Author's Note: Let's be honest. No one thought I was going to finish this. Especially me. I don't even want to look at the length of time that's passed since I updated it. Apparently, all I needed to finally find the muse to write this was a global pandemic that restricted me to my house and rain for three straight weeks so I couldn't even enjoy the outdoors. Who'da thought? Anyway. This particular chapter was inspired by 1) talking to ariaadagio over on Tumblr, and 2) watching the pilot for the first time in ages. Lucifer, before he even meets Chloe, has started to 'care' according to Maze. Not enough to go about solving crimes, but enough to provide people like Delilah a chance to get ahead, and ask only that she get her shit together. So, I decided to write how he came to believe that people at least deserved a chance (because let's face it, based on previous chapters? He wouldn't). Ahem. ONWARDS!

Lucifer tried to keep himself aloof and distant from people as much as he could. He didn't exactly shy away from them, but he was more…cautious. After her, he didn't let others serve him food or drinks. Only Maze. He kept to groups rather than individuals, and if he wasn't in the mood for Lux or her patrons, he kept himself away at any number of his other properties.

After the disaster at the church, he no longer sought his Father's council, because clearly, it was not going to be given. Amenadiel was akin to talking to a brick wall – every conversation, no matter how civilly it started, devolved into an argument. Usually a physical one as well as verbal and no matter how lore portrayed him, Lucifer didn't actually like to fight. Argue, yes. Fight? With a sibling? Not so much.

He learned long, long ago that just because he could, did not mean he should.

He tried his best to avoid the messy, messy lives of humans because even he drew a line at the types of favors he was willing to grant. People tended to take reputation of the Devil a little far, and if he had one more drunk and irate significant other trying to bribe him with their souls to off their OTHER significant others, he was going to give serious thought about relocating to the east coast. At least they only asked for professional sporting event outcome intervention.

What would he even do with a soul, anyway? That wasn't any form of legal tender. What did people think he did with them? Was he supposed to pay the electric with two and half marginally used souls? During one of his late sleepless days, he finally got curious as to why anyone would even think that was a solid form of payment and the Google search results were absolutely revolting.

Ugh. That was just…he shuddered even thinking about it.

And people blamed him for their depravity.

He tried his best to avoid the complicated ones, and keep to the simple ones. The ones who wanted no more than just a night of his time, with no deals brokered and no serious credulity to the thought that he was exactly who and what he said. The ones easily distracted by shiny lights, loud music, and the promise that they could let their guards down within the walls of Lux and not have to worry about with whom and where they woke up.

The infinite now was all he cared about. All he dared to think about. He didn't get involved. He kept his distance. He just wanted everything loud enough and bright enough that he didn't have space to think about anything or anyone else.

But try as he might, it never quite worked out the way he planned.

Lucifer tilted his head back against the rough stucco of Lux's back alley wall. It wasn't really an alley per say, just the minimal parking lot abutting the back of the club, lined with trees on the far side, where he parked the 'Vette and the few employees who didn't use public transportation kept their vehicles.

But it was quiet, it was empty, and no one bothered him out here. He could have a rare moment to himself. He took a lighter and cigarette from his inside coat pocket. It wasn't so much that he liked smoking, though it didn't bother him like it seemed to bother humans. It was a convenient vice that allowed him to excuse himself outdoors with little explanation.

He took a long drag, holding it in his lungs for a moment as he gazed up at the stars, flicking ash away with a brush of his thumb. And how are you tonight, my loves? He doubted anyone else on Earth had the eyesight to see through the light and air pollution over Los Angeles, but he could see his creation as easily as if he were standing on an island in the middle of the sea on a moonless night.

He may be…less than he was without his wings. But he was still a far cry from human.

"There's no point."

His hearing was better than that of a normal human being, but still greatly reduced compared to an archangel - as were most of his senses - and after years of being on Earth and before that, eons in Hell, and a lifetime of ignoring others, Lucifer was highly adept at tuning out the world around him. With minor exception, it wasn't like it mattered if someone snuck up on him.

It was the voice itself that made him jerk upright, pushing off the wall with surprise. It sounded like Maze when she spoke in Lilim, except plainly in English.

A man, roughly in his early thirties, shuffled across the small lot. His clothes were filthy and worn, layer upon layer that would make most people sweat buckets in the warm Los Angeles evening. His skin was darker, but Lucifer could tell most of it was just dirt and grime from days, if not weeks, without a proper wash. He limped more than walked, one knee unbending as the other took the brunt of his weight as he edged closer to Lucifer.

"Pardon?"

The man chuckled, pointing up. "You're looking for the stars, right? You can't see 'em through the light pollution. Not here in the city. Nah, you wanna see stars in Hollywood, the closest you're gonna get is that chintzy bullshit on the Walk of Fame."

Lucifer snorted at that. "You'd be surprised what I can see from here. Even through the 'chintzy bullshit'."

The man laughed outright. "You get a better view from up there?" He gestured to the top of Lux. "Looks like it might clear the atmosphere from way down here."

"The altitude has little to do with it," Lucifer allowed. He put the cigarette back to his lips.

"You got any to spare?"

Lucifer held out the metallic case, and the man looked genuinely surprised. Lucifer assumed it was from the monogram Maze had emblazoned on it as a joke - that ridiculous goat head that was on his pentecostal coin. "Inside joke from a co-worker," he explained, still holding the case out.

The man shook his head, reaching grimy fingers to the shiny case. Underneath ragged and gnawed on nails was a black line of dirt, missing cuticles around the edges. Beneath the grime, it was hard to tell what color his skin naturally was. Medium length hair trailed out from underneath a battered and worn knit hat, and a week long beard grew in impressive thickness, shot through with gray.

"Most people just turn away if I ask them something," the man rasped, taking a long and appreciative drag on the cigarette. "Or tell me to get a job. Or pretend like I'm not even there. Or act like I'm not…" He turned to look at Lucifer, running a wary eye over Lucifer. "You ain't one of those people who try to steal livers and kidneys, are ya?"

Lucifer couldn't help the harsh bark of laughter that turned into choking as he almost inhaled the actual cigarette in his mouth by accident. "No," he wheezed in between hacking, "Even if I was, yours would hardly fetch top dollar. I doubt it would be worth the effort."

The man smirked, revealing surprisingly white teeth. "Ah, so we've agreed it's a sound business strategy, now we're haggling on quality of product. I'm sure there's some asshole around here who wouldn't miss a kidney - hell, they could probably afford to buy it back from us. What say you, pard'ner? Sound like a deal?"

"It's not the normal type of deal I strike," Lucifer confessed. "And I hardly need the money from black market organs."

The man blew out a puff of smoke. "Ah, so I gets to keep the profit, is that what I'm hearing? You got yourself a deal, Mister…?" he trailed off, raising a ragged eyebrow expectantly.

"Morningstar. Lucifer Morningstar." He waited for the disbelieving snort, or the snide comments, or even the laughter.

Instead, the man shook his head. "Your parents were a couple 'a assholes, weren't they?"

"No argument there," Lucifer agreed.

They shared the remains of their cigarettes in companionable silence, staring up at the stars.

As the man finished his, he gave an odd sort of two finger salute that seemed mostly sarcastic. "Thanks for the smoke, Satan."

"Lucifer," he corrected. "And I didn't catch your name."

"Mac. Everyone calls me Mac. Might as well be my name now."

"Another for the road?" Lucifer fished the cigarette case back out, offering another one to Mac, who waved it off.

"Nah, man, those things will kill you." As if to prove his point, he hacked dryly into the crook of his elbow. "Gotta pace myself." He gave Lucifer an appraising look, dark eyes like burnt coffee giving him a once over that made Lucifer feel less like he was being undressed, more like he was being sized up for inner worth. Mac nodded, satisfied with whatever he'd seen. "I'll see ya later, Satan. You's good people."

"Lucifer," he corrected again.

"That's what I said."

Lucifer watched as the man limped off towards the back part of the lot, listening as he grumbled to himself about parents giving shit names to their kids.

It became a ritual of sorts. Not an every night type, but a 'the night is clear and the stars are out' type. Lucifer wasn't entirely sure where Mac disappeared to when he left the parking lot, but the man didn't seem eager to share, so Lucifer didn't pry.

Sometimes the conversations were long and thought provoking, other times short and a matter of who would win in a cage match between Mariah Carey and circa 2007 Britney Spears.

Sometimes they shared a smoke, other times Lucifer had a bottle of his finest Kentucky Bourbon. Sometimes it was food that Lucifer insisted didn't taste right if eaten alone, to which Mac would laugh, and scarf down more than half of it, sucking the crumbs off his fingers as he finished. "Tastes fine to me," he would say.

Lucifer found out the hitch in his step was from a prosthetic from the knee down, lost in an accident when his convoy hit an IED on Route Irish. "Somewhere in Iraq, some fucker is running around with my size twelve boot. I'mma get it back one of these days."

They commiserated over the loss of limbs - the phantom pain that would wake one on the middle of the night, reaching for something that simply wasn't there anymore. The limitations it put on things that were once so simple. The jealousy it stirred when one saw someone do something that once came so easily to them.

Mac confided he was a fighter in a pointless war, and asked where Lucifer served - because he knew the face of a fellow soldier. "I was the general of a pointless war," Lucifer admitted. "And I'm sorry I ever gave you people the idea."

Mac had laughed hard at that, wheezing in between breaths as he choked on accidentally inhaled beer. "Aw, shit…if only we could blame you for war. How fucking easy would that be? 'I didn't do it - it was the devil!' Ha! Mankind creates its own goddamn problems. No need to take responsibility for what we do to each other."

Lucifer was never entirely sure how much Mac believed - Lucifer purposely and pointedly spoke in vague abstractions rather than concrete certainties. He didn't lie, but he didn't make an effort to convince Mac that his name was more than a poor choice by Hollywood parents.

It was…nice…to be considered human. Or at the very least, an equal.

A sentiment Mac shared. People looked away from him, pretended that they couldn't hear him, moved to the other side of the sidewalk or even the street to get away from him. They warned their children to stay away, they turned their noses up and commented on the sad state of society as if he couldn't understand they were talking about him. Men wearing Rolex watches and women in Manolos opening wallets with hundred dollar bills to toss their loose change in his general direction, giving him advice on how to better himself, because clearly, he was only homeless because he lacked the knowledge on how to change it.

"People don't understand how hard it is to change," Mac said. "Like living in the shrubbery and sleeping in doorways is really the way we want to be."

Lucifer noticed that Mac rarely spoke about his life circumstances in the singular. Almost always it was plural. The few times Lucifer offered a way out - a job, a place to stay, food, clothes - Mac turned him down. But he did steer others towards his offerings.

"Don't waste a good thing on me," Mac said. "I tried the normal life. Tried it until I thought my head would split. Can't expect people to want to put up with this bullshit of mine. Can't never tell when something is just gonna break inside, show the rot for all the world to see. Ain't fair to ask for a job I can't keep. Meds don't work. Therapy don't work. I ain't mad or nothin' - that's just how some shit shows go."

Lucifer liked Mac. He enjoyed their conversations, sitting on the picnic table Lucifer pointedly had installed after it was clear their conversations were neither short, not infrequent. Besides, Mac mentioned once he hardly ever got to sit at a table anymore.

And then one day…it stopped. It wasn't an immediate alarm for Lucifer. It wasn't as if they kept a schedule. Mac pointed out more than once that he wasn't really what one would call a 'reliable' guy. But something about it felt off. Something wasn't quite right. He crushed the feeling down. He was being paranoid. Mac surely had a life outside of their night time conversations. Right?

Days became a week. A week became two.

Lucifer rationalized that it was the change of the seasons. Mac had moved on with the weather.

He still waited for him outside when he didn't much feel like being surrounded by strangers. Maze scoffed and reminded him that he was the Devil. He wasn't supposed to care.

He repeated it to himself. He didn't care. He didn't care, he wouldn't care. Over and over like a mantra.

But it was a lie. And even Lucifer could only lie to himself for so long.

When he went looking for Mac, it took him a little while to find someone else who knew him, and could tell him where he was.

In the city morgue.

Unclaimed, unwanted, unmarked and unknown.

According to the coroner's report, he died from multiple stab wounds. According to the police, it was an open and shut case - another transient killed Mac over turf, or shoes, or food, or smokes, or something else inconsequential. That's what these people did, he was informed by more than one officer. They were hardly people at all, living like animals. Making a mess of things, bringing the tourism industry down. There was nothing to investigate, he was told. Let it go.

Lucifer had many a fatal flaw. Letting go of something was not one of them.

He found the man responsible. It was easy enough - just find the only one who stood to gain from the loss of one barely-human life. A realty mogul, who promised a revitalizing of the poorer sections of the city, who made grand, sweeping statements about cleaning up the area and getting rid of the trash so that good, honest people would have an affordable place to live. The only thing that stood in his way?

A homeless veteran, who'd seen his share of war, and refused to be pushed out of the only place he could call home.

The man confessed that Mac was causing problems - rallying the other homeless in the area to stay their ground. Involving city officials on the tactics the millionaire was using to push the men and women out of where he intended to build. He had to go, the man said, as Maze dangled him over the bridge. "It was just business!" the man shrieked as he tried to reach up to Maze's grip. "I didn't know he was somebody!"

Lucifer's eyes flashed red, and he knew if he still had his wings, they would be out in full furious form right now as he grabbed the man by his tie, yanking him back up to street level, his feet barely scraping the ground as Lucifer held him aloft by his silken tie that cost more than everything Mac owned. "They're all somebody," he snarled. His devil face flashed violently into existence, the heat around them ratcheting up as Lucifer gave the man a glimpse of the Hell he was bound for.

The man - if one could even consider something like him human at all - screamed. Or attempted to. It came out as a pitiful gurgling wheeze, his eyes rolling madly in the back of his head as he pulled at Lucifer's grip.

Disgust more than anything made Lucifer drop him. He landed roughly on all fours on the tarmac, scraping his hands as he fell.

"You're the Devil…" the man wheezed. "You're The Devil!"

"That I am," Lucifer snarled. "And you need to be punished."

Seventeen days later, according to the police, the man was found stark naked in the desert, raving madly about how the devil was real and walked the Earth, with no explanation of how he'd gotten there, or how he'd survived. According to his bank records, he'd donated all of his millions to a local homeless shelter, apparently scrapping his plans of redevelopment before vanishing. The police couldn't quite figure out what to make of it, or his vehement protests that the Devil who made him do it owned the most popular club in Los Angeles.

Without his money, or a family or friend to care, he was remitted to state psychiatric care. At least, for a few months. Before they had to start whittling down their numbers, due to cut funding. With nowhere to go, the man landed on the street, condemned to the life of the man he murdered.

Oh, what a funny world it was.

Lucifer decided what the world needed was a little justice. Since it was obvious the corrupt and inefficient police department wasn't going to enforce it, he would. He didn't ask favors, he didn't grant wishes. He wasn't a bloody genie, after all. He provided…opportunities. Offered chances to those that would otherwise have none. He didn't help them succeed or fail. He merely opened the door.

Where that door lead was entirely up to them.

Author's note: Ta da! First thing in Lucifer fandom in 'I don't want to think about how long' - for all I know this will be greeted by crickets, having long been forgotten. But at the very least, I WILL KNOW THAT IT'S DONE. And yes, done, because I do have the final chapter written, I just want to polish it a bit before posting. If it so moves you - reviews are lovely and very inspiring!