Linda believed in the power of selective intervention. Sure, she could give patients a guiding nudge here and there, but in the end, they had to achieve breakthroughs on their own. Therapy was a self-introspective journey, after all.

For the now-growing Morningstar family, however, she feared that the process was less of a journey and more of a morning rush traffic jam that left you stranded in your car for hours on end. (Watching the two was fascinating at first, but by Lucifer's sixth round of "Did you sleep well, darling? I hope you liked your breakfast. Should we head to the same place for lunch? Sabrina? Sabrina? Sabrina?", the doctor had to step in before the girl's eyes rolled permanently out of her head).

"Okay, this is clearly getting us nowhere," she sighed, raising a hand to stop Lucifer before he could get another unanswered question out of his mouth. From the corner of her eye, she could see Sabrina's shoulders sag in relief (What part of "I'm not talking to you" did her father not understand?). "I can't help you unless you help me. I'm gonna need to grasp all of this before I figure out what to do with the both of you."

Linda turned back to the teenager who seemed more preoccupied with her cat than anything else (the animal's presence was more of a defense mechanism, the doctor now only realized, that gave the girl all the excuse she needed not to look her father in the eye). "Sabrina, would you mind stepping out into the hall with Maze? I just need to ask your dad a few questions."

Sabrina didn't really understand the need for therapy. Mortals had a habit of blowing their sensitivities out of proportion (and her human side made her guilty of it once or twice), but witches would have laughed at the notion of spending hours upon hours working through something as mundane as feelings. When you had magic and immortality and the infernal energies of creation coursing through your very veins, emotions were an insignificant afterthought that weren't worth the time of day.

(Still, the doctor must have been doing something right if she managed to get the devil himself, with all his power and divinity, to come by every week without fail. Sabrina would be lying if she said she wasn't the slightest bit curious on how well the whole thing worked).

The young blond shrugged her shoulders and got up from the far end of the couch. "Sure." She sent a pointed look towards her father (still annoyingly oblivious to the fact that fancy croissants and forced conversations would not win her over, not until he's realized just how much damage he's made). He answered back with a grin and her gaze only sharpened. "It was getting stuffy in here, anyway."

She walked swiftly out of the room with a begrudging Mazikeen trailing behind her, already wondering if antichrist-babysitting was gonna be a full-time thing. As soon as the pair was out of earshot, Linda calmly shut the door behind them before turning around with an exasperated look that the devil should have known all too well by then.

"Two words." She strode over to where he sat and waited impatiently, hands on her hips and face twisted into something of sheer disappointment (really, two years of therapy and he never bothered to mention this one crucial detail). "Explain. Yourself."

Lucifer blinked innocently up at her. "Well, what's there to explain, doctor? It's all very straightforward, isn't it?"

"No, Lucifer," she shook her head, eyes wide. "There is nothing straightforward about the devil showing up with a secret teenage daughter who apparently barbecues people alive. And frankly, I find it very alarming that you don't see that."

After the freakishly long evening he's had, the last thing Lucifer wanted to do was recount sixteen years' worth of fuck-ups on his part that the doctor would probably take worse than his initial devilish reveal ("I left my infant daughter in the care of two satanic witches and a warlock under house arrest for trying to blow up the Vatican" was a can of worms he'd rather not open up just yet).

Nevertheless, if he truly was in this for the long run (and what a long run it's sure to be, with both his and Sabrina's angelic immortality), then he supposed there was no sense in holding anything back. Linda needed to ask questions so that he would find the right answers, and tiresome as it was, there were worse things in the world (and all of them he'd endure for his little girl).

He sighed. "Very well. Which part of all this are you having trouble with?"

"Everything!" Linda exclaimed, dropping back into her chair. "I mean, where do I even begin? The thought of you even having a daughter to begin with is very hard to process."

"So I've been told. Several times actually, by the detective."

The doctor raised her brows in disbelief. "Chloe knows about Sabrina?"

"It wasn't the most ideal circumstance, considering that she had my daughter holed up in interrogation. But yes, I had to tell the detective eventually."

Now, Linda had two choices. She could either lose her mind over the disturbingly nonchalant way Lucifer handled the news that his teenage daughter was essentially arrested, or take everything in with as much calmness as possible, knowing that juvenile delinquency was probably the most normal thing she'd be hearing the rest of the day. Familiar with how most Morningstar family dramas went, she settled on the latter, letting out a long breath.

"I'm assuming this has something to do with the whole hellfire incident you mentioned?"

Lucifer's mouth broke out into a proud grin that really had no place in a conversation about possibly pyromanic children. "Let's just say the mugger was the one who ended up getting robbed. Of his will to live, that is." He chuckled, turning to the doctor in excitement. "Turns out she's very good at punishing evil."

(Apparently, Lucifer's idea of good parenting was condoning his daughter's infernal capability to torture mortals. She may not have looked the part, but Sabrina was one expensive suit and an ecstasy pill away from becoming her father). Linda leaned back against her seat, already regretting getting out of bed that particular morning. "Remind me again how the devil has a daughter? Unless, of course, there are other secret children you failed to mention. Or should I just expect them to show up to future therapy sessions?"

"Oh, trust me, doctor. One hellspawn is quite enough. The balance between heaven, earth, and hell is already skewed enough as it is with just one antichrist in the picture."

If Linda's eyes could bulge out any further, they'd be rolling around on the carpeted floor. "Are-are you saying," she scrambled to her feet, pointing one manic finger towards the door. "I have the antichrist in my waiting room, reading teen magazines and drinking vending machine coffee with a demon?"

"Two demons, actually. Her cat was bred in the bowels of hell."

"As if that makes it any better!"

Lucifer sighed, holding up a hand to his head. (This. This was the blasted can of worms he was trying to avoid. And they haven't even gotten to the part of flesh-eating covens and goat-obsessed churches). "Honestly, you're making a big deal out of nothing, doctor. If we're lucky enough, she might not even grow into her full power until she's a few centuries old. And even then, I doubt she'd want to destroy the world. She loves her mortal friends far too much to obliterate their great-great grandchildren."

"That's besides the point!" The therapist marched back to her seat and buried her face in her hands, muffling a well-deserved groan. (God help her. The antichrist – His granddaughter, come to think of it - was a volatile teenager with daddy issues. And unless she played her therapeutic cards right, the apocalypse was probably one angsty meltdown away from sending them all to hell).

Linda sucked in a long breath, counted to ten, and straightened her back as she tried to pull herself together. (She could do this. Of course she could. She was the Morningstar family psychiatrist, dammit. Freud and Jung combined couldn't deal with half the shit she's seen. If anyone was gonna rationalize the devil's erratic behavior and whatever godforsaken motivation he had to leave his potentially world-ending daughter behind, it was gonna be her).

"Okay," she said softly, closing her eyes. (Breathe in, don't think about the impending Armageddon, breathe out). "Okay."

Lucifer frowned back at her. "Okay? What do you mean by okay?" A strange look passed over his face as a concerning thought came to mind. "Heavens, I finally broke you, didn't I? Maze always said the day would come."

Linda shook her head. "Nope, not broken. Just compartmentalizing all of this." She shifted her gaze back to him, head finally clear and heart rate back to a clinical normal. Lucifer was slightly unsettled with how calm she seemed, as if he actually did break her, but she was just doing an excellent job hiding all of it.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She looked at him expectantly. "Hit me."

"As much as I find it weird that you're taking all this too well, I don't think punching you would solve any of our problems."

(Linda did not map out her day with the thought of strangling the devil, but if Lucifer couldn't bottle up his insufferable ignorance even just for the next few minutes, it looked as if things were about to head in that general direction). "No, I meant-" She rubbed a hand down her face. "Let me rephrase myself. I am ready to hear whatever outrageous explanation is behind you having a sixteen year old daughter."

"That's splendid, doctor." Lucifer smiled back at her, toothy and self-assured as ever. "Now we're making some progress. Should I start at the beginning, or-"

"No, no, no. Just the Cliffnotes version." The devil shot her another odd look, and she promptly waved him away. "Trust me, I'm sure it's a wonderful story full of plot twists and Lucifer-brand escapades that you would just love to recount in explicit detail, but right now, we're losing daylight and I need to understand most of it before I bring Sabrina back in here."

For the record, Lucifer did not enjoy telling that particular story, considering he's only told it thrice in a span of sixteen years (once to Amenadiel, another to Maze, and just last night to Sabrina). Frankly, the whole narrative managed to take him from mad to sad faster than any depressant, and it was downright humiliating to admit that he'd been duped by a bearded warlock (take away his youth and dress him up in ratty robes, and what was Edward Spellman, really, but a heinous version of Dumbledore?). Still, the devil took pride in telling stories exceptionally well, and he felt quite robbed now that Linda was asking for a summary, of all things.

Nevertheless, this day was about his daughter and helping her get better. He supposed the faster he got the doctor caught up, the sooner Sabrina would be back in the room and on track to emotional healing. Lucifer sighed out loud. "Fine. Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job."

Linda hummed to herself. "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Anyway," he shot back, eyeing her dismissively (The audacity of this woman. First, she waters down his theatrical flair for storytelling, and now she won't even let him finish). "Long story short, I got the mortal wife of a satanic high priest pregnant. As a favor, of course. Then, let's see, there was a plane crash, and a prophecy, and a pair of witches who took Sabrina in when her mum died. There's also this whole thing about a cannibalistic coven, but I don't want to bore you with the finer details."

The doctor glared back at him. "I know what you're doing, Lucifer. You're purposely stringing together the vaguest narrative known to mankind just so I'll ask you for the specifics and you can have your way in telling the story."

Lucifer merely shrugged his shoulders in feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're talking about, doctor."

(Linda was close, so damn close to strangling either him or herself at that point). She narrowed her eyes at him even further and crossed her arms against her chest. (Still, you don't earn a career in psychology without playing a few mind games of your own). The doctor nodded her head and made a quiet humph from the back of her throat. "Either way, I think I got the gist of it. We're done here."

"But-but doctor!" The devil leaned forward in his seat, suddenly flustered. "Aren't you the least bit curious about the flesh eating? Or perhaps the satanic church?"

"No, Lucifer, I think I've heard enough," Linda said, getting up to hold the door open. "I'd like to talk to Sabrina now."

Lucifer held up a finger, as if he wanted to say something more, but the therapist quickly shot him back a stern look and he got to his feet. Linda didn't miss the way he scrunched his face at her as he straightened his suit jacket and marched out the hall. (Who did she think she was? His stories were thrilling, epic, flawless. I've heard enough, my ass).

She chuckled smugly as she returned to her seat, giving herself a metaphorical pat on the back. (She wasn't gonna kid herself. Lucifer got to her, and the need to know the rest of the story would probably keep her up for a solid week. But she'd fill out the rest of the blanks eventually. For now, it was all worth it just to know she got to him first).

"Dr. Linda?" The rest of her self-celebration was cut short by a hesitant knock at the door. She turned her head to see Sabrina standing by the entrance of her office, demonic black cat walking in circles around her stocking-clad ankles. "You wanted to see me?"

The therapist knew that she was just a teenage girl and relatively harmless in her own right (antichrist status, aside), but she couldn't help the way her spine went stiffer and the hairs on the back of her arm stood straighter as she looked her in the eye. "Sabrina, yes, please come in."

"You're scared of me, doctor," the young witch observed with an arch of her brow, watching Linda curiously as she took her place on the couch (which she could now thankfully enjoy without Lucifer invading her personal space). Salem promptly jumped up on her lap and she brushed magic-worn fingers through his fur, though her gaze never left the woman across from her. She quirked her head to the side in genuine thought. "Why is that?"

"Well, I-I," The doctor felt herself drawn to the girl, defenses down and vulnerabilities exposed in a way that was too familiar to be new. She felt her earlier horrors about the apocalypse being unearthed from their haphazardly-compartmentalized box and her mouth itching with the sudden urge to say them out loud. Realizing what the teenager was doing (if her father played with desires, then she played with fears, and dear lord, was she alarmingly good at it), Linda shook her head, breaking the spell halfway through. Sabrina couldn't say she was surprised (two years working with the devil and the therapist was bound to learn a trick or two), but she found herself a bit disappointed, nonetheless.

Still slightly dazed, Linda tried to steer the conversation away to less frightening waters. "Where's your dad?"

"Maze said she was hungry so they went to get a sandwich across the street," the younger blond replied, stretching out her back on the sofa and staring boredly at the ceiling. (With the amount of time it took for the doctor to talk to and eventually piss off her father, Sabrina managed to browse through all twelve magazines Linda had in her waiting room and make enough awkward conversation with Mazikeen for the demon to excuse herself to the bathroom and never come back. At that point, therapy was beginning to lose most of its allure and the girl had half a mind to sneak off to Lucifer's expensive pastry place and stay there just long enough to worry him).

Linda nodded her head. "Okay. Now that it's just the two of us, I'd like to ask you a few questions. Let me just get my notepad-" She made a move to get up from her seat, but staggered back to the chair the moment Sabrina lazily twirled a finger and her journal came flying across the room.

The witch had a subtle smile as she lowered the bundle on to the doctor's lap with a flick of the wrist, a pen hovering mid-air for her to reach soon after. "Don't worry, I've got it."

Linda always knew that the Morningstar family came equipped with a specific skillset. They had their immortality, their invincibility, their inane penchant to attract trouble wherever they went…it was commonplace for both Lucifer and Amenadiel, and hell, even their crazy mother, too. But even those three had their limitations, and it often required them to use their feet (maybe their gigantic angel wings once or twice) to cross the room and retrieve items with their hands like normal people. So for Sabrina to just go around summoning things at will, no one could really fault the doctor for leaving her mouth agape in concerned surprise.

"How did you-"

"Look, doctor. I'm gonna save us both a lot of trouble and tell you right now that I don't think I'm the type for therapy." Sabrina cut her off, still staring at the ceiling in thought as she talked aloud. "I don't know what you've got my father doing here every week, but that's his business, and it's none of my concern. But I've seen things and felt things that I'm not sure any amount of science could fix. And honestly, you seem nice enough, but I don't want to waste your time."

The therapist studied the girl for a moment, the way she swung her legs back and forth over the couch's edge, the absentminded way she drummed her fingers against the pillow (Destroyer of worlds or not, in many ways, she was still a child. A child, who at the end of the day, still needed help). Linda's gaze softened and she felt the last of her fears dissipate into nothingness. "Sabrina, I've put up with your father's issues for a couple years now. You might want to cut me some slack. I think I must have done something right, haven't I?"

At that, Sabrina pulled herself up a bit straighter yet continued to chew on her bottom lip, unsure. "I don't know. I'm not like your other patients."

"Try me."

The girl was pretty sure that the doctor was in way over her head, but if things went south, she could probably just wipe her memory and escape back to her crappy motel with no one noticing. Still unconvinced that the therapist won't run out of the room in shock following whatever she had to say, Sabrina shrugged her shoulders.

"I'm a teenage witch raised in a satanic coven by my two aunts who aren't really my aunts at all, and my cousin who's been under house arrest for seventy years for trying to kill the catholic pope. This past year alone, I've been sued by the dark church, forced into signing away my soul, and killed by two angels before I resurrected and burned them both alive. Not long after, this evil goat pretending to be my father came along and tried to marry me so I could rule hell by his side, but my warlock boyfriend stepped up and trapped him in his body so we could all be safe. Right now, I'm just here in Los Angeles to get my mind straight before I gather the necessary powers to open the infernal gates and get rid of him for good."

Seconds passed as the therapist just sat there, blinking profusely.

Linda didn't really know how to respond to all that, so she merely kept her lips sealed as her widened eyes took in the overwhelming amount of information. (Sure, Lucifer had his episodes, but they usually came in weekly bursts of little celestial screw-ups. Divine problems in small doses were surprisingly easy to deal with, all things considered. A year's worth of the antichrist's issues poured out in go, however? Not so much).

Sabrina sighed aloud as she got to her feet, ready to start the forgetting spell. (It was a good thing Lilith gave back her powers. She couldn't imagine having to sit through all of this until her father returned to the room – probably with half of Maze's sandwich in hand – and had to save her all over again). She was almost to the doctor's chair when Linda blew out a long breath, readjusted her glasses, and reached back for her pen and notepad.

The witch could only look on in wonder as the therapist turned to her with a determined glint in her eye.

"Well, what are you doing? You better sit yourself back down, sweetheart. It seems we have our work cut out for us."