she almost pokes herself in the eye. She keeps a wary eye on traffic as she whispers hopefully, "Lucifer?"

"Hello to you too, Chloe," Linda's voice greets her, and the therapist sounds worried. "I guess you haven't been able to reach him either?"

"I'm on my way to Lux now," Chloe grits her teeth as L.A. traffic crawls around her. "I haven't heard from him since I let him know Maze was headed for Pierce's office this afternoon as I was heading out to a crime scene."

"He caught up to Maze," Linda supplies. "I talked with him today and he brought up the idea of giving Maze some time to blow off some steam in Hell where she can't do any real harm for a while. I asked him to let me speak to her first, see if I could talk some sense into her…"

"I take it that did not go well?" The light ahead of her turns red, again, and Chloe sighs heavily, starting to seriously consider using her lights.

"In fact, it did not. She decided to go back. Last I heard from Lucifer, he was going to take her and pop right back up, he said he'd be back nearly the moment he'd left."

"Linda, how long ago was that?" She grips the steering wheel until the vinyl squeaks under the pressure.

"Hours." Her tone holds all the worry she doesn't want to verbalize.

A beep in her ear indicates another call. "Linda I've got another call, maybe it's him."

"Call me back!"

Chloe clicks over with a brusque, "Decker."

"Detective Decker, it's Officer Aaron Russ, LAPD Central Traffic Division. I think we've got your civilian consultant here, my partner recognizes him—according to witnesses he just appeared in front of a truck and took a pretty good hit, he also appears to be sporting a deep stab wound. We're waiting on an ambulance now, but—" a ruckus kicks up in the background and Chloe can hear Officer Russ calling out for order. "What happened? Where did he go? Dammit Fontana, somebody hurt that bad doesn't just disappear! What, did you get hit by a truck, too? Okay, you're right, I'm sorry, that was uncalled for—"

Chloe rolls her eyes and clears her throat loudly. "Officer Russ? My partner? You said Lucifer was hurt? Where are you?"

"Detective Decker, I… I don't know how to explain this—My partner was certain this was your consultant, but the man could barely open his eyes and we weren't able to get a confirmed ID, and he's just vanished. We're at—" he rattles off a location less than 2 blocks from where she's trapped in traffic. Guess that explains why I'm not moving.

"Okay. I'll see if I can check in on him, see if it was really him. Thanks for the heads-up, Officer Russ." She disconnects the call and takes a fortifying breath before redialing Linda.

"Linda, we might have a problem." She reaches over and flips on her lights and siren, heading for Lux as the vehicles in front of her part like the Red Sea.

Chapter 8

He lands on a cool, flat surface and finds himself thankful that he's not immediately accosted. The silence is a blessed change from the chaos of his previous location and the soothing caress of the clean, salt-laden breeze ruffling his hair tells him he's not back in the plane of darkness, though it is dark. He pries his eyes open despite the crustiness clinging to his lashes, and a faintly star-studded sky spins slowly above him, obscured only by the occasional blurring of his vision and the lights of the city he can hear churning below. He spies a banister and a glass wall to his right, and realizes he's sprawling on a balcony—his balcony? He watches the pretty lights slowly twirling above him in blissfully thoughtless silence until the pain in his skull surges again, forcing him to close his eyes. The agony in his gut intensifies, as well as that in his shoulders, neck, and… well, everywhere else. Footsteps approach slowly, and he groans.

Bloody hell, of course it's too much to ask to just be allowed to suffer in solitude. The steps are light, the swift intake of breath feminine. Of course, I must look a mess.

"I beg your pardon for my intrusion," he manages to croak. He grimaces as he realizes his mouth is lined with blood, and he swallows heavily trying to clear it, to make himself understood. The words don't sound right to his ears—rather blurry—but he thinks he manages to convey his meaning. "Please don't alert the authorities, if you can give me but a moment, I'll be able to muster the strength to leave."

The steps come closer, but he doesn't open his eyes. The spinning feeling escalates and his stomach lurches painfully. At this point, if she kills him she'd really be doing him a favor. He hears the slight scrape of hard soles on the floor and the rustle of fabric as she kneels beside him. He tenses, readying himself to flee, but his eyes pop open when gentle, cool fingers caress his heated cheek.

"Lucifer," the woman hovering over him breathes. Something unsettlingly familiar catches in his chest at the emotion in her voice. This woman knows me. As the two officers had? Or something more? If this is his flat, is she a previous bedmate, come for an encore? Her hands gently graze over the more obvious injuries, and he winces at even that slight pressure. Her voice wavers as she exhales, "What happened?"

"I'm… not sure," he whispers, struggling to think, "I was… somewhere else, Hell maybe? There was… Maze was there. She was going to stay… wanted me to stay—stabbed me… My head." His thoughts are too scattered, too painful to try to order. He stops trying to speak, and she seems to recognize that he's out of words. He wonders muzzily if he's said too much, but if this human is familiar with him, she must be used to hearing him speak plainly, even if she doesn't believe it. He turns his thoughts to his current situation, trying to recall his most recent past. All that comes to mind is ash and heat, the reek of sulfur and the sounds of chains, the shattering of bone and the patter of blood on stone. The sensation of being dragged endlessly, of hoarse panting and cursing in his ear. The awareness of having the essence of himself drained away by the situation, the surroundings he'd found himself in. He tries to shake his head to clear the memories and immediately regrets it as the edges of his fractured skull grind painfully against themselves. He tries to sit up, but falls back with a strangled gasp, a gush of blackened blood escaping the deep perforation in his gut in a torrent of fiery pain.

"Okay," she soothes, her hands taking his and placing them over the hole in his lower belly. "You're gonna be fine. Can you apply pressure here? I'm going to call for an ambulance, and have Linda alert your brother to meet us at the hospital."

"Michael?" A name bubbles weakly from his lips as it floats up from the inky depths of his aching head, disconnectedly.

"No, Amenadiel?" She watches him closely for any reaction, but he gives none. "Linda can get in touch with him since I don't have his number. Come on, you've got to stay awake, apply pressure." Lucifer wonders who this Linda is, and how she'll be contacting his arsehole of a brother. He'd really rather not involve him, but he's too weak to protest, and if he can't help, at least Amenadiel is still held by their deal to leave him be, even if he is weakened by injury.

She fumbles for her phone, dials emergency services and orders an ambulance to Lux, giving as clinical a description of her partner's current state as she can. Once she disconnects, she dials Linda and concentrates on her own breathing as Lucifer's eyes stare blankly at the sky—only the occasional languid blink, the shallow rise and fall of his chest, and the continued dripping of blood from underneath his hands indicate that he lives.

"Did you find him?!" Linda barks, not bothering with a greeting.

"He's here at Lux, I found him on the balcony," She sobs a breath before pulling herself quickly back together. "Linda, I don't know what to do, he's hurt—bad. He's been stabbed, it's a gut wound and… it's just bad. The officer that called me said he got hit by a truck and he was less than two blocks from me when it happened, so God—dammit—who knows what other damage he's got. He… he says Maze stabbed him when they were in Hell."

"Chloe, he needs a hospital. Call an ambulance!" Linda cries in exasperation.

"I already did, but… Linda, I wasn't sure… what if they find something weird? Would Amenadiel know?" Chloe wants to pace, but holds herself at her partner's side. "Also, I'm kind of afraid of Pierce finding out he's wounded… what if he comes after him? Can you call Amenadiel and tell him to meet us at Cedars? You can give him my number in case he needs to call. He's… he doesn't seem like himself, Linda. I'm scared."

"I'll let him know, and we'll both meet you there," she offers, "Is he lucid?"

"Um… sort of, just really mentally vague, and incredibly painful, I think," her breath hitches in her chest again, "Hurry Linda, please?" She disconnects the call and places her hands over his, helping hold pressure over the steadily-oozing wound. His eyes have slipped closed again, and even in the dim balcony lighting she can see how pale he is.

"Hey," she says gently, trying to rouse him, "You're supposed to be keeping that blood inside you, you know. C'mon, you're not even trying."

"It burns," he whispers, hissing the 's' longer than necessary. "Is m'brother coming?"

"He'll meet us at the hospital," she soothes, reaching up to thread her fingers in his hair, but he winces away, "Sorry, it's only me."

"It's not that," his lips twist painfully. "It's…broken."

"Broken? What's broken?"

"My head… bones."

"Your… your skull is broken?" He flinches when her voice becomes shrill with panic, and she gentles her tone before continuing. "Okay. The ambulance will be here soon, just keep still. You need a hospital."

"I don't. No." Something flickers in his scattered mind, he shouldn't need a hospital. He shouldn't… something. Out of reach, hidden in the dark place.

"You don't know what?"

"I… no hospital?

"Lucifer, you're not making sense." A tear spills down her cheek, closely followed by a second. "You're losing a ton of blood, you have other injuries that need tending, and if your skull is broken you really need some help! I'm sorry, but… you have to trust me here."

He should run. He shouldn't entrust himself to a human health care facility, he knows this. And yet. Something in him does trust this woman. Or perhaps it's merely that I can't bloody move. Either way… "Very well," he huffs a shallow sigh, suppressing a wince at the stabbing pain of broken ribs, because wincing hurts just as much. "Off to the bloody hospital we go."

He wakes some time later in his thinly padded hospital bed, wearing this embarrassing atrocity of a hospital gown. He fidgets with the sling they've placed on his right arm, crossing it over his chest so his palm rests over his heart. Between the detestable gown and the utilitarian sling, he isn't sure which is the larger insult to his sense of style. Detective Decker had seemed amused at his repeated complaints about his attire, and oddly relieved at them as well. He's been trying to identify her demeanor toward him and as strange as it seems, he's almost decided that she's fond of him. Certainly not the reaction I'm used to. He watches her sleeping on the low couch across the room, wondering why she's still here. It certainly doesn't seem a comfortable place to be.

He knows her name now, thanks to the EMTs that had flooded the balcony, and after a few muddled moments he had recognized it from the two officers that had been at the scene of his first arrival to the Earthly plane, with the unfortunate truck collision. Detective Decker the homicide detective, and he's apparently a consultant for her. He hadn't been able to piece together much more than that, yet. But all in all he's quite pleased with his mental acuity, considering the radiographs the doctors had brought in to show them… his skull is in an impressive number of pieces, though all still in place… and he has a sour feeling in his stomach (unrelated to the damn stab wound) that it's not all from the vehicular trauma.

Mazikeen… He drifts back to the first moment he can recall after the encompassing grey fog in his mind—Mazikeen sprawled in a cavern, one hand clutching her bloody karambit and the other clapped over a deep gash gushing blood on her thigh. He considers the wound in his groin and nods to himself, reluctantly accepting the idea that his trusted right hand had possibly betrayed him. Something had gone awry here on Earth for her to turn on him so. What could it have been? All he can remember are vague admonitions to stop caring.

He wonders briefly if he should be more concerned about this partial loss of memory. He'd been very careful to avoid having the humans pick up on the sheer extent of it, using his other heightened senses to figure out answers to the questions he didn't already know. The last thing I need is humans poking around inside my head. It's not even a comfortable place for him to be. He knows from the intensive questioning from the medical team that he's been on Earth for about 8 years, but his memory of the past few is spotty at best. How is that fair? If I'm going to lose memories, I'd much rather lose a few of the millennia from Hell, or how about my Fall? I'd gladly give those up… He'd recognized the ceiling and the root-shaped lighting fixture in his Penthouse, though, as the EMTs had rolled him through on the gurney—and hadn't that been embarrassing. He'd managed to get himself back home, at least—but what had Detective Decker been doing there? She'd seemed very concerned about his well-being, even insisting on riding in the ambulance with him. Perhaps we're working on a case and she needs my invaluable insights. He'll have to remember to ask her when she wakes up.

His brother had been quite a surprise—he'd tensed for a fight when Amenadiel had entered the room, but the elder angel had seemed genuinely relieved to see him sitting up and more-or-less lucid. Doctor Linda Martin had expressed warm concern at his condition, but had spent most of the rest of her visit closely analyzing his every move and utterance and he'd found himself curious as to what their association had been. Both of them had tried to convince Detective Decker to leave, but she had been adamant on remaining with him. He'd been distracted by one of the medical staff asking their inane questions and hadn't been able to listen to their conversation as closely as he'd liked.

His words still aren't as clear as he'd like them to be, but he supposes that his normally precise diction and vocabulary will return as his head injury heals. His wandering thoughts lead him to the significant concern of the sheer extent of his injuries, and why he hasn't healed as much as he should have by now… it's been hours. I really shouldn't have been wounded by the truck at all, unless it was divine, and I should be nearly back to normal by now. Unless the stab wound had somehow weakened him further? He starts to pull in a tentative deep breath, but stops at the expanding pain of his ribs. No, definitely not healed. The pounding in his head throbs along the myriad fracture lines of his skull, mapping rivers of pain under his skin. He's barely been able to keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time, and the intermittent blurring in his vision is driving him mad. Aside from the pain and his worrying mental fogginess, the stab wound is the real problem. He's positive it's from Mazikeen's hell-forged karambit, and that poses a unique problem. How long ago had she stabbed him? The blackened blood that continues to leak from the wound had certainly been a concern to the medical team working on him, but he knows it's not something they're equipped to handle. Hell-forged steel is deadly to celestial beings… The forging process renders the metal toxic once it contacts celestial blood. He's going to have to venture back to Hell for the antidote, but he certainly can't do that in his current condition. He needs to speak with Amenadiel, see what information he can glean from the angelic oaf, possibly see if he can cut a deal for Amenadiel to gather the ingredients for him. Perhaps he can also convince him to stop time so he can get out of here and heal up properly at home. Though Detective Decker knows she can find him there, and she seems the type to try to drag him right back here… one of his other properties then. He mentally runs through a list of possibilities, deciding that the mansion in the hills might do… the one with the spectacular sunset view.

He's just considering praying for his brother when the angel himself enters the room, glancing furtively at the sleeping detective.

"Luci, I'm glad you're awake," his deep voice rumbles, seeming loud in the silence of the room despite his low volume. "I know she wants to stay with you, but if you can convince her to leave, we can get you out of here so you can recover better. I'm concerned about that stab wound."

"Ah, brother, I was just about to pray for you with that exact plan in mind," Lucifer sighs, relieved that he doesn't have to convince his normally reluctant brother to help him. "Detective Decker is apparently familiar with my Penthouse, so I was considering one of my other properties to heal up in, since this infernal wound is likely to take a very long time to heal, even here on Earth."

"I also need to talk with you about what Charlotte has pulled together on Cain so far…"

"Cain?" Lucifer blurts, too surprised to be cautious. "What about him?"

"Yes, about the Sinnerman investigation we've started?"

"Right. Yes, of course," he covers quickly, but Amenadiel narrows his eyes at his bedridden brother.

"You're hiding something."

"I'm sure it's temporary," Lucifer scoffs, "a mere side effect of my skull currently being in more pieces than the original ten commandments."

"What is temporary?" his brother presses doggedly, and Lucifer sighs, knowing from experience that he'll refuse to help until he gets an answer. The woman sleeping on the couch stirs sleepily, interrupting her snoring.

"I seem to be having some… issues with memory loss," he admits reluctantly, fighting with the impulse not to share information with the brother that had been his jailer for eons, "It seems to be mostly just over the past few years, and I'm sure it will return as I heal."

"Luci! How extensive is the loss?"

"I… don't quite know. I remember setting up my life here in Los Angeles, but I can't quite tell where the memories cut off, there's just… an expanse of fog until I was standing in a cavern in Hell with a broken head and a hole in my gut, staring at Mazikeen clutching a bloody blade."

"We should tell Linda," Amenadiel replies immediately. "She's your therapist, this is right in her field of expertise!"

"I don't need a bloody human poking around inside my head, brother," Lucifer snaps, the sling bringing his intended arm movement up short as he hisses in discomfort.

"You've been seeing Linda for years now, Luci, she might be able to help! And Chloe—" Amenadiel glances over his shoulder at Detective Decker.

"Chloe?"

Amenadiel stares at him, stunned. "You don't remember Chloe. Of course, no wonder you haven't asked her to leave."

Lucifer shakes his aching head, too much new information. "I'm afraid my head is beginning to pound again, brother. That's been a recent sign that I'm about to drop off to sleep again. Will you please use your bloody time talent so that I can get out of here without being seen and stopped?"

"I… I can't." His elder brother's shoulders sag with the admission, but Lucifer's vision is washed with red.

"You won't, you mean," Lucifer snarls, irritated that even to avoid humans obtaining proof of the divine, his brother won't help him in this. "You realize how simple it would be for them to determine there's something inhuman about me? I'm going to be healing up rather quickly, you know."

"Not as long as Chloe's here, you won't." His brother replies bluntly, "And I meant exactly what I said, I can't. I've fallen, brother, I no longer have my wings, or my talent for slowing time."

"You fell," Lucifer's jaw drops and he feels quite literally stunned. An incredulous smile blooms on his face, despite the direness this lends to his circumstance. "You fell, God's Fist has fallen. How, pray tell, did that bit of serendipity occur? Please don't leave out any of the juicy details." Then, as an afterthought, "And who exactly is Chloe? And why would she affect my healing?"

"Detective Chloe Decker, Luci." Amenadiel gestures to Detective Decker, sleeping peacefully again, thankfully this time without the snoring. "Your partner. The miracle."

"Miracle?" The smile slips from his face, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "Brother, I'm the one with the head injuries, but you're talking nonsense."

"Yes, Luci, she's a miracle. Father had me bless her parents so they could have a child, and that child became this woman, your partner. You two are… very close." Amenadiel's word choice seems very careful, and Lucifer is immediately suspicious.

"Explain, brother." Lucifer growls, the pain in his entire being wearing away at his patience even faster than normal. "I find it very hard to believe that I would want anything to do with one of Father's projects. What is she to me? A trap? A gift? Does she know that Father's using her as a toy?"

"No, no, Luci it's nothing like that, though you thought so in the beginning, when you first found out." Amenadiel scrambles to explain in the wake of his brother's growing agitation. "She's immune to you. She's completely unaffected by your charm and your power over desires, but she obviously cares deeply for you, and…"

"And what, Amenadiel? Do not lie to me."

"And you love her. Beyond reason or doubt. She also somehow affects your invulnerability, you become… mortal in her presence."

Lucifer laughs bitterly. "I asked you not to lie, I should have added that I am also in no mood for jesting. If this detective is indeed immune to my charms, then it's impossible that she could care for me in any capacity except for how I can help her with her duties in investigating murders. It makes no sense. Why would I choose to partner with a detective that renders me capable of being injured? If I die, I get sent on a permanent one-way trip to Hell, again. And besides that, we both know that I am incapable of love."

"Of course you're capable of love, Luci," Amenadiel says softly, his smile warm and sad. "You always have been. You loved Michael so deeply that you refused to injure him even at the height of the fury of your battle. You loved Father beyond all others. Azrael, Gabriel, even Uriel…" his breath catches, and he changes his direction quickly. "I grieve for you, that this knowledge is hidden from you for now, but I have faith that you will regain it soon. You are capable, and you have done more in the name of your love for her than you would have ever thought possible."

Lucifer stares in horror at the sleeping human across the room. "You must be mistaken, brother." He argues helplessly, heart sinking as he remembers that unfamiliar feeling in his chest as the woman had nearly sobbed his name on his balcony. "If she cares for me at all, it must be a manipulation of Father's. Tell me that I haven't taken advantage of that. I can't have fallen so far as to allow free will to be usurped merely because it benefits me."

"You haven't—not at all—"

"Well, and what's going on in here?" A nurse strides into the room, scolding lightly. "Your heart rate has gone through the roof, Mr. Morningstar, if your visitors are going to be upsetting you, we're going to have to limit their access."

"Ah, Kristi, my brother was just leaving so I can rest," Lucifer turns his attention to the nurse with a smooth smile, and she melts—as he knew she would. "He'll likely return sooner rather than later, but he promises to behave. It may be wise to send Detective Decker home to get some rest, though, she appears to be knackered."

Chloe had been about to sit up and let the brothers know she was awake, really she had been. But then, Lucifer had admitted to the memory problems… and Amenadiel had realized that he didn't even know Chloe, and had revealed that she is apparently a literal, honest-to-God miracle, and she hadn't been able to move.

The nurse ushers a protesting Amenadiel from the room with the admonition that if he promises not to upset her patient he'll be allowed back in later, once the doctor has been in to see him. Chloe curls on the couch, eyes closed, thinking very hard about what she'd learned.

"I didn't react well to the reveal, Detective, and since we have no more real answers now than I had then… I have reason to believe you'll… be quite upset. Probably with me."

If what she'd just heard was similar to the way Lucifer had reacted initially… The initial disbelief, followed immediately by suspicion and anger at his father's apparent attempt at manipulation, then the abject horror at even the thought that her free will had been compromised… she can certainly understand why he would have run. She replays the conversation in her head several times, filtering more deeply each time for more information. Her heart breaks at his utter certainty that he is incapable of love, and the nearly unspoken implication that no one would ever be able to really love him.

So I not only make him vulnerable, but I slow his healing as well. That makes sense—the mark on his wrist from the handcuffs only healed once he left my apartment. But if I leave him now… he was planning to run again, to hide until he's healed—how long will that take? How am I going to protect him from Pierce? What if his memories don't come back? What if he decides being around me isn't worth the risk to his safety?

She must make a noise, because Lucifer's gentle voice calls out from across the room.

"Detective Decker?" Her heart clenches, because it's so close to familiar, and yet so… wrong. She stirs, feeling the tension in her muscles as she tries to stretch them. "Detective Decker, perhaps it's time you went home? You seem exhausted, and you've done quite enough by finding me and getting me into the hands of these competent professionals."

An idea strikes her, and although it's not…quite… aboveboard, it's also not really a lie. Lucifer probably won't appreciate that she's about to try it on him, but he likely wouldn't hesitate to use it on someone. Now… if she can only play it right.

"I know, you'll heal faster if I leave for a while," she pours reluctance into her voice as she approaches his bedside. She studies him as he watches her warily, his face and neck are a mass of bruises, though at least the blood has been washed from his skin and hair. Dark circles rest under his bloodshot eyes. His right arm is strapped to his chest in a black sling, and his left is currently hosting a lax blood pressure cuff, a pulse oximeter, and an IV line. She settles on the edge of the bed, her hip pressed against his. "I'm just worried that Cain might try to take advantage of your current weakness to come after you. We still don't know if Maze left any of her blades with him before you took her back to Hell." She reaches her hand out and ghosts her palm gently over the blanket just above his stab wound and his eyes rest on it, unblinking. "I think we're going to have to get you out of here somehow, maybe to one of your other properties? But that might be tricky, because he's got a file of them now, from the Sinnerman case, so he might be able to find you no matter which one you go to… What do you think, Lucifer? Have we got a plan?"

Maybe, if I can convince him that I'm already in on everything, he'll be less inclined to run and hide. She'll have to figure out a way to get Amenadiel on board as well. Surely she knows all the important things… certainly more than he does about their current situation anyway. He doesn't reply, and she decides to wait him out, her hand reaching out to trace her fingers over his left wrist and forearm, just about the only part of his arms available.

"Detective Decker," he rasps finally, his gaze sliding slowly from the now-empty blanket covering his stomach to where her hand wraps gently around his wrist. Something is prompting him, telling him that this woman is worthy of his trust. "I… find myself at a bit of a momentary disadvantage. It appears that my head injury may have… somewhat… affected my memory. I know that you and I work together to solve homicides, but… I was not aware that you knew… other things. Would… could you please bring me up to speed on what you know about me, and our current situation?"

"Well, first things first... usually you just call me 'Detective'—"