Author's Note: Bet you thought I was a liar when I said this was already done, just needed some editing, huh? I don't blame you. In actuality, this chapter was written first, and this 5+1 almost became a 4+1 just to be done with it. This chapter is probably the shortest, but I actually did that on purpose - I wanted it to be something simple, sweet, and grand-not-grand gesture. Special thanks again to ariaadagio an dragonnan on Tumblr for helping me out with this (especially dragonnan who literally helped me finish by writing the last line when I was losing my goddamn mind - you're a peach, never change). For reference, this would take place somewhere around...season 2, around or near the episode timeline when it looks like Lucifer might lose Lux but Chloe steps in and gets it declared a landmark. Anyway. ONWARDS.
Somehow, somewhere, someone got it into their heads that just because Lucifer Morningstar showed up one day five years ago as proprietor of a rundown former club at a crossroad, meant he hadn't existed until that very moment.
Really, it was laughable. Bordering on the mythos of Aphrodite – springing fully formed into the world as a thirty something year old man one Tuesday in August. Well, not exactly the story of Aphrodite, but definitely the poofing into existence fully grown. Just because he hadn't existed here didn't mean he didn't exist elsewhere, born just like anyone else. Well. Anyone else was born before there was Light and measurable time.
He'd been topside many times. Never for long – Amenadiel always showed up within a few hours, or, if he was lucky, days – but he liked to consider it a bit of a vacation for himself.
In reality, it was to remind himself that yes, there was a place outside of Hell, and it was marvelous, and worth waiting on his Father's judgment if it meant that this was where he could come to once his stay in Hell was over.
Lucifer didn't imagine there was a place on Earth he could hate - aside from the DMV. He begrudgingly had to admit, his Father had outdone Himself with the creation of the World. Colors, tastes, sights and sounds in a whirling, swirling dance of humanity that was more intoxicating than any drug he'd ever found (and he had found a lot). Free and unfettered from preordained existence, no hand to push or pull them beyond their own.
But there was still things he couldn't quite help but see his Father at work - like their absurd amount of rules and love of bureaucracy. At times it was just like the Silver City - so close it made him want to scream and find an entirely new universe where the occupants weren't so bloody obsessed with rules and red tape that made life feel like an ever tightening noose around his neck.
Lucifer hadn't taken into account how much paperwork was involved with being human. Or at least living as one. Apparently, one couldn't simply pop into existence and buy a club in cash. One needed a driver's license and credit history, a building permit for renovations…and then every new piece of paperwork needed more paperwork. You couldn't get a driver's license without having an address in the state you were applying, no matter how many times he tried to explain that's what I'm trying to do, you bloody idiot. You couldn't get a place to live without having credit history, because you had to rent if you couldn't buy, but you couldn't rent because you needed a referral of a previous landlord and proof of employment even if you did have an entire lifetime of rent on hand and in cash - unless he wanted to live in a hole that made Hell look pleasant. It was sorely tempting to simply terrify people into giving him what he wanted, but then…he would be no better than his Father. "Do as I command, or I burn your city to the ground." And if he did threaten it, he would have to carry through the threat, and if he did that, then there would be no night club to buy or people to occupy it, and he definitely was being dragged back to Hell - by Amenadiel or Michael or, perish the thought - by Father Himself.
After weeks of trying to do it legally and getting nowhere, fate smiled upon Lucifer - or at least, that was how he chose to look at it, rather than some meddling hands from on high - and Neil Palmer stumbled into Lucifer's path. The man was a funeral director by trade, but where the man made his money was in new identities, and not only was he the best in the business, but Lucifer found his business tactics something of a marvel, and he couldn't help his fascination.
Palmer was a marvelously moral gray. Yes, he broke the law, and quite proficiently, but he still had standards. He created new identities for saints and sinners alike - but it was the way he charged for his services that intrigued Lucifer. The fee for a brand new you - birth certificate, credit history, credit cards, social security (which, really? How did a number assigned to you make you any more real than physically existing?) and everything else was a hundred thousand. A drop in the bucket for clientele such as Lucifer and other questionable types, but largely impractical for anyone else. Which was where the interesting part came in.
One could plead their case, and if Palmer thought it was a reasonable enough request, he did it pro bono. Cases like abused and battered men and women fleeing their abusers, whole families fleeing genocide in different parts of the world, and children not old enough to legally find work to get away from abusive parents - all of them were free, paid for by the funding of the less upstanding clients.
Lucifer paid double the man's fee, and steered a steady stream of business his way. A little bit good, a little bit bad. That morally gray area that his siblings abhorred and his Father frowned upon. Lucifer considered it a worthwhile investment.
Beyond that and the incident with Malcolm Graham, Lucifer never gave another thought to his 'human' identity. Not his made up social, not his made up credit history, not the made up mother or unknown father he belonged to, not the birth certificate that said he was born in Wales circa the 70's to a hospital that if anyone bothered to look up would find mysteriously shuttered and closed. He didn't know if he was a Monday's Child, or a Leo. Time was irrelevant - he was immortal. Days and weeks and months meant nothing, and he hardly noticed one day from the next.
Until Chloe Decker.
"Here," she said, placing a box in front of him on her desk.
It was small, square, and white, a bright red fabric ribbon tied delicately around the cardboard sides and knotted in a neat little bow. A smudged black ink stamp adorned one corner, purposely smeared by someone's hand so that he couldn't decipher it.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow, the mindless game on his phone promptly forgotten as he eyed the box and bow. He lifted his feet from her desk, shifting his weight to edge closer to the box. "What's this, Detective?"
She half smiled, that funny little one that he liked to think she reserved just for him. The one where he wasn't sure if she found him quirky or just plain strange. "Open it."
"Hmm," he hummed, cocking his head to one side. "Opening strange boxes hasn't gone well for most people I know - Pandora, for one. The Trojans, for another - though that was a horse, so maybe it doesn't count…"
"Lucifer, just…open it. It won't kill you."
He sighed dramatically. "Where's the fun without a little mystery?" But he did as he was told. He pulled at the delicate ribbon, sliding the knot loose and cautiously peeking inside.
He frowned in confusion. "A…cupcake, Detective?" He looked up at her, noticing how she bit the corner of her lip even as she smiled around it - she was happy, but unsure. Which made two of them. "Not that I don't appreciate dessert at one thirty in the afternoon, but is there a reason you brought me a cupcake from…" he squinted at the smudged stamp. "Lark's Pastry?"
"Oh. No, sorry - the box is one from Trixie's birthday, but it was the only one I had that worked." She rolled her shoulders in an unapologetic shrug, as if to say 'what else you gonna do?'. "The cupcake is home made, and according to Quality Control, they're even better than the ones at Lark's."
Lucifer couldn't help the curl of his lip. "The little urchin had her sticky hands on this? Why would I want it then?"
"Well, not specifically that one. She did help make the batch though. This was the only one that wasn't inhaled during taste testing."
He wasn't sure if that was supposed to assure him of the quality or prevent him from trying it. "And you…want a second opinion?" Lucifer asked, struggling to figure out why the Detective brought him the cupcake.
The Detective frowned at that. "What? No. We made it for you. I figured you would prefer a cupcake to a whole cake. And it was easier to package than a whole one. If it helps, it's Devil's Food Cake. I thought you might appreciate the irony of Angel Food Cake, but Trixie was adamant you preferred chocolate."
That answered nothing. He stared unblinkingly at her, and she met his gaze, confusion growing as he continued to stare at her.
"You really have no idea why we made you cupcakes." She didn't phrase it as a question, and she wasn't wrong. He hazarded another guess.
"A new hobby you and your spawn are testing out for bonding purposes?"
"It's your birthday," she said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "We made you a cupcake for your birthday!"
"I don't have a birthday," he pointed out. He predated measurable time. There wasn't such a thing as a sun or stars when he was born. He couldn't measure his existence by years if he tried - it simply couldn't be done. The idea of a celestial having something as absurd as a birthday was just, well…absurd.
Chloe stared at him, open mouthed before he saw doubt flicker across her face. "You mean you didn't celebrate it?"
"No, I mean I don't have one. I mean, obviously I was born, I didn't just magically spring up out of the ground as a I am today, but, no. I don't have a birthday."
"Everyone has a birthday, Lucifer. Even you. Here." She came around the desk, rolling him and the chair to one side as she logged into her computer. With a few short strokes, Lucifer's profile appeared. He'd almost forgotten he had a record. She stepped back again, and pointed to the screen.
August 17th, 1978.
Today.
"I'll be damned…" he muttered.
"Now is the time where I make a comment like 'didn't that already happen?'" Chloe smirked without malice. "Now that it's settled that the great and fearsome Lucifer Morningstar does in fact have a birthday like the rest of us…" She produced a small, electric pink candle from her blazer pocket and held her hand out to him, palm up, expectantly. "I don't have a lighter. Can I borrow yours?"
He handed it over without argument, still trying to process…this.
She stuck the candle in the top of the decadent frosting which he just now noticed drooped unevenly to one side. The cake listed slightly in the box and had clearly bounced around a little in the car on its way from Chloe's home. She lit the candle. Hummed the Birthday Song in a sing-songy lilt.
"Make a wish, Lucifer."
He stared at her. Unabashedly and without guile.
"Lucifer, you have to blow the candle out, or it's just going to get wax all over the frosting."
He didn't move. Didn't even look at the candle or the supposed waxy mess it was creating.
"Are you going to make a wish or not?"
How could she ask such a thing? How could he possibly form a coherent enough thought to come up with anything he wanted enough to wish for? When she was standing there, with that affectionate smile that also suggested she thought he was being a little strange, blanking out everything else?
What could possibly compare?
"Lucifer?"
He shook his head, breaking eye contact with the detective, and blew out the dangerously low flame.
"Where did you go just then?" she asked, pulling out the still cooling candle, sucking the frosting off the bottom before she realized what she'd done and offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Habit."
"When?"
"Just now. When you were staring at me like I had eight heads. Did you really not celebrate birthdays in your family? Were you raised Jehovah's Witnesses?" She frowned. "Wait. Did I…was this okay? I didn't…open old wounds or dredge up bad memories or anything did I?"
Lucifer shook his head. "No…no, Detective. You…" he paused, considering what exactly he meant. "Quite the opposite, really."
They always came with a cost, gifts. No halos in heaven - very few actual saints, truth be told. Wings, though... not even the freedom of flight could counterbalance the eternal servitude that came with that package deal. Surely a somewhat sat upon baked good couldn't measure itself against the offerings of the Silver City...
And yet he found that, in this moment, it was a greater treasure than all the wealth that glittering metropolis had to offer.
What a wondrous thing, that a race could be so absolutely, imperfectly...perfect.
Author's Note: TA DA. IT'S DONE. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?! THIS IS THE FIRST MULTI-CHAPTER FIC FOR LUCIFER I HAVE FINISHED. How damn embarrassing is that? ::glares at Damnatio:: You'll get yours, you stupid thing. Just you wait. Ahem. Anyway. Like it, love it, spiritually unfulfilling and leaving you shrieking into the void as you wonder why you waited so long? Let me know, drop me a line - and, as I don't think I had tumblr when I started this - feel free to find me disappearinginq. I promise I don't bite ;-)