"If you're quite done with your dramatics, Detective," Lucifer sighed with arms crossed, patience dwindling by the minute. He didn't break at least ten different traffic laws on the way to the precinct just to have the detective harass him with annoying questions at the very last minute (who knew medicine tasted a lot like irony?).

Chloe was currently sprawled out on her chair, fearing that her legs would give way if she tried to stand up. Most of her partner's so-called "secrets" were ridiculous at best ("I am the literal devil, detective." "Sure you are."), but she was used to them. This, though? This had to be the biggest bombshell he's ever dropped, and worst of all, it actually made sense.

"I don't believe this," Chloe breathed out, probably for the third time in the past ten minutes (not that Lucifer was counting...or internally calculating the repercussions of just storming past the Detective and dragging Sabrina home).

Lucifer closed his eyes, counted to ten. When he opened them, his amusement was still running dry and he internally cursed the self-help pamphlets scattered around Linda's office. "Yes, you've made that very clear."

"I mean," Chloe laughed in disbelief. "You hate children."

"Detective."

"And I think you would have mentioned a daughter after two years of working together."

"Detective."

"Besides, I've met the girl. She said she has no relatives in L.A."

"Detective."

"I mean, just the idea of you as a father is really unsettling."

Something in her tone of voice, or perhaps the barely-held amusement in her eyes as she convinced herself it was all a joke, struck a chord within the growingly-impatient devil, and it didn't sit well with him at all. It was one thing to find humor in his truth (whether or not she believed them was besides the question), but it was another thing altogether to have her make assumptions about his ability to raise his own child.

"I do hope you've got nothing more to say, Detective, because I have had enough."

Sensing the shift in his voice and the unbridled irritation on his features, the rest of Chloe's words died in her throat and she swivelled around in her chair to face him. "Come on, you cannot be serious about all this."

He raised a taunting brow, unimpressed. "Try me."

The detective waited for the inevitable dirty one-liner to follow (the opening was practically served on a silver platter), but it never came. Something was wrong. Horribly, painstakingly wrong.

It wasn't rare for Lucifer to pull the odd prank every once in a while, but every time he did, it was always so easy to see that he had something up his sleeve. Whether it was the way he buzzed with excitement, or the delighted glint in his eyes that he never bothered to hide, he had a tell that was unsubtle enough to be caught by the untrained eye. Now, though, standing stiff as a board with arms crossed, emotions schooled into something impassive and borderline hostile, his usual tells were nowhere to be found. Chloe shivered as the thought finally dawned on her that she might have been laughing at a non-existent joke.

"Okay, you've got me. You can drop the act now," she chuckled, unsure. (God, let this be a long-overdue April Fools prank.)

He shook his head and exhaled in exasperation. "Oh, no one's acting, Detective. Acting foolish, maybe, but it definitely isn't me. Now if you're too immature to help," he swiped Sabrina's file from the desk and began to scan through any new developments. Chloe quickly wrestled it from his grip and he narrowed his gaze. "I'm not one to get on my knees and beg."

The detective tucked the file under her arm and sighed out loud. "Look, if what you're saying is true," her eyes shot up to meet his, and he promptly looked away in indignation (she should have known by now that he never lied). She stood up from the chair and straightened her blazer. It was preposterous (and still probably a prank), but she would have to trust him. Lucifer was her partner, and that should have been enough. "I'm with you on this. One hundred percent."

"I swear to Dad, if you start laughing again…"

She looked at him with as much sincerity as she could muster. "Hey, I won't. Okay?"

He opened his mouth, strung together a few choice words that would have deserved a separate circle in hell, but ultimately stopped himself before the venom could fall from his tongue. (The last thing he wanted was another mistake to regret in the morning) Drawing in a shaky breath and counting to ten (and twenty and thirty and forty), he nodded his head once and cleared a path to the interrogation room.

"Very well. Let's just get this over with."

It seemed very simple in hindsight. Waltz into the precinct, sign some random documents, and then bring Sabrina home (although the location of said place was still up for debate). What he failed to consider in his spur-of-the-moment decision-making, however, was probably the most significant part of the whole equation: actually meeting his daughter.

Lucifer never thought the day would come, if he was to be honest (and he's always honest). It was always just a passing thought that tied him up in metaphorical knots before he would brush it away, fearing the mental and emotional repercussions of entertaining an impossible idea for too long. A child's fancy, it always seemed like; a lingering, innocent hope for something that would never come.

Except it was finally here and he was not prepared at the slightest.

"Lucifer," Chloe's voice seemed to permeate through his rigid wall of thoughts, and after blinking his eyes for a few moments, he registered the sight of her knitted brows and tapping foot. "Are you even listening?"

He quickly shook any other stubborn thoughts away and ran a hand through his hair, already dishevelled after the day's exhaustion. "Yes, sorry," he tried giving her an attentive smile, though it didn't reach his eyes the way it used to. "You were saying?"

"I was saying," the detective said pointedly, giving him an odd look. Her eyes were soon averted as she glanced back to the folder in her hands. "The officers already interviewed the witnesses, and they all testified that it was the man who harassed her and brought out the gun in the first place. The suspect, an Oliver Hayes, just woke up from his emergency surgery for sixth-degree burns. He claims that Sabrina was the one who set him on fire, though forensics already checked the scene and couldn't find any trace of something that could have ignited him. Witnesses also confirmed that the girl never touched Oliver."

Sixth-degree burns. The little girl Lucifer knew was the sweetest salt of the earth. She had strong, unique magic, that much he could remember, but everything she did with it was nothing short of beautiful. He distinctly recalled quiet summer afternoons when she would practice simple herbology spells in her aunt's greenhouse, unfurling flower petals with a twirl of her fingers before closing them back up again. Granted, that was a long time ago, back when she was just barely starting to read and life was simpler (as much as the devil's life could be simple, really).

Now his daughter was sixteen and summoning hellfire, a feat that required the darkest of thoughts and the deepest of hatred. He felt a pang of guilt echo throughout his already twisted, acid-drenched insides. (Who ruined my darling girl while I wasn't looking?)

"Anyway," Chloe continued, closing the file back up. "We don't have enough evidence to keep her here anymore, so she's free to go. She just needs a parent or guardian to sign her out since she's a minor. That's where you come in, I guess."

"Yes, I believe so," Lucifer mumbled absently, though his mind was elsewhere. (What exactly did he miss while he was in Los Angeles?)

The detective nodded her head. "Alright, then. I'll just get the paperwork together." She moved to turn away, but paused at the last second and gave her partner a little nudge to the side. "You know, if you want to talk to her, she's just through the door."

With one last encouraging smile, she was gone. Alone with his thoughts for probably the first time that damned (blessed) day, Lucifer drew in a shaky breath and looked to the ceiling. It was nothing spectacular, just the normal set of cobweb-covered boards and foggy fluorescent lights. But for the briefest second, the pristine white paint reminded him of home (his real home, with the stars and the silence), and he thought of calling for his Father (I'm not strong like you). Almost as soon as it came, though, the idea slipped through his fingers much like everything fleeting and unsure in the world, and he lowered his gaze back to the floor (But why would I want to be like you?).

He counted to ten, to twenty, to fifty.

(There's no running away anymore).

He pushed the doors open.

"Are you letting me go now?"

It was the first time in all his life that he'd ever heard her voice, he realized, once he shut the door behind him and the girl looked up from her solitude in surprise. There was only so much Amenadiel's stories could tell, but eloquent as his brother's words were, they never did capture the wonder of everything she was.

For instance, he was never told how her eyes were bright and endless as a starless night, how her skin shone like porcelain even in the dimly-lit room. How could his brother possibly describe the angel wing white of her hair? The delicate resolve in the way she carried herself, determined and unafraid? She was ineffable, really. A creation too radiant for words (and you said I could only create destruction, father).

At just the right angle, under just the right light, she looked so much like Diana that he had to wonder if he was actually met with Sabrina, and not her mother's ghost come back to haunt him. (He owed that woman everything, and he never even got to thank her. Maybe in the next life, when everything has been said and done.)

He stepped closer to the table with small steps, slow and measured, not quite eager to let the moment slip from his fingers too soon. Sabrina watched his every move with careful eyes (she knows better than to leave strange men unguarded), and he did the same. When was the last time he saw her in the flesh, breathing and brilliant and being? It must've been too long ago, when she was but a babe in her mother's arms in the woods.

Finally, when she was close enough to touch, he felt his arms ache with the urge to gather her up and never let go (I should've held you when I had the chance), but he remembered himself, all that he was, and all that he was not. He lost the right to reach for her when he walked away the first time.

He stopped at the edge of the table and pulled a seat for himself. "Hello, child."

The young witch regarded the man curiously, trying to read into his soul with a sharp look that should have told her everything, but for once, her mind came at a blank. Perhaps her magic was prone to exhaustion, as well (or she just didn't know that her powers did little against the man who passed them on to her in the first place). Still, it did not deter her at the slightest, and she simply leaned back against the chair with her arms crossed, setting her gaze apprehensively on her newfound companion. "The detective said we were done. I should be on my way to a hotel by now or something, not trapped in this room playing staring games with you."

She spoke with a surprising bite that her father did not expect, though he could not bring himself to be cross, not when her spite sounded so familiar.

"You must be so tired." The devil's words were dipped in sympathy, and she hated how pitiful he made her sound. The way he took note of the weariness of her shoulders and the dark circles under her eyes didn't escape the girl, and she had the sense that the man across from her wasn't just referring to the events of the day.

She hummed in response, gave him a critical look. "Maybe I am. But I don't see how it's any of your business, anyway."

"Oh, my dear," Lucifer chuckled. "It is my business. More than anyone's."

At this, the witch's eyebrows knitted together and she leaned in closer, scanning his face for anything that would give him away. It was not often that you would meet a person who could be confident, anxious, and sad all at once. But somehow, the man across from her was able to be all three. She spoke in a low breath, the beginnings of a threat coloring her voice. "Who are you?"

Lucifer kept his facade calm, movements measured. But inside, his head was spinning too fast for him to keep up. (Doesn't she already know? She took his name, set out to Los Angeles. Why else would she be here?). He tried to find any trace of a lie in the way she moved, the way her steel-like gaze narrowed ever so slightly at him. Still, there was nothing but an honest question in her eyes, and how could he not oblige her with an answer? For someone who loved the truth so much, it was a wonder how he had gone sixteen years hiding from it.

"I'm Lucifer Morningstar."

Her mouth drew into a tight line, and she set her features into something cold and unamused. He didn't know if it was just him, but Lucifer felt as if the lights inside the room had gone a bit dimmer. "You should really know better than to lie."

"I'm not lying," he urged, meeting the silent rage in her eyes with a patience he didn't know he had.

"And why should I believe you? You're nobody to me."

(But you're everything to me).

Lucifer sighed out loud, lowered his head. He was sure it would be difficult, but all he knew at that moment was a unique agony that no circle in hell could replicate. But then again, he had already come so far (never in a million years would he have imagined being in the same room with her, let alone talking to her face to face). He was not about to give up on her now.

"You may not know me," he stared deep into her dark eyes (so very much like his own), and hoped that she would see his sincerity, his pain, anything at all. "But I know you."

Sabrina pursed her lips and let the silence stretch between them. This man had a way of dragging things on for far too long, and she did not appreciate it at the slightest. "Funny," she finally uttered, though her tone held no humour in it. "I knew a Lucifer Morningstar once. Not a nice man at all. Now I detest the very name."

She leaned in closer, as if telling a secret. All the while, a smile so obviously forced, yet threateningly sweet rested on her face. "I think you'd understand how unwise it is to even mention it in my presence."

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at her, tried to make sense of the things she said. (Another Lucifer Morningstar? It wasn't possible.) "What are you talking about?"

The girl smirked and leaned back against her chair, arms crossed smugly. "Like I said, it's none of your business." She raised a brow. "Still think you know me?"

She may have looked like her mother, but her stubbornness, her pride, it was all his. Lucifer wanted to be mad, but he soon found that he couldn't. There must have been another way to get to her, short of unveiling his wings and bringing out his devil face.

Suddenly, a thought came to mind, stemming from a certain book he spotted amidst her belongings earlier in the day. It could have very well been a futile gesture, but it was all he had at the moment.

"Ek ken vir jou. Vertrou vir my, kind. (I know you. Trust me, I do.)"

Sabrina was taken aback. In all honesty, she thought nothing more of the man than another infuriating investigator who wanted to give her a hard time because of her name (the Chloe woman earlier sure couldn't move past it), but when he started speaking the most smooth, fluent Lilim she's ever heard, she had to step back and wonder who it truly was who sat across from her.

"Wat is jy? (What are you?)" She answered back, brows furrowed.

Lucifer couldn't help but sigh in relief, glad that they were finally getting somewhere. Granted, he didn't have the faintest clue when his daughter began to grasp hell's de facto language so effortlessly, but the thought gave him the slightest hint of pride, all the same.

"Ek veronderstel dat ons die selfde is. (Same as you, I suppose.)"

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Is jy ń Oorlogsluit dan? (A warlock, then?)"

Lucifer glanced at the watch on his wrist, took note of the time quickly passing by. He needed her to agree to come with him before the Detective could come back with the paperwork and notice how the two were too unfamiliar to be family.

He shook his head, gave her an apologetic look. "Dit is 'n verhaal vir 'n ander tyd, my kind. (It's a story for another time, child.)"

Sabrina gave a little huff of annoyance, but began to ponder on a new thought forming in the back of her mind. It couldn't have been a coincidence that she ran into someone else with extensive knowledge of hell in the few hours she spent in Los Angeles. Even in Greendale, the magical allies she had were few and far in between, most all of them off to tie up their own loose ends. She didn't know what game fate was playing at, but if she wanted to march back into the underworld and free Nick, she needed all the help she could get.

"Can you get me out of here?" She asked in her normal voice, tone shifting to something raw and vulnerable. Lucifer's heart warmed at the thought. From the moment they met, she had been nothing but guarded and cold (and understandably so), but he hoped that she would soon realize that she had no need for such precautions anymore, not when he was there to keep her safe now.

He gave her a small smile, kind and tender in a way only a father could give his child (though he never remembered his own father ever looking at him like that). "Why else would I have come?"

Her face broke out into a grin, bright and untamed, and the universe was suddenly golden. "Then we have all the time in the world."