Trixie tried not to make a face as she looked out of the passenger window. "You could have told me the weird girl was coming."

"Sweetie, we don't say weird, we say quirky."

"You don't say weird," Trixie mumbled, as she unbuckled. Getting out of the vehicle, they met up with their friends and headed inside the bowling alley. They rented their shoes and sat down to disinfect; in the process of it, Trixie happened to look up and see a most unpleasant presence at one of the lanes.

"So is it every man for himself, or are we playing teams?" Linda asked.

Corbett shrugged, giving his handsome smile. "I get all the backup I need at the precinct."

"You know what, I...don't feel up to this after all," Trixie said, still holding her unsprayed shoes. "Can I Uber home?"

"Seriously?" Chloe said. "We don't get a lot of time together."

"You're unemployed. There's always tomorrow."

"What's going on with you?"

"I have a lot of homework."

Chloe could tell Trixie was lying―and she kept seeing her daughter look over at the same girl. A familiar girl. "She goes to your school, right?"

Trixie nodded miserably, and Ella glanced over at the tall, pretty blonde. "Is that Britney?"

"No. No, forget it."

"Wait, who's Britney?" Chloe asked.

"Nobody."

"A bully at her school."

"You told Ella?" Chloe asked her, and suddenly clicked on. "When you were at the precinct. You know, there's nothing wrong with family night. She's with people, too!"

"She's with her boyfriends."

"Boyfriend-zuh?" Ella quipped.

"I don't like this skank being in your class," Chloe murmured, looking at Britney. Her only response was a creaking shift of the bench as Trixie stood, suddenly walking past her to return the shoes. Turning around, she watched her mother get up, planting herself in her daughter's path. "You are not going to Uber home by yourself in the dark; it's not safe, I..."

"Relax, Mom. I'll stay inside 'til it shows up, go home...besides, I'm a fifth wheel."

Chloe suppressed a sigh. "You're not really going to let this Britney shut down family night..."

"So have friends' night. You obviously prefer it."

Chloe scoffed in disbelief as Trixie skirted past her. Looking at her friends, she went to the bench and sat down, saying, "Her dad died, she's getting bullied, apparently... I'll let her have the night."

"No, you should go," Linda answered. "From the sound of it, she's had too many nights to herself."

"Yeah, we'll take a raincheck," Ella added.

Chloe looked at them a moment longer, then abandoned her shoes on the floor and went to where Trixie lingered, tapping on her phone. Leaning on the wall, she glanced up when she saw her mother's boring clothes out of the corner of her eye. "Forget I said that. Okay? I just...really don't need to be seen bowling with my mommy."

"No, forget it. We can go home and do something. Bake and a movie?" she offered.

"I'm not a kitten, I can lick my own wounds."

Chloe raised her eyebrows at her daughter's tone of voice. "Fine. If I can't talk to you, I'll talk to her."

"No, Mom, can't you just...leave me alone?"

Chloe watched her daughter open the door and walk swiftly into the night. Scoffing to herself, she turned and wandered back to her friends, looking a little lost. "I'll let her have the night," she repeated, face hot with embarrassment.

"Want me to knock out a few of her teeth?" Ella asked.

"No, stay in your lane," Chloe demanded.

"Oh my god. You know I meant Britney, right?"

Chloe rolled her eyes, pulling on her shoes. Then she hesitated, sighing and looking out at the bowlers; their expertise announcing to the room that their family night was not as frequent as once a month. "I don't even know what to do anymore. We used to be so close, I mean... But now, I don't know, it's like this angry person kicked her out of our house and took over. She doesn't want me spending time with my friends, doesn't want me to protect her. This morning she wouldn't say one word, just rolled her eyes and slammed the doors."

"Well, she's a teenager," Corbett said simply, like it explained everything.

"When I was a teenager, I was brushing up on law school. I didn't have time for moodswings and I wasn't interested. I wanted to do right by my father, and it's like she's not interested in doing right by me, you know, like she doesn't even have a plan. I-I―if children are a reflection of their children, I must have really failed."

"Or she's going through a lot," Linda said, "Maybe this is a reflection of how sweet she is."

"I wish I could believe you."

Ella motioned Corbett ahead, and he left for the lanes. "Maybe it'd help to know what she is going through."

Chloe nodded, then suddenly she was shaking her head in disbelief. "I cannot believe she told you."

"I know. She doesn't like me, right?" Ella chuckled.

"I'm really sorry."

"Ah. You win some, you lose some. I mean, I want her to like me, because you're like my sister, which means she's like my sister, but it's not the first time a sibling and I had a bad relationship," Ella rambled―making Chloe wish that when she started chattering, she would at least speak faster, not slower. "Anywho, your daughter has been the frequent target of two kids. From what I gather, Britney is more oriented on Trixie's body image, but there's this other kid who's not above using fecal matter."

"What?" Chloe asked, her voice low.

"Yeah, for the record, she said she was never going to school again."

Chloe thought for a moment, then met Ella's eyes. "She had a stack of homework that was due in twelve hours. She didn't care if she failed."

Linda frowned prettily at her. "How could it come to this?"

"Well, I've been busy, with the...quitting the precinct, and preparing for Rory, and...uh, heaven."

"Chloe, those aren't excuses. She's suffering from Glass Child Syndrome and Rory's not even born yet."

"What?"

"Go home. Talk to your kid, and talk to her school. You need to straighten this out."

"She wants nothing to do with me."

"Right now that doesn't matter! There's poo in her desk!" Linda shouted, garnering the attention of every bowler.

"What am I supposed to do? She doesn't have a father!" Chloe yelled back. "I have no idea who she'll go to if I push too hard, but it might not be a chronic bedwetter! That―that is your life experience, Linda. Your job is mothering grownups, you have no right to tell me about raising a kid. And I'll be damned if I take your advice on this." She turned to leave, stopping when she saw Ella's face, and suddenly she was shouting at her instead. "Why didn't you tell me right away?"

"Chloe, what's―" Corbett tried to intervene. But, not interested in it, Chloe left the bowling alley, storming out in rented shoes.

The night club was alive and bustling with mature bodies, grooving to some loud, annoying song about the devil. Trixie walked slowly down the stairs, realizing in the flashing lights that they were littered with people who appeared to be dead. Or dying, she thought, when she saw one of them twitch. They weren't canoodling; one unconscious person's hand touching another unconscious person's hand was the only physical contact. Good...she didn't want to see it. She stepped off onto the dance floor and hugged the wall, inching to the elevator―where she was stopped by a giant in uniform.

"No way," she said, grinning cheekily up at him. "Lucifer hired security?"

"I can't let you past this point, miss."

"I'm his friend."

He scowled at her youthful face. "You look a little young to be his friend."

"Lucifer's gonna be my stepfather. I love him, but I'm not twisted." She stepped past him into the elevator and pushed the button. The doors slid shut in his surprised face.

Stepping out into Lucifer's penthouse, she wandered off the elevator; the doors sliding shut were the only sound in the room. It was dark, barely illuminated by the moonlight and a couple of candles. Deducting Lucifer wasn't home, Trixie meandered to the piano, finding it odd that he wouldn't be where the party was... But whatever. Maybe he had a coupon. Maybe he was shopping for the wedding. She knew she was among the few who could wait upstairs for him without getting the third degree.

She sat on the stool and began to play―beautifully, striking notes that would make the devil himself emotional. Of course, he already had been. Dromos could play the piano; fearing the demon had followed him from the Underworld to pester him again, he raised his head and tried to steady his breathing.

"Hello?" he called, and listened to the answering silence. "Who's there?"

She took one more look at the candles. "Sorry! I thought I was alone."

A ragged sigh came from the darkness. "Yeah," she thought she heard him say, "Me, too."

"Well...if you're not with my mom..." She paused, and he clenched, awaiting her accusations. "Then maybe you could use a friend like me."

His voice was shaky, something she'd never heard. "No...you need to leave."

"Why?"

"I'm-I'm not decent."

He paused, wondering if he could lie to her for her own protection. He could not. Listening to his sharp breaths in the dark, Trixie returned her hands to the keyboard and struck a few notes, solely to let him know she was still at the piano. "Is everything okay?"

"No! No, everything is all...buggered up, and I can't fix it." Damn his inability to lie.

"Well, maybe someone else can."

"You?!"

"I was...actually referring to Dr. Linda."

"Linda can't help me, your mother can't help me, nobody can help me!" he shouted, and his voice resonated through the penthouse. In the following silence, Trixie thought she heard a sob; having had enough of trying to help from a distance, she got up and went into his room. Seeing her silhouette on the steps, he whirled. "Stay away, stay away," he yelped desperately, but the light came on before he could finish talking, before he could hide. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she saw it―his blood-red eyes, his puckered red flesh, his giant, angry wings.

His voice was uncharacteristically broken as he asked, "Why didn't you listen to me?"

Trixie was quiet, suddenly overwhelmed by understanding. Everything made sense―everything her mother had said... It made sense. It was real, she was right.

Crouching against the wall, Lucifer slowly raised his hands like he was surrendering to a police officer. "I'm not going to hurt you, child," he rasped, his voice filled with a power he no longer wanted. "I promise you that."

Still silent, Trixie turned slowly away from him and stepped off the dais, moving slowly towards the elevator; knowing the truth had damn near broken every grownup who had ever seen him, he slowly followed her. "You know, your mother, she, uh... She did help me once. I thought I was stuck then, too, but she told me I just had to forgive myself. Well, I've done that. This is... Now I'm truly stuck," he muttered, looking longingly at the boxes that filled his bar. "And I've tried asking Amenadiel for help, but...seems his omnipresent arse is occupied," he looked at her just as she looked at him, and their eyes locked. "Believe me, Trixie," he said, trying to sound gentle and human, "I do not want to look this way. Not anymore."

Her face crumpled, and she looked down. He almost took a step towards her, then halted―not because he didn't want to touch her against her will, but because he didn't like affection. Flustered by his own personality, he dropped his hands to his sides and let himself lean forward a little, in an attempt to make himself look smaller, less threatening. His voice had an unwelcome, animalistic growl to it as he tried to reassure her with, "I'm the same devil I always was."

She looked up and found herself unable to see the Lucifer she loved, the Lucifer who was marrying her mom. All she saw was a crouching predator, eyeing its prey.

"I need some air," she said in a strangled voice.

"I need a drink," he answered, walking to the wall of boxes. He grabbed the nearest one and used nothing but his hand to slice it open; shaking in terror and still crying, Trixie turned and staggered towards the balcony. Feeling nauseous, she nearly collapsed against the rail, where she listened to the faint music and watched the lights below while trying not to puke. She trembled in fear and wept in the dark.

Unboxing his liquor, he grabbed one; unable to just put his wings away, he sidled in behind the island and went to the shelves, taking a glass. Turning back to the counter, he set them both down hard on the polished surface with a clatter as he found himself staring at his abandoned porch.

He circled the island and blazed through the penthouse at a superhuman speed. His hard, heavy wings shattered the glass on both sides; not even a breath later he was diving headfirst towards the pavement. Trixie was still falling, and he flapped his wings fiercely to gain momentum. But she was falling quickly, as humans often do, and he had the sinking suspicion he wouldn't catch her in time...

The instant he was close enough, he threw his arms around her and flapped his wings. They were suspended about the length of a person above the cement, and ignoring the shocked cries of the citizens and the sound of cameras clicking, Lucifer held her tighter and flew back up...over Lux. Over Los Angeles. And higher. Trixie cried, knowing she was wrapped up in the arms of death and torture. She was smart enough to know she was being carried upward, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut. Surely he was just going to take her into his penthouse and gut her like a fish. But she was just a little girl; couldn't fight him. She couldn't do anything. She was weak. Useless. Mortal. Expendable. She was prey―and a whole bowling alley of people would remember her as the girl with poo in her desk.

Anyone with a heart would tell her it said more about those people than it said about her. But did it really?

"You should have...let me die," Trixie sobbed.

"Don't be ridiculous," he growled. Though he put her down then, he hung on, feeling a rather fatherly attachment to this girl as well. "Is that truly the wedding gift you want to give your mother?" he asked, and released her. She stepped away, finally opening her eyes...to fluffy clouds beneath their feet, colored like cotton candy. The imposing silver gate shone in the moonlight, but it was open, defeating its purpose of controlling the flow.

"This isn't L.A."

"Child, it is imperative you understand that I'm not all bad."

"So we're..."

"Where I belong. Where I truly belong," he added, and as he walked through the gates, she walked beside him. "And if Mum and Dad can coexist, maybe there's hope for me."

They stopped, glancing behind them as the gates creaked shut. "I guess they've been expecting us," he told her.

"Sounds like they need WD-40." Then she ducked her head, regretting her grin.

His sigh came out in the form of a feral hiss. Awkwardly, like she was obeying her captor, she accompanied him further into heaven. Every soul and angel alike paused in their carefree activities to watch the monster and the child making their way through paradise, and Trixie slowed right down, gawking at the angels and suddenly feeling like she was at a zoo. Trying to just absorb it and move on, she picked up her pace again, following Lucifer―wishing she was following someone else.

"Ah. Gabe," Lucifer said, as a pretty angel with a shocked face approached. "Where might I find the guy who hangs around the pretty one?"

"The Silver Shore, as usual."

Good. At least he wasn't in the forest. Lucifer directed Trixie towards the beach.

"The guy and the pretty one?" she finally asked.

"Just speaking her lingo."

Moments later, they stepped onto the beach. At nighttime, the whole ocean reflected the light of the moon, making the water itself appear silver. Barely discernible silhouettes splashed and played in the glowing tide; just when Trixie was beginning to feel a trace of peace, she heard a guttural breath beside her, like Lucifer had ingested sulfur hexafluoride; then he yelled across the beach in an impossibly deep voice. "DAN! OVER HERE!"

It was like someone had slowed down a Darth Vader clip. Quivering again, Trixie scanned the dark beach; she hadn't really understood him, and didn't know what was going on. His disturbing shout had put paradise on hold, and now everybody was looking at the winged figure. His erect wings caught the light and his eyes glowed, but the rest of him was harder to see. Trixie made the mistake of turning around and feeling another overwhelming wash of fear that had her taking several inadvertent steps backward.

Until there was a hand on her shoulder. She spun, as about fifty karate moves flew through her head. And her collapsing world repaired itself as Dan smiled at her.

"Trix," was all he could say. She broke down, hugging him.

Feeling overwhelmed by emotions that precipitated heaven, Lucifer raised his hands and waited for them to heal. But they didn't. They wouldn't.

"Oh, my baby," Dan said, trying not to cry with her. He pulled away, reluctantly tearing his eyes off her to Lucifer's. "I have to ask. Dead, or visiting?"

"Visiting, barely. Kid jumped off my balcony when she saw me."

Dan didn't know if he cried because of that, or because he would have to say goodbye to her, too.

"I'm sure you won't object to spending time with her; I have a matter to attend to," Lucifer announced. He backed away, until he could turn around without knocking them over, then began flying on his hard, powerful wings. Rising up past the hill like a nightmare with feet, he left the beach with a captive audience. They were still recovering from and muttering about the sight of him when rays of light, similar to stage lights in a concert, burst out from the windows of the divine dwelling, calling the angels home. Pausing yet again in their celebration of eternal bliss, the souls watched as thousands and thousands of winged figures took to the air. Standing on a flowery trail, Eve turned to watch them pass; the collective commotion of their wings nearly deafening.

Inside, Lucifer paced, glad there was nothing in the house to knock over.

"Oh, ugh," was how the first arrival greeted him.

"Nice to see you, too, Hanjobadiel," Lucifer's raspy voice filled the large and empty space. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Not possible with you."

Another hissing sigh, then another angel burst into the room. She was followed by many more, few of whom looked pleased by or indifferent to Lucifer's presence. As they trickled in, Lucifer waited patiently for everyone to arrive, listening to their offended comments.

"Him again."

"What's he doing back?"

Only Saraqael said something heartening, "Don't get your feathers ruffled."

Lucifer tried to stand still, his scary glowing eyes passing over his siblings. He didn't even know if everybody was present; how was he supposed to know if more angels had been created? But at least the majority was there; at least it damn well better be. He tried to sound angelic, but his voice was unsurprisingly wicked. "I know we've all had our differences. But I would be remiss if I didn't provide you an update on what's happened in the underworld."

Here he paused, letting them absorb it; he never provided an update before.

"The demon Mazikeen, if you recall her, has murdered Michael."

"Michael, Michael? Our brother, that Michael?"

"No, Michael Jordan. Of course our brother, what do you think?" he asked.

"So, wait... Did you punish her?" Azrael asked.

"All in due time."

"So," Saraqael said grimly. "That's why he's here."

"Yes. Michael is also scheming to bust out of here. Now as much as I hate to ask, I have a favor," he continued, and several angels snickered. "Help him."

That silenced them. They looked around in confusion.

"For real?" Azrael asked.

"For real. Michael belongs in hell, where he was serving a sentence. If you see him talking to Eve, draw him away. She's a human, so she is weak; that is a fact. She's alive, so she can be harmed; also a fact. I don't trust him and I don't want him near her. Hellish things...shouldn't happen here," he concluded, looking down at himself. "And no, the irony's not lost on me."

When the angels were quiet again, he held out his arms. "That seems to be it. Meeting adjourned."

The angels didn't adjourn themselves, and Lucifer tried not to enjoy the presence of his siblings in an obvious way.

"Why do you look like that?" Azrael asked.

"I can't change back."

"Again?" Saraqael said.

"Yes. Apparently I have unresolved guilt of my own. Actually hoped convening with you would resolve it, but...guess I have to keep thinking," at least he sounded more like himself. Saraqael even put her hand on his arm. She was practically a stranger, she had been when Lucifer had gone by Samael in the old days, and he was quick to pull away. "Excuse me," he muttered, and like the Red Sea, the crowd of angels parted to let him through.