Author's Note: The fic is set somewhere in late Season 3.
No particular warnings apply; rating is due to some blood/injury (not overly graphic, though) and some swearing later on. Also, some religious themes will be mentioned in passing in a later chapter.

Many thanks to Harmony and Tempest, who helped me making this story better. All remaining mistakes are mine and only mine, because I apparently can't stop tinkering with chapters even when they're ready to be posted LOL

Now, on with the story.
Enjoy, and don't forget to leave me a comment!

It had been a rather uneventful day at the precinct, definitely bordering on the boring side. Their last case had basically solved itself – the clues, for once, taking them straight to the killer, no detours involved: no red herrings, no misunderstandings of any kind leading them off track. While the Detective seemed quite pleased with the outcome, the same couldn't be said for Lucifer. Where was the fun in a case that all but solved itself?

And, to make matters worse, the killer had caved in and chosen to confess outrageously quickly, without Lucifer even having the opportunity to use his mojo – something he considered akin to a blatant act of disrespect towards him.

All that was left to do was paperwork – which was exactly the reason why the Devil was currently holed up in an unoccupied office. He was furiously tapping away at his phone, busy beating his own records in every game he had downloaded in the last few months. Straightforward as the games were, they were still preferable to paperwork.

Unfortunately, the pastime was growing old rather quickly, not to mention the rapid draining of his phone battery. With a long-suffering sigh, he set the phone down on the desk and looked around in search of another distraction – not an easy feat, considering all that he could see scattered around the desk were manila folders, scraps of paper, pens and other meaningless, boring, stationery paraphernalia.

Good thing bored to death was just a human expression; otherwise, he'd have been in danger of meeting a rather untimely demise!

He didn't even have Cain to keep an eye on; he was at a several-days-long police convention somewhere – Nevada maybe, or Nebraska, Lucifer couldn't really be bothered to remember. Somewhere starting with an N, at any rate. Why on Earth anyone would willingly subject themselves to such a torture was beyond Lucifer's comprehension. However, if it meant having Cain away from L.A. for a few days, and therefore away from the Detective, he wasn't going to complain.

His musings were cut short as a small, human-shaped blur slammed against his legs and, before he could react, wrapped around him octopus-style. A grabby, sticky octopus. The attack was followed by a high-pitched shriek that would've made several of the loudest demons in Hell pale in comparison. "Lucifer!"

"Hello, spawn," he greeted, awkwardly patting the child on the head. He didn't even try to pry himself from Trixie's grasp – he had long learned that it was a futile endeavor and that he'd best resign both himself and his suit to their sticky fate. "What are you doing here?"

"Dad was supposed to spend the afternoon with me, but he had to work," she explained. "We were supposed to go to the park."

"Yes, right. I meant here in this room, touching me," he clarified, gesturing vaguely towards the otherwise empty room.

The child, who mercifully disentangled herself, looked up at him with a solemn expression. "Mommy said I should come talk to you."

Lucifer blinked at the last piece of information, slightly taken aback. It seemed a rather specific request, and quite unexpected. The Detective wasn't always particularly keen on him spending unsupervised time with her spawn – something that had to do with his apparent 'utter immaturity' and 'total lack of responsibility'. Her words, obviously.

"She did? What on Earth for?"

The child got closer again, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, and gestured for him to lean down. He obliged, mostly out of curiosity.

"She's angry with Daddy," she said, in what was supposed to be a whisper but could probably be heard by the whole building. "They're going to fight. They always tell me to go play somewhere else when they do – they think I don't notice," she added with a Mazikeen-like eyeroll.

"You're a clever little minx, aren't you?" he asked, giving her an approving smile. Despite her penchant for hugging and her perpetually sticky state of being, he had to admit that she was quite smart for her young age.

She flashed him a devious smile, evidently pleased at her co-conspirator's praise, but the happy look didn't last. "They fight a lot," she said, sadness coloring her features, washing her smile away.

"Well, parents tend to do that, yes," he commented in a neutral tone, straightening himself up.

It evidently sparked her curiosity. "Did yours, too? Fight, I mean."

"Oh yes, they did, they basically invented the whole concept of marital breakdown."

The child frowned, mulling for a moment over his remark. And while his choice of words was probably a bit obscure to her, she evidently got the gist of it. "Oh. And they still do?" she enquired after a few seconds.

Lucifer chuckled at the question. "Definitely not, Dad sent Mum away quite a long time ago." He realized his blunder the second the words left his mouth.

The offspring was now looking at him with what he had come to dub the floodgates-face: her bottom lip dangerously wobbling, eyes wide, scared, and brimming with unshed tears as she stared at him. "Your Daddy sent your Mommy away?"

Uh-oh. "Yes Child, but you have nothing to worry about," he hurried to backpedal, plastering a huge, reassuring smile on his face. "Your parents are very different from mine; I can assure you. Your father would never banish your mother. Or vice versa," he added as an afterthought, even if the second option didn't seem so bad in his opinion.

His words seemed to have some effect on her, but not enough; while her lip wasn't trembling anymore, her face still held that wide-eyed, worried look. He scrambled for something else to say - to fix things before incurring in the Detective's wrath. Or, at least, something that could bring back a smile to the spawn's face.

But how exactly do you prevent a child's teary outburst? Unfortunately, human fledglings didn't come with an operating manual. He racked his brain for an idea to distract her from the whole subject. What made the urchin happy? The only things that came to his mind were hugs, chocolate cake and throwing knives with Maze.

The first option was out of question – he'd already had more than his share for the day, or the century, for that matter. The third option was also impossible since they currently lacked both the knives and the demon. That only left distraction of the sugary kind.

"Why don't we go get a snack, mmh?" he said, nodding his head in the general direction of the vending machines.

Thankfully, it worked.

A smile blossomed on the urchin's face – still a tad too uncertain for Lucifer's liking, but definitely there – and she nodded vigorously. "Something with chocolate?"

Lucifer nodded. "Deal," he exclaimed, clapping his hands, and off they went. Bullet dodged. Perhaps human offspring weren't so difficult to manage after all. If three different kinds of chips, Cool Ranch Puffs for himself obviously included, four types of chocolate snacks, several bags of candy, a mini bottle of red fruit juice and an energy drink were the price for the spawn's newfound serenity, well, he was more than willing to provide.

"Mommy says I shouldn't drink this," the child announced waving the still-unopened energy drink with a tad too much enthusiasm. She eyed the heap of sweets and snacks occupying the surface of the desk, then selected a chocolate bar, her second one, but this time with caramel topping.

Lucifer scooped the last remnants of Cool Ranch Puff dust from the now empty package, then proceeded to pop the plastic bag with a resounding bang. "And why shouldn't you?"

"She says there's too much sugar and…cof- huh, coffee-in?" she explained, stumbling over the last word.

The Devil scoffed. So typical of human adults; if something was fun, trust them to forbid their children from enjoying it. Drugs, alcohol, driving, swearing, now even coffee and sugar? Preposterous!

He snatched the can from her hand. "Well, if you shouldn't drink it, I'll do the honors."

Chloe chose that exact moment to pass by and seized the drink from his grasp. "She definitely shouldn't have this, and neither should you," she stated, eliciting a giggle from her offspring and a far less amused grumble from the Devil. "God knows what would happen with you on a sugar-plus-caffeine rush."

"Detective, I assure you my Father doesn't give a damn about my beverage choices."

The Detective ignored him and crouched down to be eye-level with her child. "Monkey, I know you had other plans for the afternoon, but Mommy and Daddy both have to work and…" She didn't get to finish the sentence. A loud commotion was erupting in the middle of the precinct and Chloe looked up in concern.

Before she or Lucifer could venture over to ask what was happening, Dan came rushing up to them. Only as he skidded to a halt in front of them did Lucifer notice how pale and shaken he looked.

"A bomb," he said, "here." It came out as a strangled whisper, Daniel's voice so tight that Lucifer wondered if he had heard him right.

Chloe frowned at him, clearly uncomprehending. Her displeasure with her ex-husband's behavior plainly written on her face, but there was an undertone of worry in her voice as she asked; "What?"

Dan took a deep breath, evidently trying to calm himself down. "Someone just called in a bomb threat. It's… They said it's here, in the building."

"Oh God," the Detective breathed, gripping the back of the office chair in front of her so tight that her knuckles turned white.

For once, Lucifer didn't feel like complaining about her choice of blasphemy. "Who called it in?" he asked instead.

"We don't know, a woman. She said someone else did it, that's all I know," Dan replied, running his hands through his hair anxiously. "We should try and trace the call, but we need to clear the building. It's probably just a threat, a prank maybe, but we can't stay here."

A bloody prank? For a second Lucifer was taken aback by the notion. Why bother to call in a fake bomb threat, just for the fun of watching people get in a sweat about it? And then it dawned on him: it was all about the chaos, wasn't it? Chaos, panic, mayhem... Lucifer wasn't generally opposed to chaos, quite the contrary, in truth; he was, after all, the Devil and a bit of chaos certainly could shake things up. However, he didn't take pleasure in chaos just for the sake of it. He liked the fun kind of chaos.

But a bomb threat to a police precinct? This wasn't about fun; this was about fear and intimidation, meant to cause a disruption of justice, of punishment. That was something Lucifer couldn't condone.

Oh, he was going to enjoy catching and punishing the little miscreant responsible for this. The Devil would show him was true chaos was…

"Lucifer," Chloe piped in with an urgent, clipped tone, breaking his train of thought, and nodded her head towards the child. "Take her out, get her somewhere safe."

Lucifer looked at her hesitantly. It seemed like an odd request; obviously it made sense for her to want her spawn as far away from danger as possible, sure. But, for Dad's sake, why was she asking him, of all people?

He was the Devil – he punished evil. Didn't she want his help in finding the worthless lowlife responsible for the threat? Better yet, why didn't the Detective herself take the child home, so that both would be safe? He didn't have the chance to voice any of his objections. The Detective, perhaps sensing his reluctance, spoke again.

"Lucifer, please," she insisted, an undercurrent of desperation now evident in her words. "I need to know she's safe and I'm asking you – begging you – to do this for me."

Lucifer understood: the Detective was entrusting him with the most precious thing in her life, her offspring, relying on him to keep her safe. As the gravity of her request settled on him, he felt his hesitation melting away like snow in the sun. It was near impossible for him to refuse the Detective at the best of times. He'd be damned if he would fail her when the stakes were so high.

"Very well, Detective," he agreed. "You should come out with us. Detective Dou…erm, Daniel, too. We should all leave immediately, as a precaution, of course," he added as a movement caught his eye and he saw the child shifting anxiously as she watched them speak.

"We will," she said in a tone he figured she meant to be reassuring, "but we need to evacuate the civilians and people in the holding cells first," she added looking at Dan.

"Mommy?" Trixie's fear was obvious in her voice as she gazed up at her mother.

"Trixie, babe, I need you to go with Lucifer," Chloe said, crouching down again in front of her daughter. Her tone was firm, leaving no room for discussion, but gentle at the same time. "Everything is going to be fine, but I need you to stay with him and listen really well to anything he tells you. Don't touch anything and don't use your phone until you're far away from the building, okay?" The last part she might have added as much for Lucifer's benefit as for Trixie's.

"Why can't you and Daddy come with us?" Trixie asked. Her bottom lip was visibly trembling, but there were no tears; she was clearly doing her best not to cry.

"We'll be right behind you, Monkey. But you have to be brave for me for a little while. We'll all see each other outside."

Trixie nodded, not completely convinced, and Chloe gave her a quick hug and got up.

"Lucifer, do you remember the evacuation route?"

"Of course, Detective," he replied. And he did, in fact. As a civilian consultant he'd been forced to take part in a dreadfully boring round of workplace safety training meetings with the rest of the personnel a couple of months prior. He would've gladly spent the time allowing his mind to wander; however, Miss Lopez had challenged him and Detective Douche to beat her score in the follow-up test. And so, Lucifer had listened intently to hours of mind-numbing droning – Hell forbid he let Detective Douche best him in the challenge! The three of them had ended up scoring the same, perfect scores, naturally. It was only later, as Lucifer had noticed Miss Lopez's extremely smug expression, that he realized perhaps he had been manipulated into paying attention.

As he hastily navigated the corridors towards the exit with the spawn in tow, he reluctantly admitted to himself that all that babbling was in fact coming in handy.

Whoever was behind the threat, and whatever their pitiful reasons were, they had certainly succeeded in provoking chaos. People were running and shouting, some in fear, others in complaint, and the officers were struggling to keep the proceedings calm.

Lucifer realized that the urchin, her hand firmly anchored in his, was having a hard time keeping pace with him, his long legs making his stride too quick for her. Without slowing down, he scooped her up and held her securely to his chest, absently hoping she wouldn't get chocolate on his Armani.

They took the corridor leading to the secondary exit that had been designated as one of the emergency routes. It was quieter than the hall they'd just crossed; far less people with just one officer supervising the evacuation. Lucifer strode quickly toward the door at the end of the hallway as Trixie wrapped her arms around his neck in what would likely have been a strangle hold were she any larger.

Afterwards, Lucifer wouldn't really be able to explain what happened. It couldn't be rationally explained, really.

It was like all sound suddenly muted for a fraction of a second as the rest of his senses came into razor-sharp focus. Something was terribly wrong; he could feel it. It was a vague, inexplicable sensation; pure intuition and instinct spurring him to act without conscious thought. He didn't possess his brother Uriel's skill of predicting patterns, nor his sister Sariel's ability to foresee things. Yet, it was as though he somehow knew a split second in advance what was about to happen, allowing him to know when and where to take cover. He all but leapt headfirst to his right, into a space where the corridor widened to a small alcove.

The blast was sudden, deafening, and overwhelming; a thunderous sound that made the very air vibrate, a wave of pressure squeezing painfully at his eardrums. Thankfully, his larger frame shielded the child from the brunt of the blast.

They were thrown forward, though he didn't know if it was his own momentum, the force of the blast, the ensuing shockwave, or a combination of all three that knocked him off his feet. He landed hard, managing at the very last second to turn his body slightly so as not to crush the child with his weight.

For a second, the whole world was shaking as ear-splitting noise and blinding light bombarded them. Then everything turned pitch black, and he knew no more…