Sam's father is leaning over the railing, his eyes gazing just above the Los Angeles skyline and to the brilliant blue sky beyond. He doesn't turn around as Sam approaches, but Sam knows his father can hear him, so he doesn't bother to announce himself. He just nudges him with an elbow and hands his father one of the glasses of whiskey he's carried out. His father takes it wordlessly and retreats back into his reverie, his mouth pulled into a thin line.

Sam leans over the railing next to him, sipping from his own glass. He's not worried about getting drunk-he may not have gotten his father's immortality, being half-human, but he still has quite a high tolerance for most alcohol. It would take more than a few glasses of whiskey to get him well and truly drunk.

"Dad, come consult on this case with us." He says after a pause. "We could use your help."

His father scoffs into his drink. "No, you don't. You're too much like your mother to need my help." Predictably, the mere mention of Sam's mother makes his father's shoulders slump, as if the grief is a physical weight.

Still, Sam knows an opening when he hears one. "She'd want you to help, Dad, you know she would. She'd hate to see you like this, isolating yourself from everyone. Hiding away up here in the penthouse."

"I'm not hiding."

"Maze says you don't even bother to come down to Lux anymore."

"It's my nightclub. I don't have to visit it if I don't want to." His father takes another sip, a sullen expression on his face. "Maze been keeping tabs on me, has she?"

"She's worried about you, Dad. We all are."

His father angles his head towards him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "We?"

"The family. Me, Aunt Linda, Uncle." Technically, Sam has several uncles, but he almost never calls Amenadiel by anything else. "Aunt Linda was just saying that it might be good for you to come back to work." He takes a sip of his own drink, using the gesture to hide the slight quiver in his hands.

Like his father, he doesn't lie. And while he does use half-truths when necessary, like now, he has never used one on his father before. Sam knows he has to play this carefully, because if his father ever suspected that Sam might be lying to him on some level…just because he had been personally trained by Mazikeen, one of Hell's most vicious torturers, didn't mean he expected to take on his father and win.

But he doesn't think his father is ready to hear who really wanted him to consult on this case. Not yet.

"Why on Earth would Dr. Linda think consulting on this case would be good for me?" Despite being the mother of his only nephew, his father still calls his former therapist by her work title.

"I don't know. Maybe she thought it might be fun, re-living the good old days of hunting down the wicked and punishing them." He leans in. "It might be good for my new partner, you know. I mean, she'll get to see a real legend in action." He puts a drop of hero-worship in his voice.

It isn't hard to do. His father had been Sam's personal hero growing up.

The flattery is helping, as he knew it would. The corner of his father's mouth is tilting up, so Sam uses one of his best plays. "Who knows? Maybe if we're lucky, we'll annoy Grandfather." He says in a low, conspirator's tone.

His father just eyes him sardonically. "You used that same argument when you wanted to take that lingerie model to your senior prom." He mutters into his glass.

"Who was the one who introduced me to her in the first place?" Sam retorts. He hides his disappointment-usually the mere suggestion that a plan might irritate Grandfather was guaranteed to get Sam's father on board.

With a sigh, Sam straightens up, "Come on, Dad. Come work with us on this one case. As a favor to me."

This catches his father's interest. "A favor?"

"Yes, a favor. You help us solve this case and I swear, once we're done, if you truly want to return to retirement, then I'll leave you to it." He holds out a hand, keeping his eyes locked on his father's. "Do we have a deal?"

His father studies him for a long moment. Sam waits him out, knowing full well that his father can't pass up on a deal.

Finally, after a long-suffering sigh, his father relents. "Very well." He shakes Sam's hand. "We have a deal."

Sam smiles, but doesn't let go of his father's hand. "Just one last favor…"

His father raises his brows. "A second favor?" he asks reproachfully.

"I'm your only son. A second favor is the very least you can do." Sam points out. "Please, no doing the whole...Devil thing with my new partner." He's immune to his father's abilities, but it was pretty clear earlier that Roberts isn't. He doesn't want to scare her off on the first day.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." He stares hard at his father, who eventually yanks his hand out of Sam's grip with a harrumph.

"Fine, I won't use my...gift on her." He grumbles. "Can I at least use it on the suspects?"

"I was actually hoping you would." Sam smiles wickedly. "If you want, you can even rough them up a little, like you used to."

"Well, of course I can." His father replies haughtily. "You want to solve this case, don't you?"

Sam chuckles. "Come on, I'll catch you up in the-do you hear that?" He's distracted by the faintest sound coming from inside the penthouse.

He hurries back inside, his father trailing at his heels. As they get further inside, he identifies the familiar sound of the piano, the background music of his entire childhood. Whoever is playing is almost as good as his father, with a skill that comes from more than just daily practice. Whoever is playing has true talent.

He inhales sharply when he realizes that it is his new partner occupying the bench, her eyes closed as her fingers dance over the keys. Her expression is peaceful, and she plays almost as if she's in a trance. The mid-morning sunlight accentuates the red in her auburn hair, deepening her creamy complexion. He's momentarily struck by how lovely she is.

He reluctantly steps forward. He doesn't want to interrupt, but his father has always been very particular about people touching his piano without permission.

Before he can take another step, his father places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Startled, Sam glances in his direction. His father's expression as he stares at Roberts is one of incredulous curiosity-an expression Sam hasn't seen in over a year, not since his mother passed away.

Relaxing a bit, since his father isn't taking umbrage at Roberts' use of his piano, Sam tries to determine what song his new partner is playing. It would have been impossible to grow up with his father and not learn how to play, but while he recognizes it as a classical piece, he's not an expert.

Instead, he asks one.

"Mozart?"

"Brahms." His father murmurs. He tilts his head to the side as he observes Sam's new partner.

Roberts finishes the piece with flourish. The minute the last note fades, Sam's father claps with enthusiasm.

Poor Roberts nearly topples off the bench, her green eyes flying open.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you, darling?" His father exclaims. "I don't think Brahms himself could have played it any better. Dreadful perfectionist, you know. He spent hours complaining about how his first symphony was a disaster, completely disregarding all the work I had gone through to get it for him." He throws his hands up in the air, still indignant even though Sam knows that the offense happened centuries ago.

Roberts is staring at the two of them, a dazed, mortified expression on her face. Sam has to struggle not to grin. "I-I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." She squeaks, scrambling off the piano bench. "I swear, I've never done this kind of thing before. I've never gone into somebody's house and just…"

"Given in to your desires?" His father smirks. "Don't worry. It's perfectly natural." He eyes Roberts like he would a new bottle of scotch.

"I used to play a lot when I was younger, especially when I was stressed out or upset." Roberts explains. "Even now my fingers still look for the piano keys when I'm feeling nervous." She twists said fingers together self-consciously.

A puzzle piece finally clicks into place. "Is that what you were doing before?" Sam asks her, triumphant. "On the bar?" He mimes playing the piano with his fingers.

Roberts looks, if possible, even more embarrassed. "Oh my God, you saw that? I swear, I don't even know I'm doing it half the time."

"It's not your fault." His father assures her. "Your strange little quirks are just the result of His awful sense of humor."

Roberts blinks at him. "Whose?"

"My father's, of course." Without giving her time to digest this information, Sam's father joins her at the piano. "Now, do you know any recent songs, maybe-"

"Can we do this later?" Sam takes his phone, which has been buzzing angrily, out of his pocket. "Looks like Forensics has something for us."

"Right." His father changes directions and hops up the steps that lead to the adjoining bedroom and closet. "Let me just grab my jacket and we can be on our way."

Joy huddles in the corner of the elevator, keeping her eyes trained on the floor as Decker fills his father-and how weird was that to say? -in on their investigation.

She still has no idea what had come over her back there. Not once had she ever been tempted to sit at a strange man's piano and play as if she owned the place. She's just glad Lucifer hadn't been offended by her rudeness. Indeed, part of the reason she's staring at the floor is because he keeps leaning around Decker to gaze at her with the air of a child who's just received a new toy and is disappointed that he has to wait to play with it.

She doesn't quite know what to think of Lucifer-or Decker, for that matter. On the one hand, they both seem like totally normal men with more than a fair amount of charm. But on the other hand, Lucifer thinks he's the literal Devil, an eccentricity that Decker does not seem to find the least bit concerning. In fact, if she didn't know better, she would think that Decker actually believes him.

That's ridiculous, of course. Decker has probably grown up with this weirdness and is just used to it. And if Lucifer had been a civilian consultant with the LAPD as long as he said, then perhaps he has some hidden talents that she isn't seeing.

Maybe if she just went along with this whole Devil nonsense, Lucifer wouldn't mind letting her come over occasionally to play on his piano. Even though she was still a little embarrassed by what had happened, she couldn't deny the contentment that came over her every time she played. Her mother had been a concert pianist, and some of Joy's best memories are colored with the sounds of the piano.

She follows the two men when they exit the elevator into the club. It is completely empty now except for Maze. She's sitting with her back to the bar, leaning back on her elbows, her harpoon at her feet. She does a double take when she spots Lucifer.

He looks more put together than he did upstairs. He's brushed his hair and added a suit jacket to his outfit, complete with pocket square.

"Well, look who finally decided to descend from his tower and grace us with his presence." Maze's tone is mocking, but she looks genuinely pleased to see Lucifer. "What, did you run out of whiskey?"

"Very funny, Maze." Lucifer says. "But you know I would never be so foolish as to let myself run out. There's a delivery service now. I have the app on my phone." He pulls out a cell phone and shows it to her. "What are you doing here, anyway...checking up on me?"

Maze pushes away from the bar and joins them on the mezzanine. "Figured I'd stick around just in case the kid needed help getting your ass out of the penthouse." She crosses her arms over her chest, looking Lucifer up and down. "I'm a little disappointed. Dragging you out kicking and screaming would have been more fun."

Lucifer huffs impatiently. "Yes, well, as touching as your loyalty is, there is no need to drag me. I have decided I am going to assist with this case. Just this case." He tells them all meaningfully. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll take my own car and meet you at the station. The sooner we solve this, the sooner I can go back to my retirement." His spins on the heels of his expensive dress shoes and flounces out.

Maze watches him go, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Nice work, kid." She claps Decker on the shoulder.

"Well, who better to charm the Devil than his own son?" Decker says, smiling. He and Maze bump their fists together. "See you Sunday?"

"You bet. Bring your new partner." She looks at Joy suggestively.

Decker just grunts and gestures for Joy to follow him out of the nightclub.

"What's on Sunday?" She asks, curious.

"Just a family thing." He answers evasively. He opens the car door for her.

Joy climbs into the car, fighting to keep her expression neutral. Decker didn't know about her past, so he wouldn't understand why those words had such an effect on her. She ignores the fierce ache in her chest.

Decker climbs into the driver's side and maneuvers the car out into traffic.

Joy sits with her hands clenched in her lap, and the silence goes on for several uncomfortable minutes before she finally asks, "So why didn't you tell me our consultant is your father? I mean, isn't that something you should tell your partner?"

And that rankled, the fact that he hadn't trusted her enough to tell her. True, she and Decker had only been partners for an hour or two, but they had agreed before they left the precinct that partners should trust each other. She is startled to find that she's a little hurt at being left out.

It must show on her face, because he looks sheepish. "I know, and I'm sorry. There's a lot of...baggage that comes with my family. I didn't want to overwhelm you with all of it right away. I mean, we only just met." He smiles at her ruefully. "Dad can be a little much for some people to take."

She frowns. "Because he thinks he's the Devil?"

"He is the Devil."

He's so matter of fact about it that she stares at him. "You're serious? You think your Dad is the actual Devil." Had the Lieutenant been aware of this and partnered her with Decker as some sort of hazing ritual?

"See, this is why I told you I wanted you to meet him first." He lets out a gusty sigh. "All right, get it all out."

"What?"

"Oh, come on. You don't think I haven't heard it all? Just go ahead and get it out of your system." But he's smiling at her.

"Oh no, no. I get it. Your dad is the Devil. Which I guess makes you a son of a devil." She can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from her chest. "You are the literal Spawn of Satan."

"That's me."

"The Antichrist."

"Nope, different person entirely. Don't worry, people get us mixed up all the time." He tells her smugly.

She grins. "Oh, wait, let me guess. Your mother's name is Rosemary?"

The laughter dies in her throat at Decker's expression. The amused light has gone out of his eyes, pain flickering across his face.

"Her name was Chloe." He says quietly.

Was. Past tense.

"Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry." She places a gentle hand on his arm. "When-"

"About a year ago. Cancer." Decker glances at the hand on his arm but doesn't protest it being there. "It came on fast, and before we even knew how bad it was, she was gone." He smiles, but it's only a pale imitation of the one he had shown her before. "She was a detective too, you know."

"Like you."

He chuckles. "Yeah, like me. You should have heard her when I told her I made detective-she was so damn proud of me. 'Runs in the family.' she said."

"Is that why your dad kept calling you 'Detective'?"

Decker shakes his head. "No, he was just annoyed with me. Usually he calls me Sam. Or Hell spawn, when I was younger and my mother wasn't in the room." Joy feels a painful tug in response to the sadness laced in his voice. "'Detective' was his pet name for my mother. It goes back to when they first met. She was working a case and, as always, he just had to get involved." She notes that he's cheering up a little. This is a familiar story, his parents' first meeting, one he's probably been told over and over.

"Was she the reason he became a civilian consultant for the L.A.P.D?"

"Yeah, after she shot him." His smile turns wicked when Joy gapes at him, shocked. "Don't worry, he healed fast enough. And knowing my father, he probably deserved it. They were partners for a long time after that." He pauses. "She was the love of his life."

That explained Lucifer's unkempt appearance, the red-rimmed eyes. Depression, she has learned, takes on a lot of forms.

She thinks back to that moment in the penthouse, where Lucifer's mask of affability had slipped just enough to show her the devastation underneath. "I'm guessing he didn't take it very well when she died?"

"It nearly destroyed him." Decker tells her point-blank. "For two days after she died, he spun completely out of control. He alternated between excessive drinking and drugs. Ranting for hours on end about how it was all Grandfather's fault-"

"Grandfather?" She interrupts, puzzled. He just angles his head to look at her. "Oh. God."

Now the whole Devil persona made sense. It's a defense mechanism, a way for Lucifer to cope with his wife's death. It was probably easier for Lucifer to believe his wife's cancer was an act of retribution from God than it was to accept the fact that she had died from an illness he couldn't have done anything about. It's probably easier for Decker too, to just humor him and pretend his father is the Devil. Kinder to let him have this fantasy than cruelly dragging him back to reality.

Decker hasn't noticed Joy's reflective silence. "At first we all thought it was his way of grieving. Everyone in my family knows that acting out is my father's go-to for most painful situations. But after two days of spiraling, he just up and disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"For six months." Frustration sharpens the edges of Decker's voice until it turns into a growl. "No warning. He didn't leave a note, didn't call anyone, didn't send so much as a bloody text message. He had taken some clothes and a duffle with him, but left his phone and his car, so we didn't even have a way to track him." Joy notes that Decker's accent, which she now identifies as British like his father's, has gotten more prominent since this earlier this morning.

"What about his credit cards?"

He shakes his head. "I thought of that too, but he cleared out his safe before he left, so I'm pretty certain he only used cash while he was...wherever he was." Decker taps his steering wheel anxiously. "I wanted to go after him right away, but my uncle insisted that I wait. He'd done this before, you see, so we thought he had just left for a few days to deal with his misery in his own way, somewhere more bacchanalian than L.A." Decker sucks in a sharp breath. "But a few days turned into a week, a week turned into a month. Still nothing."

"That must have been stressful for you, not knowing where he was." She says, noticing his scowl.

"More like irritating. Like I said, he's done this before, but not for such a long period of time. We looked for him. Checked all his favorite locales, any place where booze, music and partying are in ample supply."

"Like?"

"Las Vegas. New Orleans, Ibiza, New York City, Amsterdam, Miami." He catches her shocked expression. "My dad's been around. When we couldn't find him in any of those places, we spread out the search, checked places whose names might have caught his interest or catered to his sense of humor- Bangkok, Intercourse, Lesbos, that sort of thing." Decker runs a hand through his dark hair, and Joy can tell that contrary to what he said, his father's disappearance had shaken him to his core. "I even tried going down to Hell and to see if he had returned there."

Joy stares at him. "You went where, exactly?"

"Hell." He replies distractedly. "I went through every nook and cranny of that place and couldn't find him, though I guess that's not surprising. He always hated it down there-he wouldn't just go back."

"Time out." Joy makes the sign with her hand. "You went to Hell."

"Yes, of course." He looks at her as if she's the crazy one. "I even brought Maze down with me. She's been my father's closest friend practically forever. Plus, being a demon, she knows that place backwards and forwards."

Joy sputters. "Ok, you want to explain to me how you got to Hell?" She doesn't even want to consider what he means by Maze being a demon.

"I flew down." He says this as if it should be obvious.

"I didn't realize LAX had made a connecting flight to Hell."

"Yeah, yeah, hilarious." He replies, flapping a hand at her. "But seriously, I flew down there using my wings."

"There's nothing serious about this conversation." She half-laughs. "But ok, I'll play along. You have wings." She looks pointedly at his back.

"Well I don't have them out right now!" He says, exasperated. "I learned at the tender age of sixteen that it is not advisable to take out your wings while operating a motor vehicle. My cousin still gives me crap about that little experiment-but then, it was his car I totaled." He adds as an afterthought.

She stares at him for a long while. "Has anyone ever told you just how crazy you sound?"

"Hey, you were the one who was upset because I didn't tell you my father was the consultant we were hiring." He points out. "You said partners were supposed to trust each other, right? Well, you need to trust me when I say that all this Devil stuff is just the tip of the iceberg with my family. It just gets stranger from here on out."

She sits back in her seat, considering this. "I guess you're right. I mean, everyone has family stuff they have to deal with. It sounds like your family stuff is more dysfunctional than most." She glances at him sidelong. "I probably shouldn't be teasing you for it."

"It's fine. I got over being teased about my family drama back in the fifth grade." He smiles at her. "I can't beat the crap out of you, though, so let's just call it a truce."

She laughs. "Ok, truce." They aren't too far from the precinct, now. "So, you couldn't find your father for six whole months?"

"Nope. The day after we decided to call off the search, Maze went up to the penthouse to lock up and, lo and behold, my father was there. As if he had never run off in the first place."

"Did he say where he had been?"

Decker lets out of derisive snort. "My father? Please. No, he just acted as if those six months had never happened-no explanation, no apology. It was like nothing had changed. Well, kind of." Decker turns the car into the parking garage of the precinct. "He hasn't left the penthouse since he got back."

It dawns on her, then. "That's why you wanted him to consult with us."

"Yeah." Decker turns off his car and turns to look at her. "I was hoping that reminding him of the good times he had with Mom might help him open up, stop cutting himself off from everyone. It got him out of the penthouse, so I guess we're off to a good start." He winks at her. "Now let's go find our consultant, shall we?"