10
Chapter Three
He stared down at the wound. It wasn't much. Yes, deep enough to merit a few stitches, and Lucifer was torn between pulling out the needle and thread from his medical satchel or simply waiting and hoping for his Celestial healing to kick in. However, the ruddy car handle shouldn't have dug into his skin at all. If it weren't a Celestial weapon, a Hell forged blade, or an arse kicking from his idiot brother Amenadiel, then he shouldn't bleed at all. In hundreds of years on earth, it had certainly never happened before.
Lucifer slumped onto the sofa in front half of his suite and stared at the slowing trickle of blood as if it held the mysteries of the universe. Maybe it did, if he could just parse it all out.
Something was well and truly buggered up, and it had everything to do with that lovely yet emotionally constipated Detective Decker. She'd not fallen for his charm, even when he'd deliberately dialed it up to eleven. Then, he'd failed to elicit a hint of a desire from her. It didn't matter how stubborn or complex a human was, he could get desires out of them eventually. Not the former teenage dream of Hot Tub High School, however. But bleeding? That was a bridge too far. He had futzed with that wonky door handle dozens of times, but he only drew blood with her sitting right next to it.
Quod erat demonstrandum.
Chloe Decker wasn't a Celestial. Lucifer had a nose for any of the Host his father sent after him and, by now, with Amendiel well and truly tricked into ruling Hell in his absence, Lucifer was mostly off the hook on that end. Or at least he thought he was. He hadn't even had much harassment from his brother since before disco died. The only angel he ever saw with any passing regularity was Azrael and, perhaps, more because she checked in every few months to make sure Ella was doing well under his watchful eye and protection. She wasn't a demon, either. None of them would dare come to earth to fuck with him. The Infernal had long memories and while Amenadiel might be guarding the underworld currently (albeit also reluctantly), the demons remembered what Lucifer had done to keep them in line when he'd first come from the lake of fire.
To be fair, he thought to himself as he collected up some gauze and wound dressing from his medical bag, there were a myriad of other things the detective could be. Hell, some of the ne'er-do-wells of the other pantheons, especially Trickster gods, were notorious for siring demigods all over. She was lovely enough to be one, whether she knew it or not. Whatever she was, however, Chloe Decker was trouble.
It wouldn't do to have to be associated with someone who could harm him, especially since Lucifer wasn't even sure if the Detective had been trying to harm him or test him or had just been as shocked as he was.
Dad, no.
He'd just get everything patched up-the blood was almost coagulated now anyway-and give his house call tomorrow to Brentwood. Then, he'd forget he'd ever treated the Detective and tell that git Espinoza to lose his phone number. Simple.
And yet, as he drifted to sleep after several handles of Grey Goose and covering his hand in more gauze, Lucifer couldn't shake the haunting beauty of two blue eyes staring at him with perfect trust and begging him for help.
"Boss, you look like shit!" Miss Lopez chirped far too cheerily for whatever time in the morning it was purporting to be. She even had the unmitigated gall to throw open the curtains and let the light in.
Lucifer blinked and, not for the first time, regretted he'd ever lit the sun. Oh, it was a thing of beauty, no doubt, but it was far from desirable when he'd drunk just enough to finally get tipsy, if only for a fleeting moment. Blinking blearily up at her, Lucifer sighed and eyed his hand. The makeshift bandage was shoddy work at best, and crunchy with dried blood, but he'd at least stopped gushing finally some time after he'd passed out.
Thank the universe for small favors.
Miss Lopez finished setting her laptop case on the desk she used in the far alcove of the suite/his office and tsked to herself. "Seriously, Morningstar, I mean, I'm not supposed to say anything…"
Lucifer chuckled wryly. Not speaking would be a feat for Miss Lopez. It was assuredly why she'd attracted a chatterbox angel like Azrael to her in the first place. "Since when?" Grousing to himself, he stood up and slouched to his mini-bar. Vodka was gone so a Bloody Mary was out, but he was sure he still had some Tequila some place. "You speak freely all the time, Miss Lopez."
"Cool," she said. "Because you look real bad today. Was the thing Espinoza called you too that shitty? Crap, is the other cop even alive?"
His jaw clenched for a moment before he loosened his posture and took a draught of his Patron. It wasn't exactly what he'd been craving, but it would have to suffice. "She is. I worked a bit of Morningstar Magic." And truer words had never been spoken. "and she's shaken up quite badly but alright. I'll be giving her a house call later this afternoon."
Miss Lopez bounded over to him, a bit like an overeager puppy, and rolled her eyes. He noted that today in addition to her customary jaunty ponytail, his secretary was wearing a novelty t-shirt of a unicorn flying through the cosmos with the words "Heavy Metal" written under it in pink. At first, he'd assumed that quirk of hers would extend to any novelty t-shirt, but after he'd gotten her one for her first birthday working for him that was, to be fair, a slogan that would have to aspire to be more than a single entendre, Lucifer realized that Miss Lopez really was that unfailingly good. Again, like the Detective, how very odd. She truly loved wearing t-shirts that would have better fit on an eleven-year-old girl. However, he learned to find humor in the endless cuddly cat shirts and slightly sarcastic magical creature regalia.
First, she yanked the Tequila from him. Spoilsport. In deference to his sister, who was an utter coward about explaining to Ella about what she actually was (pfft, as if ghosts existed), he'd never told Miss Lopez exactly what he was. That was, admittedly, a plan with a shelf life. In a decade or two, she'd press him about who is surgeon was or just start pestering him about the never aging bit, which, to be fair was easier to deal with in an age of modern medicine. However, it also meant she assumed he was completely human and couldn't drink out the entirety of the hotel's bar and do several kilos of coke without missing a beat.
He was no mortal, but she fussed over him as if he might drop dead from his eclectic consumption any minute.
Bloody hell, Sis owed him for always keeping up the charade.
"Dude, it's already 1 p.m., so you probably should get showered. No, scratch that, you reek, get showered for sure cause, you know, you're trying to be professional."
He smirked at that. "You're still bitter I didn't adopt your new business card system. They weren't me."
"They were embossed and linen, and mine is awesome. Yours still just has the number and—"
Lucifer's smirk broadened. "As if I were a stripper on call. Close enough, that detective's life I saved last night described me, essentially, as a 'medical hooker,' ready for the highest bidder." He shrugged and grabbed for seltzer water under his assistant's watchful eye. "Can't say she's exactly wrong."
"Anyway, boss, get showered and oh my God!"
He narrowed his eyes at her and just managed to keep them from going red. "Miss Lopez, you know I have only a few rules in this land of debauchery. Top among them is not mentioning my dad."
She didn't seem to hear him as she grabbed for his injured hand and peeled the gauze back. "Holy crap. Did you knick yourself with the scalpel? What happened?"
"It was an accident," Lucifer offered. "Caught myself on that bloody car door that Maze's fellow still has never fixed right. It's nothing."
"Dude, it looks like the Overlook lobby after the elevator doors opened. Let me clean it. I can't believe you didn't."
"I was rather shattered when I got home," he defended. "I did put pressure on it."
Miss Lopez muttered to herself in angry Spanish, which she damn well knew he spoke, but did it anyway. He tuned her out after she called him a moron for the third time. Coming back to him, she pulled out the peroxide and poured it over the crusted blood on his hand. Then, she brought up a fresh towel to wipe it clean. "You could have called me. I could have helped you. Or, you know, she'd be pissed and complain, but Charlotte would have come over and stitched it for you if you weren't confident about doing a self-job. I mean, what's the point of still keeping in touch with your old practice partner, if you can't get stitched up out of the deal!"
"First, it was probably some time near five a.m. when I got home. Dear Charlotte has a family and fourteen hour work days. I didn't wish to trouble her. Second, I was so knackered I passed out before thinking of calling either of you."
Miss Lopez shook her head. "You freaking idiot. It's like I always say, you're not actually immortal, Morningstar. A gash like this could get infected and…whoa!"
He frowned down at his hand which, now that it had been scrubbed clean, was completely healed, as if the wound had never happened. That was great. It should never have been injured in the first bloody place, and it shouldn't have taken a few hours to paste itself back together. That had to be the Detective's fault somehow.
"Well, I suppose that wound wasn't as bad as I thought in the wee morning hours."
Miss Lopez's frown deepened, and she leaned closer to his hand, to the forefinger's tip which was still a bit pinker than the rest of his hand and should require stitches, had he been actually human. "That's…uh…there should be a wound, boss."
He shrugged and pulled his hand away. "Told you, dear Ella, I'm the devil. I have miraculous-well perhaps the opposite-but supernatural at either rate healing powers. Have you been paying attention the last few years?"
She frowned and her right hand stroked the crucifix she always wore around her neck. It was a testament to how fond he was not just of Azrael but of Miss Lopez herself that Lucifer kept her as an assistant with her unshakeable devotion to his father. And yet, he couldn't send her away and didn't find it insufferable as he did with so many professed believers. But it ached a little to see the instinctual reaction from her.
"Morningstar, you don't have to be that method."
"I'm not an actor," he replied. "I'm Old Scratch. It's not my fault if you fail to grok that, dear."
She snorted and opened up a can of Coke. Clearly, his assistant at least needed some caffeine as her drug of choice. "Whatever, but you should see if Charlotte has access to tetanus shots or get some for yourself. Hell, I'll order one today. Last thing you'd want is lockjaw."
He snorted as he made his way into the bedroom. Miss Lopez wasn't wrong about him needing to clean up. "Darling, this mouth does too many wonderful things to render it slammed shut."
"Ugh, noooope, hermano, too early even at 1 for those jokes."
He turned his head to wink at her. "But you love it."
"Maybe, sometimes, I tolerate it cause you're still better than my four brothers. That said, I'm getting that vaccine ordered. You so do not want to get sick."
"Can't," he chirped, hurrying to clean up. Thinking better of it. He called out from his room, "Miss Lopez, do call Mazikeen. I'll be coming by her empire tonight. I do wish to discuss how her guy left my car last time."
Even as he slipped into his bathroom to get undressed away from his assistant, he could hear the utter exhaustion and disdain in her voice. "Maze is trouble, boss. She's your supplier!"
"She's my oldest friend, and she's good people. She just happens to employ crap grease monkeys. Now, Miss Lopez, either get to work or join me."
"Never gonna happen, Morningstar. Besides, I'm going to get you some actual food ordered. You'll M.D. better on not just Tequila."
Lucifer chuckled as he started up the shower. "So says you."
"Dude, so says everyone. Tequila? So not part of the four food groups."
When he slipped into the shower, Lucifer had to shake his head. Ella had been sent to him to keep her safe, and after he'd had a go at saving her life, he'd honestly have volunteered for the honor if Azrael hadn't insisted. She was, in her own way, a rather infectious sort for a human. It was rare to find such unfiltered goodness and joie de vivre anywhere. However, he sometimes wondered if it wasn't really the other way around. Perhaps after Miss Lopez's misfortunes, his little Sis had also demanded he employ his current secretary so that Ella could keep an eye on him.
He couldn't even say his sis was wrong.
Although, Miss Lopez was. While Patron wasn't as delightful as a truly delectable Bloody Mary in the morning, it was certainly one of the finer food groups.
This was ridiculous.
He'd been stood at the Detective's door for over five minutes with bag in one hand and the other poised over the wood as if knocking against it. He had been many things in his life: The Lightbringer, the (now retired) Lord of Hell, and even a damn brilliant surgeon. He was not scared of one woman. Even if there were even odds she was something else too, and he really had made it a rule since dealing with Dream and his nuisance siblings not to get tangled up in the affairs of others and that extended to other pantheons and only Dad knew what.
The whole détente was solved for him when she pulled open the door herself and jumped back in her shock to see him there.
"What the hell?"
"No, sorry, not living there currently," he said, trying to brush off his faux pas. "I was about to knock, Detective. It's half past two, and I wanted to make sure you were still doing well."
She narrowed her eyes at him, her expression stony. "How long were you just waiting outside of my door?"
"I've just arrived."
"Sure, okay, well, since you're not actually the pizza guy, you can come in and give me the all clear. I hope he comes soon though because I'm starving."
Lucifer shook his head even as he passed under the transom. "Detective, you need something with a nutritional value and, honestly, a high sugar content after losing such a frightful amount of blood. "Pizza won't suffice."
She laughed a little, and it heartened even if the Detective, despite his healing powers, seemed a bit pale. "You're going to what? Be a full-service Dr. House and Mary Poppins for me?"
"Hardly," Lucifer said. "I don't prefer Vicodin on the job. It's only for after hours, love. However, point still stands." He set his bag on the kitchen table and made a bee line for the fridge. It had a few cans of Gingerale and a box of baking soda in it. "Detective! What even is this farce? I thought you said you lived with your mum and Spawn. Do you all never eat?"
"No," she said, pushing the refrigerator door shut. "Mom's filming yet more vampire crap in Romania this month, and since I've been stressed on suspension Dan's had Trixie. I'm the one picking her up later today. I was going to do the grocery shopping after we closed the Delilah case, but you can see that didn't happen. Don't worry, doctor, I'll get food on the way home from getting Trix from school."
He shook his head and gestured to the kitchen table. "Do be a dear and take a seat. Did you at least order something with substance. Don't tell us it was only all cheese."
"Pepperoni and about every vegetable in the place plus a side salad."
"Good," he replied, taking a seat beside her and rolling up his shirt sleeves. "Also, don't say it like that."
"What?" she asked, suspicion toward his earlier flubbed entrance still seeming to cloud her gaze.
"Doctor, like it's a private joke or euphemism. I have my license, same as any other sod working in California. And I do the conferences-believe me they're terribly dull-for my continuing medical education yearly. I'm a doctor, and a bloody amazing one or you, darling, would be dead."
She stilled then, some of the fight drained from her even as she slipped off her LAPD issued sweatshirt. Underneath, she'd been considerate enough to his pending visit to wear only a thin spaghetti strap camisole. It allowed him easy access to her wrapping and "wound" without her having to fully undress. He didn't wish for that since it would make her uncomfortable. If she were actually recovering from such a wound and impromptu field surgery, it would be a necessity, but he knew she was rather uncomfortable with being bared to him.
He leaned closer and offered him his most sincere smile. Lucifer might work for the highest bidder, but he'd never been a slouch with bedside manner. The Detective, whatever else she might be, deserved that from him at least.
"Well," he continued, peeling back her bandages. "That looks good, no signs of reddening, striations or pending infection. Cleanly healing. I'll redress this and you should be able to keep it on for a week or so. I'll come back if you insist and take the stitches out then. I assume you're still not going to hospital, are you?"
She shook her head. "I need my job."
"Why ever would a straight arrow like you be on probation?" he asked, pulling the materials from his bag and starting into the wound redressing. "I can't imagine you'd ever ruffle any feathers, Detective. That ex-husband of yours, however, that I can see."
"We're still married," she griped, flinching a little as he undid the medical tape.
He offered a genuine smile and sighed. "Sorry, darling, the tape is a bitch, but I did try to get it off as seamlessly as I could. Worst of it is over."
"It doesn't really hurt. I still feel energized. Honestly, I hurt that shoulder on a stunt back for a Disney channel film when I was like seventeen. This stupid thing about teen motocross or whatever, and it tweaks at night, you know? Usually I need a heating pad. It's felt better than it has in over a decade." She frowned at him again. "What exactly did you do?"
"Well, I'm hardly a miracle worker on a regular basis." Technically, true. The last person he'd used a feather on had been Miss Lopez due to a car accident over thirty years ago. "You're just fortunate your separated spouse had me on speed dial. I'm brilliant at my work."
"Yeah, great," she said. "I dunno…I just…the wound should be deeper, shouldn't it? I was pretty out of it, but I didn't think being shot in the shoulder would be so mild. I honestly feel better than I did before I got shot."
Perhaps his feather had overdone it a bit, not like it was an exact science.
"Do you care?" he asked. "You're doing splendidly," he said, cleaning her "wound" with saline solution and then a touch of iodine. "You're going to make recovery and have a long and fortunate life with that offspring of yours."
"Yes, that's…I'm grateful, Lucifer, I am, but part of me still keeps thinking nothing adds up. Call it 'detective brain.'"
He shrugged as he started layering the gauze over her stitches. "Yes, well, one should never looked a gift horse in the mouth."
"Or a horse's ass," she said, smirking back at him. "But, uh, to answer your question. I might have punched Dan's actual partner in the face when he started shit talking me at The Paddock. I shouldn't have but it's been months of bad treatment after Palmetto, and to have that jerk Malcolm Graham gloating to me in person, hinting that I'm hysterical somehow. I saw red and slugged him. Broke his damn nose."
Lucifer whistled. He didn't think the detective had it in her. Oh, she was fierce and demanding, but a bar brawl seemed a bit beneath her standards. "Were either of you on duty at the time?"
"No, but Dan just managed to talk him out of pressing charges and Malcolm is part of the boys' club. I'm not. So, I've been on a month's suspension since the day after I questioned you about Delilah. If the force finds out I was also on scene for Jimmy…"
"Enough said. I merely worry that you should always check out with a second opinion. I know I'm the best, but some things do need a hospital touch, loathe as I am to endorse those places."
"Weird thing for a doctor to say."
"I'm an unusual sort of medic," Lucifer added, grinning at her as he started cutting tape to help situate the gauze in place. "Detective Decker, if I might speak freely-"
She laughed so hard she snorted a little. It was oddly adorable, and what in Dad's name was happening to him? "You always do. I've only talked to you three times, and there isn't anything you won't say."
"You don't know me as well as you think," he said softly.
He was open about his past and his clientele, within the bounds of privacy laws of course, and he never shied away from his carnal desires and advertising them. His true past, however, he allowed to stay vague. Lucifer would never directly lie about it, but he'd found over the years that humans wanted to believe only what was comfortable for them. If he spoke around the fact that he was quite literally the devil, then they'd agree with that as well. But no, the detective only knew what he wanted her to, as with everyone else.
Almost.
"Sure though, Morningstar, shoot."
He nodded and finished taping everything in place as he spoke. "You seem to me to be a detective of notable instincts who threatens her colleagues by her sheer intellect and talent. You were the only detective I spoke with about Delilah who gave a good Dad damn, and you found Jimmy Barnes because of it. I have worked with Detective Douche before; there is no way he determined that Barnes was the true killer."
The detective sighed. "Dan's a good detective too."
"Not as brilliant as you or as good, darling. They resent that about you, want to squash you down to their level. Don't let them." He finished the last of his ministrations and smiled back at her. "Good as new, then. You can put on your sweatshirt if you'd like."
She nodded and did that, and he felt a bit bereft that she'd slid an additional layer of armor between them. "Good, I…seriously, how much does Dan owe you? There has to be another way to work that off. I mean, a non-illegal, platonic way."
Lucifer put the medical waste in a separate plastic bag he'd brought for the occasion and gave her a throaty chuckle. "You're the patient only, darling, and you can't renegotiate the terms as I've explained. Daniel knew what he was doing when he made a deal with the Devil, and I expect my compensation as outlined. It does no one any good to try and stiff me. Won't do at all."
The detective stood and glared at him. "You're not actually Satan."
He got to his feet and, alright, perhaps loomed a bit over her. "But I am, Detective, and I demand my pound of flesh as it were. You're not mad at me, after all. A businessman has to stay in business at any rate. You're pissed that Espinoza's a sordid sort of chap."
"Dan is-"
"You know he's not good, not as you are."
"Dan made a mistake and shouldn't have to dip into his 401k or whatever to pay you." She surprised him by grabbing his wrist and leading him deeper into her mother's home. Alright, so he let her drag him. She stopped by a large sideboard decorated with various awards and props from her mother's semi-illustrious career. "Look, tell me what he owes you, and I can just Ebay one of mom's things. She won't mind, does it sometimes when she wants a new bit of surgery, and then you can take the money and Dan doesn't have to…I honestly don't want to know what."
He eyed where she still had her fingers encircling his bare left wrist. "Quite noble, Detective, but the arrangement has been made. I've been doing deals with humanity for over six thousand years. I don't plan to make exceptions. Do that, and the whole bloody system falls apart."
She groaned and dropped his hand. "I don't get you. Sometimes, I don't know, the egomania and the walking sleaze aside-"
"Thank you, actually, two of my best qualities."
"Besides those, you seem like an amazing doctor and you're nicer than my GP. But you are clearly not just an addict but utterly insane. You're not the devil. He doesn't exist."
Lucifer laughed. "He's standing right here, love, and he keeps his contracts. However, if you so desire it, I'll never answer one of Espinoza's calls again."
"What?"
"Well, clearly it worries you that he's called on me more than once for only Dad and I know what shady things and traumas. I can stop going if you'd like."
"No, I…maybe it's best if you still answer him if he calls. I don't want Dan to…for Trixie's sake, I want him to stay healthy on the job."
"Yes, Trollop, that offspring of yours."
"Trixie!"
"Right, still a terrible name. What kind of child deserves such an appellation?" He shrugged and moved back to the kitchen table. There was no reason to linger any longer. He'd see her in a week, and then keep to his resolve to stay as far away from whatever the fuck Chloe Decker was for his continued health. "Then that's it, Bob's your uncle and all that. I'll be back in a week to remove the sutures as we've agreed. Detective-"
Her mobile rang, breaking up the tension in the room. She pulled it out and answered it. "Oh, Ms, Bernard, yes. She what? He didn't come? Oh, of course. Yes, I'll come right away. I'm so so sorry. I told her never to do that. I know, yes, this is the third time. I…right, I'll be there in forty minutes." She shut off her phone and cursed again under her breath. "I can't believe Dan left her and forgot to pick her up."
He couldn't resist an opening. "Do you really now?"
"Can it, Morningstar. I have to go to the school and pick up my kid. She just got into a fight."
"Ooh, takes after Mum, does she? Did she win?"
"She got into a fight with a kid a couple years ahead of her and now I'm in the doghouse as a bad parent. I gotta go."
The humor drained from his expression and with still human speed, he made it to the hook for keys by her kitchen door and swept up her key chain. He held it over her head and smirked at her jumping for it like some yappy dog. "Now, now, Detective, to be quite clear, you are not allowed to drive. Your shoulder isn't up to it, and with the blood loss you've had, you're too dizzy to be a safe driver."
"My kid needs me."
"Yes, quite, well, it's your lucky day, darling, because if there is a place I never go, it's an elementary school, prisons for spawn really, and they say I'm from Hell. However, I feel I should drive you. You cannot medically drive safely yourself."
"You?" she scoffed, hopping again for her keys but falling short of his hand. "You shouldn't be near anyone under eighteen."
"I've always thought so, but I'll have you know I have two god children."
"You?"
"I can be appropriate if and when it suits. Now, Detective," he said, slipping her keys into his front pocket and grabbing his satchel. "You can give us a thrill and rummage for your keys, or you can come with me and I'll be the chauffeur for the afternoon. I'm up for either."
She looked down at his trousers and seemed to realize exactly how tightly her preferred to wear them. Dad help her once she figured out he never wore underwear; it ruined the lines of the suit. Sighing, she backed away long enough to grab her purse from the sofa.
"Fine then, Satan, lead away."
He grinned and whistled jauntily. "Lovely, I knew you'd see it my way."