A/N: Hard to believe it's been a year since I added a chapter. But, as I've noted before, chapters in this collection are usually sparked by a reaction to an episode...and I haven't been very "sparked" lately. However, after watching Lucifer on the 3rd segment of "Crisis," this short chapter came to mind. With "Arrow" coming to its final episodes, I hope to find at least one more chapter after this.

Death wasn't at all what Oliver had expected it to be.

But then he really hadn't expected it to be anything. He'd spent so much energy fighting death that he had spared little consideration for what it was going to be like. Once the Monitor had told him of his fate, Oliver had put all his effort into escaping it; not because he was afraid, but because he knew what he would be leaving behind. He had a wife who was still the best thing in his life, even though he'd been forced to live apart from her. He had two children who, by some miraculous fluke in time, he'd been able to get to know (and be proud of) as adults. He had people around him who loved and valued him, his reward after more than a decade of turmoil and sacrifice. It felt unfair to have to say goodbye to all of that. It was a cosmic slap in the face.

As for what came after death, if anything, Oliver had been far more worried about leaving his loved ones unprotected than he'd been concerned about his journey, post-expiration. He wasn't even sure there was going to be an after. There was a chance, he figured, that he would simply cease to be.

Still, when you knew John Constantine, you became aware that there could be something else waiting. Constantine had stories that could raise the hair on the back of your neck. And Oliver had gone with him to retrieve Sara Lance's soul, so he'd seen firsthand that Sara had ended up somewhere. In theory, he should have anticipated that death would not be the end. But he'd been too focused on averting the Crisis to really think about it.

When the last breath left his body, he felt a measure of peace. Not contentment by any means, but the kind of peace that comes with knowing you've done all that you could be expected to do. His biggest regret was that Felicity wasn't with him and that he couldn't hold her hand one last time. But in his daughter's tearful face he saw so much of his wife that, in a way, he felt she was there. His thoughts drifted to William, Thea and John Diggle, then back to Felicity, and then, as the light faded, to nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

"Wake up, sunshine."

What? Wake up? He wasn't asleep. He was dead.

"I'm talking to you, Mr. Queen."

Wasn't he?

He waited in the darkness.

"I haven't got all bloody day. There's a lovely pair of red-heads waiting for me in my flat and they're primed and ready to go, if you catch my drift. So wake the bloody hell up."

The voice was British, but it didn't belong to John Constantine. Oliver would have recognized Constantine's voice. This voice was more refined, although every bit as cocky. He debated opening his eyes. Then he wondered if he had eyes.

"Mr. Queen-"

Oliver went through the same eye-opening motions he'd used in life, and to his surprise, the darkness melted away and was replaced by a soft, muted light. He was lying on the table he'd died on, but Mia, Barry and the rest of the crew were gone. There was only one man, a man he didn't recognize, sitting in a chair a few feet away. The man had dark hair and dark eyes, and judging by the length of his legs, was quite tall.

Oliver stared at him.

The guy had to be wealthy. He was wearing a black suit and a grey shirt with an open collar. The suit was high-end, probably bespoke. Back when he'd been a billionaire, Oliver had owned some pretty expensive suits himself and he recognized the tailoring and quality of the fabric. Plus, the man sounded entitled – the kind of entitlement that comes with money.

"Who are you?" Oliver wasn't certain he'd said the words aloud or merely thought them, but either way the man seemed to understand.

The man grinned. "Ah, there you are Mr. Queen. So glad you could finally join me. The name's Lucifer Morningstar."

"Lucifer," Oliver repeated, his voice falling. There was only one Lucifer that he'd ever heard of, and that was the guy who ran Hell. Disappointment and fear enveloped him. He'd thought he had done enough to avoid this, but apparently he hadn't redeemed himself; not if he was talking to...

"Is there a problem, Mr. Queen?" Lucifer appeared surprised. "You don't sound pleased."

Oliver wondered if anyone was ever pleased to see Lucifer Morningstar. "You're the Devil," he said tiredly, "which means I'm…I'm…"

He stopped. He couldn't bring himself to utter the words.

"Oh." Understanding crossed Lucifer's face. "Oh, I see. You think you're going to Hell to be punished."

"Aren't I? Why else would you be here?"

Lucifer laughed, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. For a relatively slender man, he had deep, hearty laugh. But then, Oliver recalled, Lucifer wasn't really a man at all.

Lucifer chuckled for half a minute. "Oh no, my dear fellow," he eventually said. "You're got it entirely wrong. For starters, I'm on holiday. I don't punish people anymore – haven't for some time. Kudos to you, though, for recognizing me. Generally, when I tell humans my name, most think it's a joke or some kind of metaphor." He paused and leaned back in his chair. "No – I'm not here to punish. I've found far more interesting things to do on earth."

More interesting things to do on earth? Which earth, Oliver wondered. After all, there was a multitude of them. And for that matter, how exactly did the celestial meld with the Multiverse? Did each universe come complete with its own heaven and hell, or did the divine transcend the laws of physics and remain a single entity, separate and apart? Was he looking at a devil or the Devil? And did it make a difference, when it came to his fate?

He wished he could ask Felicity. She was pretty damn sharp about things like the Multiverse. Still, thinking further, maybe it was more of a Constantine question – more metaphysical than physical.

Then he told himself to get back on point. After all, he was getting what sounded like good news. "So you're saying," he began, hope rising in his chest, "that I'm not going to Hell?"

Lucifer laughed again. "You know, it's odd. The ones who think they're going, almost never are. It's the ones who've got excuses for all their misdeeds – they usually get the unpleasant surprise." When Oliver continued staring at him, Lucifer added more soberly, "No Hell for you, Mr. Queen. I hope I haven't disappointed you."

"No," Oliver shook his head. "Of course not. It's just, since I killed people, I thought there was a chance that…"

Lucifer nodded. "Ah, yes, I see. If it's any consolation, you'll have to do your time. You won't get off scot free. As you say, you killed people, although not for personal gain. You also saved a great many more. So, points in your favor."

The relief was overwhelming, and Oliver sighed, or at least went through the motions of sighing. He wasn't sure air actually came out of his lungs. "So, if you're not here to punish me," he said cautiously, "why exactly are we talking?"

Lucifer grinned. It was a broad, impudent expression. "Because I'm curious, Oliver. You don't mind if I call you Oliver, do you? You have an unusual history and quite the reputation. You know, profligate youth becomes vigilante crusading for justice? The parasite who becomes a hero. That's a lot of character-building in a short lifetime. We don't see that kind of turnaround very often."

"Is that a good thing?"

"My brother would say it is. But then he's an angel and – between you and me – he can be insufferably righteous. Me? I kind of liked the old Oliver. I mean, sleeping with your girlfriend's sister? Now that's something I would do."

"You might not like the repercussions."

The grin disappeared from Lucifer's face. "I'm sure you didn't like them. And yet, if I understand your history correctly, that little piece of sin was the beginning of your transformation."

Oliver thought about everything that had befallen after taking Sara Lance on the yacht. In some ways Lucifer was right. The Gambit going down was the kickstart for his change. It wasn't the only reason for it, though, and he could have ended up on a very different path if it hadn't been for the people in his life. If he was a better man now, John Diggle, and most especially Felicity, had a lot to do with it. They had loved him, believed in him, and talked him out of self-destruction more than once. He missed them desperately and wondered if he would ever see them again. He hoped Lucifer had the answer to that.

He tried sitting up, contracting what had been his stomach muscles to raise his back off the table. When that was successful, he swung his legs over the side so that he was sitting and facing Lucifer.

"You said you were curious," he stated. "Well I'm curious too. What happens next, after you've finished talking to me? Where do I go from here?"

Lucifer arched an eyebrow. "What did you think would happen – apart from Hell, I mean?"

"To be honest, I tried not to think about it too much. I figured there was a chance I would just become…" Oliver's voice trailed off.

"Dust?" Lucifer finished for him. "Ah yes. 'Remember that you are dust to and to dust you shall return.' That's what they say on Ash Wednesday, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Oliver replied dryly. His parents hadn't been too big on church. Other than going on Christmas, he and his sister had largely been absent from services. He wondered if that would weigh against him now.

Lucifer shrugged. "Dust," he repeated. "That's a rather…unambitious…fate to hope for, especially for a man like you."

A memory flashed through Oliver's mind, not all that distant. It was of Felicity and William, kneeling on the floor in William's bedroom, peering under the bed.

"I don't understand where they come from," William said. "I clean, but then they always seem to come back."

"The dust bunnies?" Felicity smiled. "They always will come back. It's physics at work, right here in your bedroom."

"Physics." William's voice was flat. He was clearly not enthused at Felicity's effort to make it a teachable moment.

"Yup," she continued, undeterred. "Electrostatic forces and gravity. They bind the particles of dust - so small that you can barely see them - together to form the bunnies. Left alone long enough, the bunnies will even come together to create mega dust bunnies."

"Really?" William's voice brightened.

Felicity nodded. "It's similar to the way the planets formed. There was a large disc of gas and dust circling the sun. Gravity did its thing and caused the dust particles to come together in clumps, and then caused those clumps to form even bigger clumps. Give the process a few million years and bang – you've got a planet. The scientists call it accretion."

William grinned. "That's cool. Can we try that – leaving the dust bunnies alone to see how big they get? Maybe in a few years they'll be the size of basketballs."

From his position leaning against the doorjamb, Oliver smiled. Trust his son to exploit Felicity's love of science to avoid a domestic chore.

But Felicity wasn't born yesterday. She laughed. "Afraid not, kiddo. You're going to get the vacuum and go after those suckers. Right now. They're failing your bedroom."

"Oh. You're sure?" William had to give it one more try.

"I'm sure."

"Okay." William sighed heavily, and after a moment, got up and brushed past Oliver on his way to retrieving the vacuum.

The memory warmed Oliver. "Dust," he said to Lucifer. "I don't think it's so unambitious. Some mighty things have begun as dust."

"Really?" Unimpressed, Lucifer sat back and smoothed the lapels of his perfectly tailored jacket. "Surely you must want something else."

"I didn't think what I want counted anymore."

"Oh, you never know. Why don't you tell me and we'll find out." Lucifer leaned forward in his chair and leveled a stare at Oliver. "Tell me your deepest, darkest desire."

And instantly, Oliver felt compelled to tell him. It was as if the words were being pulled out of his throat.

"I want to see my wife again," he said. "I want to talk to her, touch her, hold her."

"Your wife?" Lucifer sat back and his brow furrowed. He sounded a little deflated. "Well, that's unexpected. I assumed after all the time you spent chasing villains that you would want power. Not in a megalomaniac way, but the power to make the world the way you think it should be. Safer. Better. It's a typical desire for people who want to change things. But instead, you want your wife." He shook his head. "You're full of surprises, Oliver."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No." Lucifer hesitated. "Much as it pains me to say it, it's rather admirable. You'd be amazed at how few men answer 'my wife' when I ask them to name their deepest desire. It's usually the top job at their company, a Ferrari, or a blonde young enough to be their daughter. They want the trappings of success, not understanding that it won't bring them lasting happiness. But you want your wife. I envy you, in a way. To still want something that you've already had…something so simple-"

"There is nothing simple about my wife."

"No?" Lucifer studied Oliver. "No, I imagine not; not if she could deal with you."

There were a few seconds of silence.

"So, will I..." Oliver paused. If his heart could still beat, it would be pounding by now. "Will I see her again…ever?"

"Oh, I think so," Lucifer said casually. "When it's her time, of course, and assuming she wants to see you."

"She will," Oliver replied. He had no doubts. After all, she'd told him that they were the best parts of each other, and that was bigger than the universe. He had to believe it was also bigger than death.

"She became a widow quite young," Lucifer noted. "Plenty of time left for her to fall in love with someone else."

That was true, although Oliver didn't think it would happen. She'd sworn to find him. And she'd held to her other promise to keep William and Mia safe. He'd seen proof of that.

"Maybe," he said, not wavering for a second. "I doubt it, but if it's true and I know she's happy, then I'm good with it."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Oh, bloody hell. Are you bucking for sainthood?"

Oliver nearly laughed. "No. I just...love her. It's what happens."

"And I can't shake your faith in her."

"No, you can't."

"I see." Lucifer peered at him for a moment, then rose from his chair. "In that case, Oliver, I suspect you'll get what you want. Do your time in purgatory and you'll get your reward. I'm still a little amazed that you don't want something more grand, but then you were ready to settle for dust."

"I was," Oliver agreed. "But now I've got hope."