A/N: Still endlessly Gaiman and co's, not mine, and set roughly around the time gap in "Saint Lucifer," for the other side of the crossover. (Oh, and for the other other side, Discworld fans might recognize a couple names...) This chapter got all the angst, so of course it was probably my favorite of the first three out of four to write.
Lucifer Morningstar was impulsive, brash, often entirely self-absorbed, and good at hearing only what fit into his... particular worldview. Doctor Linda had told him all of this quite bluntly over the first month of psychotherapy. What he wasn't, usually, was withdrawn.
"Lucifer?"
Yet here he was, sitting on the usual sofa by the door, scrolling through the first eighty or so contacts on his cell, not saying a word.
"Lucifer, put the phone away, please. I need you to focus on what's in front of you."
What was in front of him, between the numbers of Hollywood starlets, drug kingpins, and various people who owed him favors, all starting with "A," was a number for a cell phone he'd bought four years ago under Anthony J. Crowley's account. Crawly and his angel were forever upstaging one another's generosity, denying they'd personally done it, blaming the fiendishly thoughtful opposition, and forgetting who had ultimately been responsible for what in the first place. It was quite useful for a rich third party wanting to anonymously slide in a few necessities that the recipient might not otherwise accept.
The cell phone when he was thirteen, the Them's home numbers already loaded. Fancy binoculars at fourteen, which would hopefully let him focus in on more than airborne avians. A home chemistry set at fifteen, which might be nearly as much for Wensleydale as the boy himself, except for the acids and rocket fuel recipes. A new ten-speed with all-terrain tires last year, since the boy's old bike had been through the other side of Armageddon and was no longer quite tall enough for his long legs. It wasn't much, but Lucifer had quailed when it came time to present his twelfth birthday gift.
"You said that you're feeling more vulnerable lately. Did you try reaching out to people you care about since our last session?" Doctor Linda Martin tried again.
The number was listed as Adam Y, with a little heart next to it. Anyone checking over Lucifer's shoulder would assume it was the number of a favorite booty caller, a fling that had lasted long enough for Morningstar to have mostly remembered his name.
"I never told you about Adam. It's his birthday today. Seventeenth." Lucifer didn't look up from his phone, even as he compulsively opened and closed the contact listing. "He's not my son, you understand. He made it quite clear and why would I ever want a child anyway? Best for all involved that he's not mine. Just got my eyes, devilish charm and good looks, and I think I passed the blond down without getting anything but another black mess from Dad myself." He raked a hand through his well-coiffed dark waves, at last finding a tangent to escape upon. "They say blonds have more fun. You've got experience on the matter, doctor, do you think I ought to try dyeing it?"
"I think you need to tell me more about your relationship with Adam." Linda was quickly becoming an expert on wrangling Lucifer back on topic. It was a bit impressive, and a little bit disappointing, on account of the terrifying topic the diminutive blonde doctor was keeping him tethered to. "He must be nearly the same age as you were when he was born."
"Bless you, doctor. I was immature and naive when he came about, it's true. Deirdre is a nice girl, but there was never anything special between us. I was far more invested in wrecking my father's world than any other consequence of procreation, so it's all for the best that Young stepped in and raised the boy right. Family-mandated job pulled me away from England for the next ten years, so I didn't get to put eyes on Adam myself until he was eleven. Had an underling though, another former employee of my father's, whom I sent 'round to keep a lookout for me. Didn't want the old man or any of his agents to go getting any clever ideas about how to clean up my mess."
"Oh, Lucifer." As was the case with most people, Lucifer could watch his shrink absorb every single factual statement and weave a complete lie out of it, anchoring her fragile illusions of normalcy on his accent and wealth and appearance. And she thought he was delusional. It was adorable.
"Dad did send someone to poke his nose in, but Anthony's quite good at fast-talking the competition. They're co-godfathers now, or something of the like. He and his partner spoil the boy rotten, all of the sermonizing Dad's man is prone to aside. But the point is, Adam's safe, he loves the dog I sent him, and he wants absolutely nothing to do with me. It all worked out wonderfully."
Doctor Linda wasn't convinced by his dismissive shrug. "While it is a relief that he's safe, that must have been heartbreaking, having to watch him grow up from a distance and then facing rejection when you tried to get involved."
"Who said I ever gave a proper try to getting involved? First time I'm anywhere near face to face with the boy and I practically drag him into a plot to ruin my father, not giving him time to even absorb the fact that Young might not be his parent by blood. The world is Adam's birthright, as far as I'm concerned, doctor, and I'd give him heaven if I could, but all I've got to offer is hell. I can't blame him for rejecting me. It's encouraging, really. Practically inspiring that he rebelled against my rebellion at eleven years old. Someday - hopefully not anytime soon - he's going to meet his grandfather, and even Dad'll have to acknowledge that this kid could take over and run things better if he wanted to."
"So the first attempt didn't go well," Linda parsed slowly, "but you sound very proud of Adam. Is there a reason that you didn't try to apologize and reach out on Adam's terms?"
"'Didn't go well' is the understatement of the century. It was basically the end of days." The psychiatrist gave him a censuring eyebrow above her glasses for overexaggerating, but it would have been literal if Adam hadn't had such human instincts, such extraordinarily human friends. (Including the Principalities.) For people like those (for people like Chloe) Lucifer was willing to admit he'd judged the world too harshly. "He could have anything he asked for, but Adam doesn't want the earth, just to stay in Lower Tadfield. Far away from me. All I can do about that is to fulfill his desire."
"That is very selfless of you to respect Adam's wishes. It's a good thing, Lucifer. But while I know it's your line," Linda leaned in with gentle humor, "you still haven't told me what you want when you think of him."
"I don't want to become my father," Lucifer stretched his long legs out while slouching back into the cushion, "claiming a favorite son only so long as he does what I want, and I don't really know how to encourage a connection at this point anyway. What, I invite him over to Lux? His real parents would love that idea." So at one point he'd contemplated buying a London to LAX ticket or six for today. Wouldn't have been the first year. Wouldn't have been the first time he'd considered just landing directly in the American Air Force base in Tadfield, either. But that was part of the reason he'd kept his wings in a shipping container off the premises. He should have burned them years ago. "Though he is old enough to drink now, at least at home, and Anthony said that the boy was wild about trying all the different American ice cream flavors. You do have to admit you have an embarrassment of riches on that front, especially in comparison to Tadfield. Completely backwards there; technology is about thirty years behind the times, too much fresh air and sunshine and wholesome small-town living. They get infestations of hippies on the regular." Doctor Linda was giving him that sad little half-smile again.
"There are some things that will always be out of our control, things that make us feel powerless. Acknowledging that they hurt when they don't go our way can cause a feeling of vulnerability, Lucifer. I see it bothers you that you weren't completely invested in Adam when he was first born, got pulled away by circumstances, and then allowed your own bad blood with your father to corrupt your reunion. I know it feels easier to dismiss that pain and pretend it doesn't matter. Because otherwise, it's easy to assume that rejection is your punishment for not fighting harder to be in your son's life, isn't it? You might assume that your father was right to pull you away."
"My father is a vengeful, selfish ass and I won't say that he was right about anything," Lucifer pronounced, crossing his arms.
"You were still so young when Adam was born. Now, there are some teenagers who are mature for their age and have raised some pretty great kids, but something tells me that you weren't ready." Everything, basically. He still looked like a demon juggling open containers of holy water whenever the detective's spawn ran up to hug him. Doctor Linda might call that transferred anxiety, though. "When your father pulled you away, it was beyond your control and one more thing that you resented him for, because it limited your choices. You weren't sure what to do about Adam as his own person, but I think you still cared for him more than you're willing to admit to yourself, because you did do everything within your power to make sure that he was safe and surrounded by people who love him."
"It's not hard to find them. Adam's pretty lovable." He was aware that he sounded like one of those insufferable new parents who hung the moon on their offspring's every bowel movement, but facts were facts.
"So, while I'm proud of you for listening to what Adam wants, let's try a thought exercise: if you had a way to contact him and Adam might be open to hearing from you, what would you tell him?" Of course he had a way, but that was one of those things that the psychiatrist didn't need to know.
"Thank you," Lucifer said without hesitation, as naturally as if he'd been thanking Linda herself. "Thank you for showing me that the best rebellion is a life lived well. Even though you're not mine by any right, you've been an inspiration, showing that someone of the same blood can make it without my father's underhanded tricks, that humanity isn't completely rotten to the core. It's because of you that I quit that hell of a job and moved away from where Dad had forced me. You and your little friends used to play cops and robbers as kids; I'm beginning to see the appeal, tagging along to investigate crime scenes out here. If you ever want to come to Los Angeles, stop by Lux and the first round is on me."
Doctor Linda let that sit in the air long enough that Lucifer half-expected it to reverberate all the way to Tadfield. "You've been working on that for a while, haven't you?"
"Oh, only about five years." He shrugged. At first, he'd been angry at Crowley and Aziraphale for turning the boy against him, and then bloody furious when he learned that was impossible; they'd misplaced Adam as a baby, but then Lucifer remembered well-groomed black wings,* trembling with fear but spread protectively nonetheless, and dusty white down floating in the air like sparks from the sword, like ash in the skies of hell. The Youngs didn't talk about him much, so who would Lucifer have left to blame for the rift? Best to not give God another way to get under his skin. "The cops and robbers bit is a fairly recent addition. Too condescending?"
*(Lucifer had stopped caring about the state of his wings once he realized that they couldn't return him to the silver city, but Crowley preened even more after he sauntered down after the devil. Probably because Ligur, Hastur, and Maze were less likely to use the serpent as a living pinata when he didn't explode in a shower of feathers with every hit.)
"Have you ever wondered, Lucifer, if your father might have a similar speech that he's afraid to say to you?"
"My father is perfectly capable of contacting me any time he wants, anywhere I might go. He drove me away; I left Adam where he wanted to be. I doubt that Dad has ever been afraid," he sneered at the very idea. There was the usual human level of delusion, and then there was that nonsense.
"True…" Linda drew out the word long enough for Lucifer to drum four fingers down the back of his phone while waiting for the "but" attached to that acknowledgement, "but you said you have siblings. A lot of siblings. It still is hard on you, and not necessarily fair, but especially if most of them are younger, it's easier to send away one teen than uproot a big family if you and your dad can't get along well enough to live in the same area."
"Playing God's advocate, are we?" the devil asked.
"I'm sorry that you were pushed away, but how often have you heard from your father since you left?" How could such a small woman latch onto an insane idea so fiercely?
"Oh, he sends one of my brothers to beg me to go back to hell nearly every week. I've been tripping over the oldest off and on for as long as I've been in LA." Admittedly, toying with Amenadiel was half the fun.
"But you haven't been contacted by your father himself?"
"Not in millenia," and thank Dad for that small mercy.
"Now, I don't know what your father is thinking, but it seems like he also sent someone to try to take care of Adam, someone who has become close to him." And Crowley deserved credit for that far more than God did. "Maybe he's trying to do the same thing with you and your brother, even if the advice they give isn't always welcome or relevant to what you need. It can come from a place of good intentions, but you'll never know unless you and your family are willing to communicate."
"We are way past being willing to communicate, doctor," Lucifer ground out.
"Admittedly, it's a two-way street. If your father won't listen to you, then there's nothing saying that you have to hear him out. But if you still want a relationship with Adam, then you do have to leave yourself open to hearing from him. That could mean feeling the pain of that vulnerability for a very long time, especially if you don't think he has any reason to change his mind about contacting you. You can't force it, as you know from your relationship with your father, but it's okay to let him know that you care, that you're letting him decide what happens next, even if you have to do it through a third party. He might not want to talk, like you don't want to talk to your dad, but he's only seventeen. Things can change. If you both decide that you're willing to take the risk of disappointment, you might surprise yourselves someday."
Lucifer could play the long game, it was true. He just wasn't sure if Adam could, at least anywhere that the devil could reach him. But then maybe his father was waiting, too, just as Doctor Linda had imagined. Probably waiting for Lucifer to apologize and step right back into line, and screw that, but the old man was ineffable.
"All I can hope for is that Adam breaks the cycle, " Lucifer said at last. "And if he's busy rebelling against me, then it gives him less time to get into fights with his real father. Young should be thanking me, really. He got a wonderful son out of my mistake."
"Sounds like he did," Linda said. "Maybe you could discuss remote parenting techniques with Chloe, perhaps?" For once, the therapist didn't look as if she wanted to call him back when Lucifer left the office.
He leaned on the door, pulling out his phone again. When he'd loaded Adam's, he'd included the Them's numbers, and the Youngs' home and work lines, because he figured those would be the most useful for a thirteen year old. He'd preloaded Crowley's cell, flat line, and the publicly unlisted number* for Aziraphale's bookstore, too, for verisimilitude. Lucifer had even looked up the number for Jasmine Cottage.
*(Aziraphale tried to discourage customers, but there was an online cult of collectors and college students who religiously tracked which weeks he'd open on a Thursday night, stay open until Monday morning, close for three days, reopen sharply at five AM on a Friday morning until lunch, come back after Wednesday brunch until dinner with a short break for teatime, and then open for only three hours on a Tuesday evening the following week. Some people figured that the store was a front for whatever mob the owner's boyfriend worked for, some assumed that the proprietor and/or his husband was quirky old-moneyed gentry and had opened the bookshop as a lark, and a growing number of grad students claimed that Aziraphale was the patron saint of procrastinators and those who followed all the arcane store policies and made proper sacrifices of tea, biscuits, and good alcohol were sure to have all their reference materials available in a quiet study area during hell week.)
But Lucifer hadn't included his own information in Adam's contacts, either Lux or his cell phone. He wasn't sure what to list himself as, for one. Young was already "Dad," and he and Deirdre would have deleted any of the devil's more familiar names even before Adam could. Listing the club would only get Adam in trouble for calling. Nicknames from his siblings like "Luci" or "Lu" might appear benign on the surface, but it just felt wrong to think of the boy using the same name he'd last heard from Amenadiel while his elder brother threatened to drag him back down, the name that Azrael giggled while inviting her anthropomorphic friends over for what they had thought would be her biggest and last bulk job. (That might still happen, but it would no longer be on Lucifer's schedule. Fine with him; Bill and Ronnie were all right, but the rest were creepy.)
Besides, it just wouldn't fit for Crowley to include only one contact that Adam didn't recognize, whether Lucifer listed himself as Satan, Samael, or The Sperm Donor. Best to just stay out of it. Adam could find his number if he wanted it.
He could give it today and let Adam decide what to list him as. He could have texted it any time in the past four years. Lucifer let out a deep breath. Confidence. He could do this.
Happy birthday, Adam. That was innocent enough. Not enough substance to be worth sending, but maybe it was a start. I'm proud of you. Lucifer quickly deleted the second sentence. It was true, but why would Adam care? Hope you're having a great time. A long thumb held down the delete button once again, until the screen was clear, and Lucifer began whistling as he walked out of the building. This felt like sitting at the piano in hell, playing the most obnoxiously cheery, annoyingly upbeat, hopelessly optimistic show tunes he could think of as loudly as possible while Maze tried to break the only occupant in the only locked cell and Lucifer never knew whether he was helping to torture his mother or himself.
What was it that Aziraphale had been butchering? It had sounded vaguely like The Sound of Music. Mum seemed to like that one.
Point of fact, it was probably stalkerish for him to have Adam's number. Grown devil like him, waiting for a seventeen-year-old's call, people would get the wrong idea. He should delete the contact. He would. Someday.
