Detective Joy Roberts watches as her new lieutenant reads through her personnel file, his expression inscrutable as he goes over the recommendations and stats from her time in Narcotics.

"Well," he says after a long moment, closing the file with a snap. "I got to tell you, Detective Roberts, that is some high praise I just read."

She squirms in her chair. Yes, she considers herself a damn good detective, but she doesn't want this new lieutenant to think that she's full of herself.

"The credit doesn't just belong to me," she says, after some thought. "My CO was a wonderful mentor to me. And I worked with a good team."

"Of course, but don't sell yourself short." Lieutenant Martin leans back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. He's a tall man with dark eyes that are suspiciously kind for someone in his position. "Your former CO and teammates had some great things to say about you, and your closure rate is top-notch." His hands fall onto his desk as he leans forward. "But I have to ask…why the transfer over to Homicide? You were in a good position in Narcotics. Honestly, from what I just read it looks like you were being groomed for command, not just undercover work."

She has been expecting this question. Everyone at her last precinct had asked her the same thing. "I liked my team, but I didn't necessarily like being in Narcotics. I never really felt like I was helping people there." Her mouth turns down as she remembers her last undercover job. "I mean, yeah, I was getting drug dealers off the street. But most of them only do time for a few years before they are right back where they started. I want to be in a place where I can maybe do some real good, where I can make a difference."

She watches his reaction carefully. Her last CO had derisively called her an idealist, and her former team had been just as dismissive. She wonders if by being honest she has revealed too much of herself, has made herself a target for mockery.

She's relieved when the Lieutenant grins broadly, his teeth bright against his ebony-brown skin. "Congratulations, Detective Roberts. That's exactly the answer I was looking for." He holds out a large hand to shake. "Follow me. I'll introduce you to your new partner."

She follows him out of his office, half-jogging to keep up with his brisk stride. She smiles politely at her fellow officers as they pass, trying to conceal her trepidation. True, she worked with a team back in Narcotics, but for the most part she was on her own. She has never had a partner before. She has no idea how to even begin working with one. Unconsciously, her fingers arrange themselves like they would on a piano, tapping out "Fur Elise" on her thighs, a nervous habit she's never been able to break.

"Detective Decker." The lieutenant's deep voice booms across the precinct, making the people in front of them jump. "A word, if you please?"

She has to force herself not to ogle the man who turns away from his desk, a case file in one hand. He's incredibly good-looking, so much so that she wonders why he's here and not on one of the many movie sets that litter L.A. His black hair is stylishly mussed, framing a youthful face that could be anywhere between nineteen and forty. He's not quite as tall or broad as the Lieutenant, but she can see toned muscles under his white, button-down shirt. He has his badge clipped to black slacks, next to the gun holster at his hip.

There's an intriguing blend of confidence and danger surrounding him that she bets draws women like a magnet. Just standing near him makes her feel uncomfortably plain, with her auburn hair pulled back in a simple braid and the lackluster jeans and T-shirt that are her normal day wear.

Intelligent, blue-grey eyes darken in annoyance as Decker spots them.

"I just got a case, Lieutenant." His voice is a pleasant tenor, with a hint of an accent she can't quite place. "Can't this wait?"

"You got a case?" The Lieutenant asks, though it's clear that he already knew. "Excellent. This will be a great opportunity to get to know your new partner." He shifts so that Detective Decker can see Joy standing behind him. "Detective Roberts, meet Detective Sam Decker. He's one of our top Homicide detectives."

She holds out her hand but Detective Decker is too busy glaring at the Lieutenant. "I thought we agreed that I was going to hire back our civilian consultant?" He asks angrily. "Why are you giving me a partner?"

She drops her hand, where it goes back to playing a mini-concerto on her hip as her face flushes from the insult. He would rather have a civilian consultant than a seasoned detective?

The Lieutenant raises his brows. "You can still use your consultant—if he actually agrees to help." The Lieutenant sounds doubtful. "But even if he does agree, Detective Roberts is officially your partner, as of today. She's new to our precinct, so I expect you to teach her the ropes. Understood?" There is a dangerous note in the Lieutenant's voice that invites no argument.

Detective Decker still looks pissed off, but he nods. "Understood."

"Good." The Lieutenant turns to clap her on the shoulder. "Good luck, Detective Roberts. I'll be dropping by later to check on your progress." With a superior nod to Decker, he spins on his heel and returns to his office.

Decker continues to glare until the door closes behind the Lieutenant. "Dick." He mutters under his breath. But when his attention focuses on Joy, his eyes warm considerably.

"Not you." He says apologetically. "It's nothing against you. The Lieutenant and I tend to butt heads more often than not." He takes a deep breath. "But that's no reason to be rude. I'm sorry." He holds out his hand and favors her with an irresistible smile she's certain gets him out of all sorts of mischief. "Let's start over. Detective Sam Decker."

She hesitates a moment, still a little hurt by his earlier rejection. But she's a believer in second chances. She claps his hand in a firm handshake. "Detective Joy Roberts."

His expression turns curious. "I've heard that name before. Have we met?"

"I'm pretty sure I would remember you, if we did."

"True. I am a tough person to forget." His eyelids lower as he studies her, his smile turning flirtatious. "You definitely would remember spending time with me." She flushes at the innuendo.

Abruptly, his tone turns businesslike. "But I know I've heard that name before." He narrows his eyes, trying to place her.

She points to the case file, eager to distract him. "Is that the case?"

He glances down at the file as if he's surprised it's still there. "Oh, yeah." He opens the folder and moves so that they can look at it together. "Haley Sanders, age twenty-five. She was stabbed six times in the chest with a carving knife. Body was found in the alley behind the diner where she worked as a waitress six days a week."

"A carving knife?" She thinks out loud. "It probably would have come from the restaurant. Maybe a weapon of opportunity—he grabs the knife from her, stabs her with it?"

He nods. "I thought that, too. The crime scene is already processed. I'm just waiting to see what forensics can give us before I confirm a suspect." He checks his watch, a pricey one that she thinks cost more than her car. "That gives us some time to find our consultant and convince him to work with us. Come on, I'll drive." He grabs a black leather jacket from the desk and throws it over his shoulder.

"Why do you want this consultant so badly?" She asks as she follows him. Thankfully, his legs aren't as long as the Lieutenant's, so she can still keep up a conversation even at this pace. "Is he really that good?"

"He was, before he retired." Decker slips the jacket on over his shoulders. She notes that the jacket looks more like a blazer than a typical motorcycle jacket. "Our consultant was quite an asset to the L.A.P.D. back in the day." Decker takes the stairs two at a time but courteously waits at the top of the landing for her. He gives her an odd smile. "You could say he taught me everything I know."

Joy purses her lips. "You have so little faith in me as a partner that you feel the need to bring in a civilian?" She asks, a bit resentfully.

"Of course not." He assures her. "Truth is, I've been planning to bring him in for a while. I wasn't expecting to get a partner." He spreads his hands. "But the way I see it, a little extra help couldn't hurt. Besides," He adds, "this is actually more for him than it is for you and me."

"What are you talking about?"

He sighs. "Look, I promise I will explain but just…meet him first. All right?"

She considers this. "I guess if we're going to be partners, we're going to have to learn to trust each other. Might as well start now, right?"

"Right." He stares at her, a faint frown creasing his forehead. After a brief hesitation, his face clears and he gives her an easy-going smile. "Well, then we're probably going to have to get to know each other better, aren't we?" He motions for her to follow him and they head to the parking garage. "So, Detective Roberts, how long have you lived in L.A?" At her startled glance, he grins. "Your accent is a dead giveaway. I'd wager you grew up in the Midwest."

She wrinkles her nose at him. No matter how hard she tries, she hasn't quite been able to shake off her home state. "I grew up in Ohio. I've lived in L.A for the past two years." His eyebrows rise, but he doesn't ask how a girl from Ohio ended up in L.A. "Before this I was in Narcotics—" She nearly runs into him as he freezes in place, a look of recognition crossing his features.

"That's where I know you from!" He snaps his fingers. "You took down that drug lord earlier this year, what's-his-name…Marvin?"

"Martinez." She corrects him, and feels her face heat up. She doesn't want to talk about it, but he's too excited to notice her clipped tone.

"Right, that one. You were undercover for what…nine, ten months?" He beams at her with awed delight, as if she's just confessed to being a movie star.

"Eleven." Anger she thought she had buried comes rushing back, making her heart pound with adrenaline. "Eleven months I was undercover, working to bring him down." She curls her hands into fists. "Almost a full year of playing a role, all the surveillance, the meetings…"

Decker is startled by this response. "You're angry. Why? Eleven months undercover and you take out one of the largest drug kingpins in L.A.-that's impressive work." Cold satisfaction creeps into his voice. "Not to mention that the maggot got what he deserved."

"But he didn't!" She explodes. "I spent all that time working the job, but two minutes after he's arrested, the D.A goes and makes some sort of sweetheart deal. Instead of getting a lifetime without parole, he's going to spend a year in jail, and then another on probation. A year. He killed innocent people, but because he flipped on his associates, he gets to walk." The injustice of it still scrapes her raw, and is the main reason she transferred over to Homicide in the first place.

She takes several deep breaths, keeping her eyes on the ground to avoid looking at her new partner. This tantrum wasn't at all professional, and now he's probably reconsidering working with her, would probably go to the Lieutenant the first chance he got to complain.

But when she finally dares to look at him, she doesn't see any hint disapproval, just assessment. "So, you went through all that work to take down a criminal and he only gets a year?" He clarifies.

She sighs. "Yeah. How's that for justice?"

"It isn't." Decker's eyes flash with temper. "He deserves to rot in a prison cell for the rest of his mortal life, not probation. He deserves to be punished." For one brief, crazy moment, she swears his eyes actually turn red with anger. He blinks and when she looks again, his eyes are back to a somber blue-grey.

It must have been a trick of the light, she decides. She finds his anger rather satisfying. Her former team had been old-timers, meaning that they had seen plenty of criminals walk due to a flaw in the system, and had been resigned to it long before she arrived. This is the first time she's found someone who is just as outraged by it as she is.

This unexpected show of solidarity warms her to him, and she dares to give him a rueful smile. "Yeah, it pisses me off every time I think about it."

Decker's expression turns pensive, and he rubs a hand over his mouth. "You know, this could end up working out better than I thought." He says, almost like he's talking to himself. "I thought having a partner might make things difficult, but now…" Suddenly his face splits into a grin. "Oh, he's going to love you."

She stares at him. "Who's going to love me?"

"You'll see." He tugs her arm gently. "Come on, my car's this way."

"What is this?" She asks as she climbs out of Decker's slick, expensive car and stares up, up at the skyscraper in front of them. She's heard of the infamous nightclub Lux in passing, but hasn't had the time-or inclination-to visit. "This isn't your idea of a date, is it?"

Decker tosses the keys to the valet. "I'll have you know that I was raised better than that," he says with an affronted look in her direction. "I would never take any of my dates to a nightclub at ten a.m. on a Tuesday morning. That's downright uncivilized." He leads her past the ornate fence outside the main doors and into the building. "No, we're here to talk to our civilian consultant. He happens to own the place."

"Your consultant is the owner of Lux?" She replies skeptically. Suddenly she puts two and two together. "Wait! Isn't the owner of this place that guy with the weird name…" She snaps her fingers. "Lucifer Morningstar. He's our consultant?"

"He's technically not our consultant yet. We're going to have to talk him into it." Decker answers dryly as they reach the inside of the club.

This early in the morning there's hardly anyone in the room, except for a bored-looking bartender cleaning the glassware and one man nursing a beer over in a dark corner. The place smells faintly of alcohol and sweat, the music set low so they only get the faintest hint of bass under their feet. It's the apex of opulence, the entire space framed with black velvet curtains and marble pillars that would be more at home in an opera house than a nightclub. Dozens of velvet and leather upholstered lounge seats are splayed under a canopy of track lights, somehow managing to make the spacious room feel cozy and intimate. There are a few plasma screens scattered throughout the room, risqué videos set to a continuous loop.

They've entered the club on the mezzanine level, so she gets a good view of the dance floor below, but her eyes are drawn to the beautiful grand piano at the center of the room.

Her fingers itch to go over and touch the keys, to run a hand over the lid and feel the veneer under her palms. She loves music, has grown up playing the piano. At home, at school, anywhere she was allowed. Since moving to L.A, all she can afford is a tinny, electronic one she bought at a yard-sale. It has been years since she has touched a legitimate, classical piano.

Trying not to drool, she tucks her hands behind her back. Luckily her new partner is too busy watching a woman approaching them to notice, mainly because the woman is holding a—

"Is that a harpoon?" She blurts out, startled. She hasn't seen one of those outside a museum.

The woman runs a possessive hand down the weapon. "That it is. You have a good eye." She smiles provocatively as she saunters up the stairs to meet them. Joy has to admit the woman is gorgeous, with deep bronze skin and dark, curly hair. She's dressed like a cross between a dominatrix and a stripper, her lithe frame only barely covered by tight leather pants and a black corset-like shirt. She nods at Decker, but her eyes are all for Joy.

Joy is wearing a thick T-shirt layered under a suede jacket and jeans, but when the woman gives her that long, lascivious stare it feels as if she is standing there completely naked.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure." she purrs.

Joy waits for the inevitable testosterone talk, waits for Decker to tell the other woman to back off.

She's completely stunned when he merely sounds amused. "Sorry, Maze, we're on a case. You'll have to wait your turn." He leans forward to give the woman a brotherly peck on the cheek.

It's an effort to keep her jaw from hitting the floor.

The woman shrugs. "Just as well. I don't have time to play-got a human to catch."

Decker nudges the harpoon with the toe of his shoe. "Who's the bounty this time, Moby Dick?" He asks wryly.

"Nah, just some chump who thinks he can avoid me by hiding out on fishing boats." The woman picks up the harpoon and points it at the wall. "Typically, I'd just use knives to get the job done, but I wanted to mix things up a little. Keep life interesting." She runs her gaze slowly up and down Joy's figure, and Joy is morbidly aware of her face heating up under the woman's stare.

Joy manages to gain some composure and spits out, "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Ah, yes, I should probably introduce you." Decker says lazily. "This is Mazikeen Smith, also known as Maze. She's a professional bounty hunter. One of the best." Decker smiles at the woman affectionately. "You'll be seeing her around the precinct from time to time, she has her own office there. Maze, this is my recently-assigned partner, Detective Joy Roberts." Decker jerks his thumb to the elevator doors behind them. "Is he upstairs?"

"Where else would he be?" Maze scoffs.

"Has he come down at all?"

"Not once since I've been here."

Decker sighs. "I suppose it was too much to ask that he'd make this easy." He motions for Joy, who is rooted in place by a mixture of shock and embarrassment, to follow him. "We'll just let ourselves in."

Just that quickly, Maze's entire demeanor changes. "Sam." She calls out, sounding concerned. He whirls around to look at her. "You sure about this?" She glances upwards meaningfully.

"No idea. But it's worth a try, yeah?" He gives the woman a smile that is probably supposed to be reassuring before nudging Joy ahead of him into the elevator.

Joy stares at her reflection in the elevator doors. She has never felt quite so...exposed. The woman, Maze, had been blatantly coming onto her. Had it come from any other woman it might have appeared desperate, but instead had been some combination of flattering and mortifying.

And then there was Decker, who had treated the whole encounter as if it was totally normal.

She finally finds her voice, and spins around to glare at him. "Wait her turn?"

Decker is staring straight ahead, but she catches a hint of a smirk. "Well, I didn't want to presume I knew your sexual proclivities."

"My sexual what?" She practically shrieks.

Decker turns to look at her head on, his eyes dancing wickedly. "Oh, no judgement." He promises, completely sincere. "Trust me, if you knew my family...well, you wouldn't be the first to be seduced by Maze. She does have a girlfriend, though, so you might be the first to have an all-girls threesome." He adds when she just gapes at him, open-mouthed.

"I don't-I'm not-" she sputters. She can see her face in the elevator reflection getting redder each second. Not for the first time, she curses her ability to blush so easily. "I don't want to sleep with Maze or her girlfriend."

He eyes her sidelong. "Boyfriend, is it? Husband?" He doesn't sound like he cares one way or the other, he's just enjoying seeing her squirm.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm single. And into guys. And done with this conversation." She snaps with finality. She crosses her arms over her chest.

He shrugs, but she's pretty sure he's secretly laughing at her. "We're here, anyway." He says as the elevator doors open. She opens her mouth to argue some more, but is distracted by the sounds of a piano.

They follow the music into the most lavish room she has ever seen. An entire wall filled with expensive alcohol is on their right behind a beautifully crafted bar. Mahogany bookshelves line the wall on her left, filled with enough leather-bound books to supply a town library, set alongside a fair number of arcane collectibles that look like they belong in a museum. Off in the far corner, Joy spots a wrought iron spiral staircase that leads to up to a second floor, where more bookshelves reside.

The middle of the room is meant to be the living area, with luscious leather couches arranged in front of floor to ceiling windows, through which she can see a balcony that offers up a beautiful view of the Los Angeles skyline. Across the room is a set of stone stairs leading to what Joy thinks is a bedroom, the entrance framed by stained glass and etched stone. Like the nightclub below, this place is the height of luxury.

If it weren't for the dozen half-empty liquor bottles scattered over the top of the bar, or the general disarray of the room, she might have believed she walked into a magazine.

But her attention is drawn once again to-yes, she's not seeing things-yet another grand piano in the middle of the room, being played by a man with dark hair. If he's noticed their approach, he doesn't acknowledge it-either that or he's just too lost in the melancholy song he's playing to hear them come in.

Decker leans against the bar, murmuring, "Clapton."

"Hmm?" She murmurs. She closes her eyes. It's been a long time since she's heard anyone play piano this beautifully.

"The song. Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven." Decker sighs. "Not a good sign."

The man finishes off the song, tilting his head a little on the last few notes. He grabs the glass he's had sitting on stand-by, sipping from it as he turns in their direction.

"Well, well." He drawls. She starts, not expecting to hear an upper-class, British accent anywhere in L.A. "If it isn't the illustrious Detective Decker, one of the LAPD's finest." He gets up from the piano bench and heads over to the bar to pour himself another drink. He's dressed impeccably in a white dress shirt beneath navy vest and slacks. The morning light glints off the black and silver ring he wears on his right hand.

The man-Lucifer Morningstar she guesses-is still talking while simultaneously pouring another glass for Decker. "What brings you here?" His tone is just short of mocking, and she wonders why they are trying to convince him to consult when it's clear he's not too fond of authority. "Haven't you got a nice murder to solve?"

Decker catches the glass that has been slid over to him, but doesn't drink from it. He leans against the bar, watching Lucifer carefully. "I do, as a matter of fact. I was hoping maybe you'd want to come out of retirement long enough to help us with this one."

"Us?" She realizes that Lucifer had been so focused on Decker he hadn't even noticed her. Now he turns to her, dark brown eyes brightening when they spot her. "Well, hello, darling." His voice, annoyed a moment ago, turns mildly flirtatious, and he gazes at her with interest. "How rude of Detective Decker not to introduce us sooner. Lucifer Morningstar." He holds out a hand, his mouth curved in a charismatic smile.

The tasteful clothes and the smile don't quite take away from the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that his hair doesn't appear to have been brushed for a while.

"Detective Joy Roberts." She shakes it quickly, letting her hands fall to the bar where her fingers play a chord anxiously. She has no idea why, but she suddenly has the intense urge to tell this man everything about her. "I just transferred over from Narcotics. This is my first day on Homicide. I'm a little nervous." Why the hell had she told him that?

"Ah, a newbie, are you?" He puts one hand in his pocket as he continues to study her. "Wanted to catch killers instead of the garden-variety drug dealer?"

Her fingers are now tapping hard at the bar in response to her stress. "I want…" She has to force her mouth closed. What is wrong with her?

"Stop." Decker commands from the other end of the bar.

She yanks her hands off the polished wood and tucks them behind her. "Sorry, I-"

"Not you." Scowling, Decker gets up and places himself right between her and Lucifer. "Him."

She has no idea what her new partner is talking about, but Lucifer must because he turns away with a huff. "Why do you need my help with this case?" He asks after a brief pause. "The murder didn't happen in Lux, did it?"

"No, our victim was murdered behind a diner." Decker casually picks up the glass he had abandoned and swirls the liquid around. He shifts his body so that Joy is no longer behind him. Joy is grateful to note that the sudden, inexplicable desire to tell Lucifer all about her has passed.

Lucifer gives an exaggerated shudder. "Ugh, diners. I could never understand the humans' fascination with those awful places. Cracked Naugahyde, sticky floors, bad coffee...and not one serves alcohol. I much prefer establishments with liquor licenses." As if to prove his point, he takes a large sip from his glass.

"Whoever did this stabbed an innocent girl six times and left her in an alley like garbage." Decker's voice is low, but she can hear his fury, sees it in the stiffness of his shoulders. "Don't you think they should be punished for it?"

"Of course I do." Lucifer says, frowning at him. "You know that. What I don't understand is why you think you need my help. You're one of the best detectives the LAPD has." Is it just her, or is there a hint of pride in his voice? "Besides," He tips back his head and finishes the glass. "As you said, I'm retired from the whole consulting bag."

"Come on, don't pretend you don't miss it a little." Decker sits on one of the barstools. "You loved catching the bad guys."

"That was a long time ago." Lucifer tells him brusquely. "And it's not like you've given me any incentive to help you. It's been what, months, since we've spoken? No letters, no phone calls…"

A smile pulls wryly at the corner of Decker's mouth. "That sounds a lot like someone else I know." He lifts the glass he's been holding and salutes Lucifer with it. "But I'm sorry I haven't called, Dad."

"Dad?" Startled by her shrill yelp, they both turn to look at her. "Lucifer Morningstar is your father?" She glances back and forth between the two men.

"Don't tell me you didn't notice the uncanny resemblance." Decker smirks.

Now that they are right next to each other, she has to admit the family resemblance is so striking it's a wonder she didn't see it earlier. Both have the same lean, wiry build and height, the same facial features. The only differences she can see is that Decker is clean shaven and his messy black hair-the same color as his father's- is more a matter of style than disinterest in personal grooming.

"Wait, wait." She holds up her hands. "That's impossible. He can't be your father." She points at Decker. "He doesn't look any older than you."

Lucifer preens. "The benefits of immortality. Even as my son grows older, I stay just as young and devastating as I was when he was born." He leans forward on the bar and she's close enough to note that along with the black and silver ring, he wears a gold wedding band on his left hand.

"Immortal?" She crosses her arms and stares at both of them skeptically. "That's what you're going with." She waits for the inevitable laughter, the confession that this has all been a prank played on the new girl, but it doesn't come.

"Well, I am the Devil, darling." Lucifer tells her earnestly. "I may have retired from ruling Hell, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm simply invulnerable to age." For the briefest of moments, his personable demeanor cracks, and she gets a glimpse of true heartbreak before he manages to conceal it again.

"He's not lying, Roberts." Decker takes a sip from the glass he's holding. "It's a point of pride for him." His eyes are on her, but she has an odd feeling that his attention is still on Lucifer.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. "So, your last name is not Decker, it's actually Morningstar?"

Decker chokes on his drink. "Are you kidding? No, I changed my last name when I applied to be a cop. I mean, can you imagine being arrested by an Officer Morningstar? I would have been laughed right out of the precinct."

"I tried to get him to change it to Deckerstar, but he wouldn't." Lucifer tells her mournfully.

Decker rolls his eyes.

Incensed by their cavalier attitudes, she jabs a finger in Decker's direction. "You lied to me. You told me we were coming here to talk a consultant out of retirement." She accuses.

Decker sets down his glass with a heavy thunk. "I didn't lie to you." He retorts, insulted. "He really was a consultant for the L.A.P.D.-one of the best, in fact."

"And I am retired." Lucifer reminds them abruptly. "The days of me helping the L.A.P.D. are long gone. You two can solve this murder on your own."

There's a short silence as Joy and Decker watch Lucifer stalk out onto the balcony, keeping his back to them.

Decker sighs gustily. "Stubborn old goat." He mutters under his breath. He reaches behind the bar and grabs a bottle, re-filling both his glass and the one his father used. He turns to Joy. "Let me handle this." He suggests. "Help yourself to whatever you want, I'll be right back." He leaves her standing there alone as he follows his father onto the balcony.