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Carry On My Wayward Son

Chapter Text

Heels clicked against the wet pavement with uneven steps; the dirty brick walls of the alleyway reverberated with the disharmonious clacking and stuttering breaths. A shadow flickering across the mouth of the alley made the breaths hitch into a higher pitch and the footfalls quicken further.

With one misplaced step, the shiny black heel tilted dangerously, dumping its wearer ungracefully onto the hard ground with a frightened yelp. A small clutch skittered out of the woman’s grasp as she rolled over as quickly as possible and began to crawl away from her pursuer. The once elegant dress that she wore was now torn at the hem, blotched with the blood leaking from her scraped knees.

“Please…” Her soft sob went unnoticed by the person towering over her, “I’m sorry… please, don’t hurt me…”

A knife was procured from her pursuer’s jacket pocket, dim light glinting off the sharp silver blade. The woman’s eyes grew wider with fear for her life, a few tears trailing down her cheeks.

A scream escaped her as she was yanked from the ground by the shoulder strap of her dress. Her attacker drove the knife into her writhing form, the blade glancing off her ribs and burrowing itself in her flesh. A second scream died on her lips as she herself passed, any energy she possessed draining from her.

Emotionlessly, her attacker wiped the blood off on her dress before releasing her corpse to collapse back onto the puddle-strewn ground. The weapon was hidden back in a pocket and the killer made their way back onto the empty sidewalk as though nothing were amiss.



As a first day on the job, Henry would have preferred it to not have been murder. Anything but a murder. However, it was rare that he got what he wanted. Approaching the crime scene, he was likely a sight for sore eyes; his hair was mussed with unruly curls, a giveaway of his restless night, and the dark circles beneath his eyes didn’t help his case much either. He also felt rather undressed, lacking the scarf and overcoat he had usually worn in New York. Damn California and its warm weather.

After a quick chat with one of the cops milling around, he was admitted onto the scene and pointed in the direction of the body. Huttled over the corpse was a young woman who was inspecting the body with intensity; a new colleague of his, he presumed. His shadow must have alerted her to his presence, because the young woman straightened, facing him with bright eyes and a wide grin.

She was still a moment, as though he hadn’t been who she was expecting to see. To break the brief awkward stretch, Henry extended a hand, “Sorry, Doctor Henry Morgan, the new M.E.”

Much to his surprise, she ignored his offered hand, electing instead to pull him into a hug. “Ella Lopez,” She introduced herself with a smile after he had successfully extracted himself from the hug.

Henry gave her a nod. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Lopez.” He cast a glance at the body, Ella following his gaze.

“Quite a grizzly sight, huh?” She asked, following him as he crouched beside the dead woman’s sprawled form. Henry merely hummed in agreement.

Henry slipped a pair of gloves onto his hands and peeled away the ruined dress from the bloody wound in the woman’s chest. He remained silent as he examined the obvious cause of death, well aware that Ella was watching him.

He shifted his attention to the woman’s hands; they were scraped at the palms, just as her knees were, as though she had fallen face-first towards the ground. About to point out the fact to his younger companion, he was cut off by her own voice, “Are you another one of his brothers?”

Henry looked up at Ella in confusion, his brow knitting together. “Who?”

“Lucifer’s,” she admonished, as though it were obvious.

“No,” Henry replied slowly, not at all aware of who Lucifer was or why anyone would even be named that, “I don’t have any siblings, sorry.” That was a little bit of a lie; he did, once upon a time, have siblings -  three brothers and a sister, to be exact - but they had passed on nearly two centuries ago.

“Oh,” Ella seemed slightly disappointed by the fact, “well, you certainly look more like a brother to him than his other brother. You know, same hair, same eyes, same accent.”

Henry cocked an eyebrow, his head tilted slightly. “I’m sorry, Miss Lopez, but I still don’t know who you’re talking about. Who is Lucifer?”

“Ah, that would be me,” A new voice called from a few meters away, drawing closer. Henry sought for the source of the voice. He found it as a tall, well dressed man approached, accompanied by an exasperated-looking detective. Ella was right to ask her question, he figured out. They could have easily have been related, although Henry shorter by a few inches.

However, it was not the odd resemblance that made him unable to draw his attention away from the man known as Lucifer. His face drew up a memory long-forgotten in the depths of his mind.


‘After his rather tragic exposé in Paris, he left to the United States in search of - yet again - another new life. America had changed since his last, albeit short, stay there. The streets were distinctly lacking in alcohol of any kind, and many nefarious speakeasies had sprung up in the underground, filled with drunks, bootleggers, and prostitutes. And somehow, Henry found himself in one of the said speakeasies, just a little bit tipsy. He had been at the bar, nursing a rather fine glass of bourbon when he found himself in the company of a tall, dark haired gentleman with a devilish smile. The stranger had struck up a light-hearted conversation, happy to pay for another round of drinks. The rest of the night was a tad fuzzy in Henry’s memory, but the following morning greeted him with a pounding hangover and the disconcerting sight of a bed that was not his own; worst of all, tangled in the sheets beside him were a woman and the man from the bar.’


“More importantly,” Lucifer’s voice yanked Henry out of the memory, and he met the man’s eyes, ones that were studying him with curiosity, “who are you?”

Henry relaxed slightly; obviously this man wasn’t the same one from a 1920’s speakeasy. Extending a hand, Henry introduced himself to Lucifer and the detective.

Lucifer accepted his hand, in turn introducing himself as Lucifer Morningstar, a civilian consultant. His brow was raised slightly and an amused light shone in his eye as though he knew he was making Henry uncomfortable, despite not knowing why.

The detective at his side was thankfully more reserved. “Detective Chloe Decker.” She gave him a tight smile, her eyes flicking over his shoulder to the body behind them.

In their introductions, Ella had come up behind them, now standing at Henry’s right elbow. She gave a small cough, gathering their attention, before launching into a diagnosis of their victim’s death. “Vic died of a single knife thrust to the chest. From what I can tell, it punctured her heart, killing her almost instantly. She didn’t have any ID on her; her clutch was found nearby, but it had been stripped of anything valuable and/or helpful.”

Henry gave a slight nod, turning to look once more at the dead woman. “She has scuff marks on her knees and palms, suggesting that she fell or was pushed before turning over and being stabbed.” He crouched beside the victim, something new catching his eye.

Gingerly, he twisted the woman’s shoe slightly. He looked up at the small crowd before standing back up. “The tip of her heel has been chipped at and scuffed. She was running from someone and tripped.”

“Who in their right mind goes down an alley while they’re being chased?” The comment came from Lucifer. Ella and Detective Decker gave him a look, Ella’s amused and the detective’s reprimanding but endearing. “What? I’m just saying, these things are usually dead ends or filled with murderers and rapists.”

Lucifer’s added defense only garnered an eye roll from the detective as she brushed past him, heading towards the body. “So, mugging gone wrong?”

“That would appear to be the probable cause at the moment, Detective.” The title tasted stale on Henry’s tongue, and his mind shifted for a moment to the last time he had called someone that. No. He couldn’t go dredging up painful memories. Not now. Preferably not ever.

“A full autopsy might reveal more about our victim.” After a beat, Henry added, “hopefully.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Ella’s voice chimed, “no murder weapon, no prints, no ID, no phone. Nada. Whoever the killer is, they sure do know how to not get caught.”

“Detective.” An officer approached the scene, something extended in his grasp. The detective stepped away from the corpse, accepting the object. “Her phone. They found it a little ways down the street.”

“Ooh, I wonder what dirty little secrets are on there,” Lucifer purred, looking ready to snatch the phone from the detective’s hands.

“Maybe this will finally tell us something about our vic.” She shot her partner a glare that made him blink at her innocently. She attempted to turn the phone on, but it remained balefully black-screened. “Of course. Dead battery.” Sighing through her nose, she turned back to the officer who had delivered the phone. “See if you can pull any prints off of it, at least. We’ll have to wait until it’s charged for anything else.”

Nodding, the officer turned to leave. “Excuse me,” Henry cut in, making him pause, “which way down the street did you find the phone?”

“Left.” The officer tilted his head in the direction. “It was on a trash can outside the bodega.”

“Thank you,” Henry breathed before taking off in the said direction. He could feel his companion’s curious gazes on him as they began to follow him.

“Doctor Morgan…?” He heard the detective’s voice filled with perplexion behind him as he headed for the bodega.

Henry ignored her for now, his eyes sweeping the storefront. Finally, he found what he was looking for. “There,” he exclaimed triumphantly, pointing towards a surveillance camera positioned towards the sidewalk, “if our victim came past here, it is likely her murderer did as well.”

“Well spotted, Doctor.” Lucifer’s lilting tone was laced with slight surprise.

“Alright, I’ll go talk to the store owner and see if we can get the footage. You,” she expressively jabbed a finger at Lucifer, “stay here.”

The man gave her another innocent look, his lips twitching with a faint smile. “Why, of course, Detective.”

Beside Henry, Ella gave a snort of disbelief. “I’m gonna go see if I can find anything else on the body. You coming, Henry?”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here for now; see if I can find anything else.” At his words, Ella gave him a nod and a smile before making her way back down the sidewalk.

Henry walked over to the trash bins where the officer said the phone had been found, scrutinizing them closely. “Why would anyone leave their phone here? She clearly didn’t drop it or throw it…” He trailed off, mostly muttering to himself. Behind him, he heard Lucifer shifting.

“Not the slightest idea, Doctor. To be quite honest, I’m not really sure why you humans do any of the strange things you do.”

Henry raised an eyebrow at the statement. The man spoke as though he were something other than human. Once more, the faint memory of that fuzzy night tickled the back of his mind.

Turning around completely, Henry took the time to examine the man completely. He exuded an aura of arrogance and pride. His dark eyes twinkled with mischief and something much more sinister. Dressed in a suit - a quite expensive one, by the looks of it - it was obvious that he was used to being noticed and fawned over. No illness or pain seemed to weigh at him, except… his shoulders were drawn taut, his form seeming to thrum with pent-up energy - or perhaps it was pain.

“Like what you see?” His playful grin reflected through his words, his eyes sparkling suggestively.

Despite his calm demeanor, Henry couldn’t stop his ears from burning red, the blush hopefully shadowed by the bodega’s awning. “How long have you played the piano?”

Surprise flicked across Lucifer’s face for a moment, making the grin falter slightly. It was quickly rejuvenated, however, if not wider than before. “Oh, curious one, are you, Doctor?”

“Your fingertips are calloused slightly, moreso on the edges than the pads, suggesting that you regularly brush them against something, likely keys. Also, you have a habit of tapping your fingers against your leg in rhythm.”

Lucifer regarded him a little differently this time, his head tilted slightly. “You’re quite the regular Sherlock, Doctor.”

“Well, if you live long enough, you learn a thing or two,” Henry replied nonchalantly. He regretted the word choice slightly after he said it, curiosity and interest piquing on Lucifer’s face. “I also happen to play myself.”

“Well met, Doctor. You’ll have to drop by Lux later, see how you compare to the Devil himself.”

A slight frown crossed Henry’s features as the man referred to himself as the Devil. Passing it off as just a stage name with a shake of his head, his attention was redirected as the detective reemerged from the bodega.

“Hey,” she greeted, “the cameras got a clear shot of our vic and the person chasing her.” She pressed at the phone she held, and Henry peered at the small screen with Lucifer watching from over his shoulder.

The video showed the victim skittering to a stop in front of the bodega, casting furtive glances over her shoulder before rapidly typing on her phone. A few moments later, she jerked her head up, a look of clear fear appearing on her pixelated face. She began to back away, her arm reaching out to deposit the phone on the top of the trash cans. Her mouth moved, but the video lacked sound. She threw her arms up in a defensive manner, still backing away. Finally, she ran out of the picture, followed seconds later by a hooded figure. For a brief moment, her pursuer glanced towards the camera, a glimpse of their face appearing through the pixels before stalking menacingly over the woman.

The detective paused the video, glancing at Henry and Lucifer.

Henry ran a tongue over his lips before speaking, “I’d say the killer is either a woman or a very small statured man - possibly a young male.” The detective gave a slight nod, slipping her phone into her pocket.

“How utterly vague…” Lucifer snarked, though his companions elected to ignore the comment.



Henry envied Ella in the sense that the young woman seemed to ooze energy and happiness. Although he himself looked no older than someone in their late thirties, his long existence and experiences had beaten him down and made him feel the weight of the world; an unshakable weariness clung to him, and it made him yearn for his young colleague’s youthful exuberance.

His thoughts of his own pain and tiredness were brought up by watching her traipse around the morgue, full of spirit and life, as they performed an autopsy on the dead woman.

Having finally finished, Henry set down the scalpel he held with a sigh and pulled the bloody latex gloves from his hands with a faint snap.

“Where’d you work before coming here?” Ella’s question startled him from his thoughts, and he looked up at her with a faint mask of confusion.


“If you don’t mind me asking, that is,” the young woman added before repeating her question.

Henry proceeded to dispose of the dirtied gloves before answering. “New York. I worked with the NYPD.”

A faint “oh” escaped Ella, and she sat down in a nearby chair, kicking her legs lightly. “Whoever let you leave was insane. You’re like crazy intuitive.”

Henry shifted, not liking where the otherwise light hearted conversation was heading. “Yes, well,” he glanced at the corpse beside him, half covered with a stark white sheet. Dark stains of blood still speckled the dead woman’s face, contrasting sharply with her yellow pallor. He breathed in a sharp breath, turning away from the inanimate form of death, and hastily finished his sentence, “I needed a fresh start…”

He risked a glance up at Ella before stripping off the lab coat he wore. “Excuse me…” His words were little more than an exhale, sharp and biting at the air. He felt Ella's curious and concerned, and slightly guilty gaze on him as he fled from the morgue.

Having escaped the room that lingered with the scent of death, he leaned against the wall and ran his fingers through his hair. Inhaling and exhaling in an attempt to slow his heartbeat, he sorted through his rampant thoughts that Ella’s questions had brought to the forefront of his mind.

He swallowed hard and shut his eyes, unable to shake the memory of Detective Jo Martinez - his detective’s prone form strewn lifelessly on the ground, two bullet holes leaking blood from her chest.

“Sorry…” A tentative, featherlight touch laid on his elbow, and the sudden voice made him flinch involuntarily. He blinked and peered down at Ella, who had exited the morgue as well and was watching him with wide eyes.

“I’m-” Saying he was fine would be an utter lie, and an insult to Ella’s intelligence if he expected her to believe him. He licked his dry lips before revising his statement. “I’ll survive.”

His young companion was looking thoroughly guilty, though she had only been asking innocent questions. “I didn’t mean to drag anything up. Sorry,” She repeated the apology in a soft tone, “if you want to talk about it, though, my ear is always open, or I can recommend a really good therapist.”

Henry gave her a tight smile, albeit an earnest one. “Thank you. I’ll be alright, though. Always am.” The last words were murmured on an afterthought, and they went unheard by Ella.

Ella dipped her head, already her face brightening back into its former glory. “Hey, if you want, I can introduce you to Lux. At least buy you a few rounds to make up for this. Lucifer and Chloe’ll probably be there, too.”

This was the second time Henry had been invited to Lux, a nightclub he presumed, and judging by its popularity among his new colleagues, it was unlikely he was going to be able to skimp out on a visit to it. He nodded his head. “Alright,” he acquiesced.

“Great!” Ella’s smile was contagious, and Henry returned it despite the memories that still lingered with him. “I’ll drive, unless you want to find your own way there.”

“Now?” Henry asked in mild surprise.

Ella glanced at her phone, checking the time. “Why not? Our shift just ended, and there’s nothing else we can do until tomorrow. They’ve probably already put the body in the fridge.”

Henry hadn’t realized how late it was already. “In that case, lead on.” He nodded towards the exit of the building. Ella grinned and made to leave, Henry following her.

Chapter Text

 Colorful and sultry music wafted through the air, intermingling with the scent of rich alcohol and pure debauchery. Per usual, Lux was alive and thrumming. The darkened room was filled with bodies that weaved and bobbed around each other, making the taste of sweat and lust apparent with each inhale if one got too close to the action.

Lucifer sat sprawled comfortably in one of the booth tables, a glass of dark amber liquid in hand. With half interest, he watched the people who were intoxicated with… well... sin. Perhaps once he might have mingled with the throbbing mass of bodies, but now he had true company.

He shifted his gaze to the detective that sat opposite of him for the umpteenth time that night. Still, she had her face curtained by loose strands of hair and illuminated by the screen of her phone.

“Come on, Detective. The case can wait for one night, can’t it? Live a little. Have fun!” He raised his voice to be heard over the nearby clamor.

With a slightly frustrated sigh, Chloe set her phone against the table with a faint thunk and took a sip from the glass that rested in front of her. “Techs haven’t had any luck pulling information from the phone. It’s encrypted, apparently.” She set the glass back down and twisted it with her fingers, her lips pursed. “We’re no closer to figuring out who our Jane Doe is or why she was murdered.

Whatever frustrations the detective had, Lucifer counted the fact that she had replied to him for the first time since arriving as a victory. “All the more reason not to worry about it right now.”

Chloe kept her fixation on the glass in her palms, running her tongue over her lips. “I guess,” she muttered finally. A smirk grew across Lucifer’s face. Chloe looked up at him, her face a bit warmer than it had been. She parted her lips as though to speak, but her attention moved from Lucifer to the space behind him. “Oh, hey.”

Twisting in his seat, Lucifer turned to look at who she was speaking to. A very eager-looking Ella was dragging a less-eager-looking Henry towards their table.

“Hey!” Ella breathed in return.

“Evening…” Henry’s greeting was much more proper than his companion’s, and he seemed a little put-off by the ambiance of the night club.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise!” Lucifer’s smirk grew into a grin, and he slid closer to Chloe to make room for the two new arrivals.

Chloe gave Lucifer a slightly bemused look. “How has LA been treating you, Doctor Morgan?”

“Well enough, thank you,” the doctor gave them a small smile, “and please, call me Henry.”

“First time in the City of the Angels?” Lucifer queried, signaling to a waiter to bring them more drinks.

“No, actually,” Henry shifted in his seat, trapped between Ella and Lucifer, “though it is quite different from the last time I set foot here.”

Lucifer arched an eyebrow in interest and made to ask another question; he was interrupted, however, as a set of fresh glasses were brought to them.

Henry was first to seize one of them, as though almost desperate to escape the questioning. After a few sips of the beverage, he considered the glass, sloshing the amber liquid around it. “Macallan 70?” He glanced to Lucifer for confirmation.

“Indeed, Doctor,” Lucifer grinned, “you’re a man of refined tastes.”

A small grin crept onto Henry’s face, “Life’s too short to waste on cheap alcohol.”

“My sentiments exactly!” Lucifer exclaimed.

He cast Chloe a confused glance as she muttered something along the lines of, “oh, God, there’s two of them…” Her words caused Ella to giggle softly.

“I know, right?” The petite woman replied.

Giving the two women a frown, he turned his attention back to the man who was proving himself to be incredibly interesting. “So, Doctor, where do you hail from?”

The more personal queries seemed to bother Henry, and he took a moment to answer. “London,” he paused before continuing, “what about you? I can’t seem to place your accent.” The fact seemed to perturb the doctor slightly, as though he weren’t used to having his abilities stumped.

Still grinning cheerfully, Lucifer answered with the truth, “Hell, or Heaven before that.”

Henry’s faint grin faltered, and he simply stared at Lucifer before either accepting his statement or brushing it off as an avoidance of answering. Likely, it was the latter.

The conversation petered off, save for Chloe and Ella’s quiet mutterings.

While Henry seemed to become absorbed in watching the people milling around the floor, Lucifer studied him. Something about the man seemed vaguely familiar. Lucifer made it a point to never forget a face - unless it was an incredibly boring face, of course - and the doctor was far from boring.

Henry finally seemed to feel Lucifer’s intense stare on him, and he looked back at him, his dark eyes shadowed and seemingly wary, as though he could almost read Lucifer’s thoughts.

Tilting his head slightly, Lucifer couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity. “Have we met before, Doctor? Perhaps even slept together?”

Lucifer mostly ignored Chloe’s snort beside him, not aware that the detective had been listening to him. Instead, he focused on the doctor, gauging his reaction. And react he did.

The furious blushing was to be expected; it was the normal reaction from humans upon talking in public of what they deemed inappropriate subjects. Henry, however, visibly stiffened, setting the glass he held down lightly. The blood that rushed to his face drained away just as quickly, leaving him looking a little ghost-like. The man ran his tongue over his lips and swallowed thickly, and the brief moment of shock and fear was broken.

Henry’s previous calm demeanor returned, albeit a little more shaky and pale. “No, I’m quite certain we’ve never met before.”

That was a lie, Lucifer knew. Though the break in the doctor’s facade had only lasted a few seconds, it was obvious the question had made him deeply uncomfortable and a tinsy bit afraid. Whatever for, Lucifer couldn’t discern. Their companions seemed to accept the answer as truthful, however, proving just how adept at lying the man was. Lucifer’s fascination with the mysterious doctor only grew, and he was determined to figure out the man and why he seemed so familiar.

Almost instinctually, Lucifer inched closer until his coat sleeve brushed Henry’s. In turn, the doctor shied away minutely. Lucifer caught Ella gaze on him, the woman’s dark eyes filled with the slightest bit of protectiveness.

“Come now, Doctor,” Lucifer purred, “I never forget an interesting face. Just ask the detective.”

“Lucifer…” Chloe’s tone grabbed at his attention, and he glanced over at the woman on his left, “he just got here, and he’s not a suspect. Leave him alone.”

Sighing lightly, Lucifer straightened, giving the doctor some needed breathing room. Beside him, the man shot Chloe a thankful glance before excusing himself from the table.

Tensions melted from the small group of friends, ones they hadn’t even been aware had been hanging in the air around them. Lucifer reassumed his previously lax position with the added room and slung back the remains of the scotch in his glass.

“Right, pardon me, Detective, Miss Lopez.” After extracting himself from the confines of the booth, he strode to the grand piano that stood with solitary pride in the center of the room. As he sat, his fingers danced noiselessly across the stark black and white keys. The background music gradually faded off as someone noted his position at the instrument.

In a few moments of silence - save for the chattering of the crowd - Lucifer racked his brain for a song suitable to play.

Ah. There was one he hadn’t done in a while.

Recalling the rhythm, he let his fingers traipse across the keys, starting the song out lightly. However, the tempo increased rapidly, and soon, the tune of Highway to Hell sang through the air. Lucifer was well aware of the gazes of those around him, including those of his companions, and he grinned widely as the song finally faded off.

The crowd seemed disheartened that the graceful sound of the piano had ceased, but their attention was soon re-engaged as the regular music was turned back up.

Lucifer returned to the booth, though he sat lightly on the edge of the seat beside Chloe. His eyes met Henry's, and he tilted his head. “Well, Doctor... Think you can compete with the Devil? Stage is all yours.” He waved his hand in the direction of the piano.

Henry cleared his throat lightly, twisting his glass between his fingers. “Impressive,” he replied, “but no thanks. I’m not really one for show.”

“You play the piano, Henry?” Ella piped up, looking curious.

“I- I haven’t in a few months. I’m probably rusty.”

“Nonsense! You can’t disappoint these lovely ladies.” Lucifer quickly rose and beckoned to the trio. “Come on, the audience is smaller upstairs.”

Henry looked a little dubious at the proposition, but he followed Ella and Chloe out of the booth and to the elevator nonetheless.

As Ella muttered, “you have your own private elevator?” Lucifer remembered that she hadn’t ever been up to his penthouse. The more people to impress, the merrier.

The lab tech gasped at the sight of the expansive loft, and even Henry wore an expression of slight awe. Lucifer strode over to the piano in the middle of the room and patted its gleaming black top affectionately. “All yours, Doctor.”

Henry looked a little hesitant, but his face softened as he sat down on the piano bench. “It’s very well maintained.” He couldn’t help but admire the instrument, running his fingers over the black and white keys. Experimentally, he pressed a few of the keys; faint chimes rang about the room.

The man’s shoulders settled, and the first few notes of What a Wonderful World sprang from the piano. Lucifer wasn’t against the song, and he couldn’t deny that Henry was skilled with the piano; the song was so slow, though. Impatience pricked at his skin, and he shifted from his spot. What was it with people and slow piano songs? Where was the fire and passion?

“D’y’know anything else?” He breathed finally.

Henry paused, glancing at him. “Like what?”

“Something more… exciting. Less sleepy.”

The other man frowned lightly, mulling over Lucifer’s words. He turned back to the piano and began a new tune - perhaps with less surety than before. The song strengthened, however, as the notes progressed. Don’t Fear the Reaper slipped through the penthouse. Lucifer, Ella, and Chloe watched Henry trace his way through the song in silence.

Finally, Henry rose from the piano bench, looking a tad sheepish. At Ella and Chloe’s praises, the doctor dipped his head and muttered a “thank you”. Lucifer grinned widely. “You don’t disappoint, Doctor Morgan.”

An hour later, only Henry and Lucifer were left in the penthouse. Chloe had left not long after Henry’s performance, saying she needed to actually get some decent sleep. Ella left some twenty minutes later, not able to give an explanation through her yawns. So Lucifer was left with the enigmatic doctor known as Henry Morgan.

Something about him still struck him as familiar.

The man in question was nursing a glass of top shelf whiskey - the only thing that had convinced him to stay longer. He was leaning on Lucifer’s balcony, looking across the twinkling city of Los Angeles.

“We have met before.” Lucifer said slowly. “I may not lie, but I can tell when someone else is.” He watched as Henry stiffened slightly; the man remained with his back turned towards him. Picking up a glass of his own, Lucifer joined him on the balcony. A faint memory of Father Frank was drawn to mind, but he shoved it away and focused his attention on the dark-haired doctor.

Henry wet his lips before speaking. “We might have, in passing, once.”

Lucifer quirked an eyebrow, studying him. “Oh?”

“At a bar, I think. I don’t recall much else…” The man’s face was dusted with a slight shade of red, and he made sure to not look at Lucifer.

“Oh…” Lucifer didn’t try and keep the purr out of his voice. His tone only made the man beside him grow redder. Henry tossed back the remains of his drink and shoved the glass into Lucifer’s surprised grasp.

“I must be going…” The doctor turned to leave.

Lucifer set the pair of glasses aside and grabbed his wrist before he could wriggle away. “But I’m curious now, Doctor. How do I forget a man like you? I may be old, but my memory isn’t that bad.”

Henry tried to free himself, but he couldn’t escape Lucifer’s steely grasp; the man’s dark eyes gained a guarded, stony glint. Hand wrapped around the doctor’s wrist, Lucifer could feel his rising pulse.

Wordlessly, Lucifer released his arm. Henry jerked away and made to turn again.

“I just have one more question, Doctor,” Lucifer fixed his gaze intently on Henry's own, “what is it you desire?”

Chapter Text

Henry stared at the dark eyes that bore into his own, seeming to look into his very soul. Words bubbled on his tongue, all of the things he desired, but he swallowed them quickly. “I-I don't…

Lucifer tilted his head slightly. “I know you want to tell me.”

Henry didn't, but he did. Something was compelling him to, with a hidden, burning desire. “I just don't want to be alone anymore,” he choked out in a husky tone, “everyone leaves me in the end, dead or scared off by who… what I am.” By the time he finished speaking, emotion was layered thick in his words.

Lucifer seemed stunned by his answer, as if that wasn't what he was expecting. With the man's eyes distant, whatever hold he had on Henry was broken; the doctor averted his gaze and fled swiftly from the penthouse.

The next morning found Henry entering the LAPD precinct. The bullpen was mostly empty save for a few people milling about. It was similar to the NYPD precinct, but strikingly different all the same.

“Oh, Henry!” Ella’s voice cut across the room, and her bright eyes appeared through a doorway nearby. She waved him over, leading him into a room that appeared to be a small lab of sorts. A tired Detective Decker was perched on a table edge, nursing a steaming cup of coffee; Lucifer was beside her, scribbling things on a little notepad.

“Good morning,” Henry greeted, making sure his eyes didn’t linger too long on Lucifer, “I assume there’s a new lead in the case?”

“Yeah,” Ella was never still; she flitted from place to place, checking papers, screens, and items. Henry wondered absently how much caffeine she’d had. “Techs managed to pull something from the phone.” She finally stopped in front of the said phone, her gaze flickering from its screen to the computer beside it. “Our victim is Kristen Daniels. She ran a pharmacy on the outskirts of LA, about a block from where she was found. Funny thing is, that place closed down about a month ago.”

Detective Decker raised an eyebrow, asking the silent query of exactly how it was funny.

“All of her recent calls, they’re from her regulars - including Lucy Queen, who happened to have called her just an hour before her time of death,” Ella explained after a pause.

“So what do you need me for?” Henry dared to ask the question. In New York, he had been partnered with a detective; going to every crime scene and interrogation was part of the job. Here, he was just a regular ME.

This time, the detective answered. “Lucy Queen was found dead.”

The ride over to the new crime scene was anything but comfortable. Since Henry didn’t have a ride of his own, he hitched one with Detective Decker and Lucifer. Then Ella chimed in that it would be easier if she came along with them as well.

After a few moments of bickering and the word shotgun being thrown around, Ella was sitting in the passenger seat, chatting with the detective, and Lucifer and Henry were crammed in the backseat.

An almost invisible wall, thick and permeable, had formed between them. Henry sat stiff and silent, his eyes glued to the back of Ella’s head. Lucifer sat likewise, though he sought to amuse himself by tapping out a noiseless tune on Detective Decker’s seat. Halfway through the ride, the detective snapped at Lucifer to stop, and the car fell into an even deeper uncomfortable silence.

As soon as they arrived, everyone piled out, and Henry found that he could breath easily again. He straightened his cuffs out of habit, though he stopped once he noticed Lucifer doing the same.

The new crime scene was very different from the first. Lucy’s apartment was cramped, and the floor was littered with takeout and pizza boxes. There, sprawled out on the ratty, stained couch, amidst a jungle of crumpled cans and paper, was who Henry assumed was Lucy Queen. Her head perched lightly on the armrest, mouth parted ever so slightly. Her eyes were closed and she looked so at peace that it seemed that she were merely asleep. Henry’s eyes traveled down her form; skewered into her forearm was a single needle, emptied of its contents.

“Seems our dead pharmacist was still very much in business,” Lucifer’s drawl caught Henry’s attention. The man was inching closer to the dead girl on the couch, carefully avoiding the trash that littered the floor. With a sigh, Henry did the same.

Despite Lucy’s peaceful expression in death, something about her felt off. She only had mascara under one eye; dark circles brought out the more emaciated features of her cheekbones; a dabbling of foam decorated her dry lips; and the flaking rusty stains of what looked like blood painted the inside of her left nostril.

Henry shifted his scrutinization to the needle poised delicately in her arm. The skin around the needle was bruised and dotted with the track marks of previous needles. His brow furrowing, Henry probed at the skin around the needle; a frown worked its way onto his face. “This isn’t right,” he announced finally.

“What’s not?” Ella and Lucifer spoke at the same time. Lucifer peered over his shoulder, and Ella abandoned her investigation of Lucy’s empty pill bottle collection.

“The needle, it completely missed any veins. Lucy obviously knew how to inject herself; she wouldn’t make a mistake like this.”

“So you’re saying she didn’t OD on the mystery drug?”

“On the contrary, Miss Lopez, I think she did indeed die from an overdose. She just wasn’t the one to inject herself. This was a murder.”

“So what’re you thinking - the same person who murdered Kristen also murdered Lucy?” The detective had picked her way over to the trio.

“Exactly, Detective,” Henry stood swiftly, the familiar rush of solving a mystery exhilarating him, “look at this crime scene. Everything’s perfectly painted to depict Lucy Queen as just another dead junkie - just as Kristen Daniels’ death looks like a mugging gone wrong.”

After finishing his revelation, Henry looked around and noticed that Lucifer was nowhere to be seen. His frown and furrowed brow returned, and he stepped away from Ella and the detective.

Lucifer wasn’t anywhere in the small apartment, so Henry ventured out into the hallway. A few doors down from Lucy’s apartment, a voice lilted through the air - one unmistakably Lucifer’s. Henry’s nerves began to tingle as he drew closer to the door; as he neared, his missing companion’s voice become clearer.

“Now, what good would it do to kill me?”

The words set Henry’s heart to pounding. He silently nudged open the ajar door and slipped inside. Still, he couldn’t see Lucifer or whoever he was talking to. Carefully, he nosed his way around the next corner; however, he didn’t notice a rumpled newspaper that was strewn on the floor. His foot crinkled the paper, the noise sounding deafening to his ears.

Lucifer was now in view, as was his assailant, who was nothing more than a short-statured figure in an oversized hoodie. In an instant, the attacker and possible murderer grabbed Lucifer from behind and jabbed a needle towards his throat. “One more step, and this goes right into his neck…” The attacker’s voice was wispy and quiet, but Henry heard them loud and clear.

He stepped away from the corner, hands raised in surrender. His eyes flicked from the hooded person to Lucifer, who looked somewhere between nonchalant and intrigued. “Please, put the needle down. My companion and I mean you no--”

“Quiet!” The hooded figure snapped out the order, their soft voice suddenly harsh. “You aren’t going to make any noise or call out to anyone, and you’re going to let me walk right through that door.”

Henry swallowed thickly before nodding. Slowly, he cleared the path to the door; the hooded figure dragged Lucifer opposite of him, as if they were performing some sort of odd dance.

The assailant was almost free, their grip loosening on the tall man in their grasp. Lucifer licked his lips and parted them as though to speak; Henry shot him a warning glance. Lucifer ignored the warning, his tone dry and bored. “This really isn’t necessary.”

Henry’s heart leaped into his mouth as the hooded person stabbed the needle at their prisoner’s neck. He surged forward and did the only thing that seemed logical to him at the time - he thrust his hand over the needle point before it could puncture Lucifer’s skin. A stabbing pain spiked in his hand, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. The attacker was gone, disappearing out the doorway; Lucifer tailed them for a few steps, though he soon stopped and returned to Henry.

When the hooded person had released their grasp on the needle, it had fallen loose from Henry’s hand. Most of the stinging pain disappeared, but some remained. Henry swallowed back the pain and gingerly picked up the needle. Liquid still sloshed inside it, and he began to wonder if he’d been injected at all.

“Well, that certainly was exciting.” Lucifer’s voice drifted into his mind, sounding near his ear. When he didn’t respond, the man’s voice continued, though surprisingly touched with more concern. “Are you alright, Doctor?”

Henry raised his head, a little worried to find Lucifer’s fuzzy silhouette framed with a halo of light. He blinked a couple of times and the halo disappeared. “Yes, I’m fine. The needle didn’t…” He waved the needle slightly, showing that the liquid still remained. Lucifer accepted his answer and strode out the door.

“I’m sure the detective will have from some strong words for us,” Lucifer chimed from the hallway, his voice growing more distant.

Detective Decker did indeed have strong words for the pair of them, mostly including “fucking idiots,” “could’ve been killed,” and “what the hell were you thinking?” She did give Henry a thankful and somewhat awed nod when Lucifer recounted how the doctor had saved his life. She also brightened when Henry showed her the needle still filled with the mystery drug, though she continued to give the pair glowering, disapproving glares.

As the crime scene investigation was cleaned and packed up, Henry found that he could no longer shake away the fuzzy glowing halos that enveloped each person's’ silhouette. Whatever drug was in that needle, he had apparently been injected with it.

Part of his mind said that he should probably go to a hospital, but a stronger thought chimed that if it was the same drug that had killed Lucy, it would likely kill him as well; going to a hospital and dying would mean he would have to relocate or tell his secret, and neither sounded like good ideas. So he kept his mouth shut and stayed quiet until the detective offered him a ride home.

Something in her voice sounded like pity, as though she thought he was merely in shock from the brush with death, but his fogging brain grasped at her tone before letting it fade away. Lucifer was in the detective’s car as well, and Ella was… somewhere…

Lucifer was trying to talk to him, but the man’s word sounded like nothing more than musical tones to his fuddled brain, rich and deep like the singing keys of a piano.

Henry blinked and tried to bring Lucifer - who sat in the passenger seat in front of him - into focus, but the man seemed like nothing more than a blinding bright halo of light. Henry blinked again, and for a split second, Lucifer was replaced by a red, twisting grotesque beast of burnt flesh and oozing pus and blood; another blink, and he was back to being just a light.

The image, however brief, was seared into Henry’s brain, and he tasted a sour taste on the back of his tongue. A minute part of his brain reminded him not to be sick, lest he give away that he wasn’t alright. His heartbeat picked up until it rumbled through his head like a thunderstorm; it seemed so loud that even his companions surely should have heard it. His tongue grew thick and heavy, and he could barely stammer out his address for the detective.

The ride to his apartment seemed to take an indefinitely short and indefinitely long time; thankfully, it was mostly quiet save for soft banter between the driver and the passenger. He didn’t even manage to choke out a thank you before slowly climbing from the car.

Whatever was in the drug had definitely reached his nervous system now; every step made his limbs feel leaden and burn like fire was scorching them. The climb up the stair to his apartment was a grueling task, and he couldn’t help but release a soft cry of agony from time to time. It took several minutes before he was able to unlock his door with clumsy hands, and once he was inside his apartment, he lost track of where his keys landed. Maybe they were on the floor…

Just as he now was. Instantly, all of his pain was gone, as well as any other feeling he might have had. His legs gave out and he crumpled to the hard floor. He was dimly aware that his lungs and heart were shutting down. Each breath was shallower and each beat of his heart was weaker. At least he couldn’t feel any of it.

Then, finally, blessed death took him.

Chapter Text

Alone in his penthouse with nothing but a glass of whiskey to keep him company, Lucifer found his mind straying to the current case and the events surrounding it - particularly the visit to the crime scene earlier. Despite hardly knowing him, Henry had saved him without a second thought from what he presumed would have been a rather painful demise. Afterwards, the doctor had claimed he was alright, but something had seemed off. On the ride to Henry’s apartment, any questions Lucifer threw at him went unanswered, and it was hard to miss the flash of fear that crossed the doctor’s face.

Something twinged in his gut, a feeling he had only felt when someone he cared about was in danger. Worry, perhaps? Lucifer knocked back the rest of the whiskey in his glass before rising. An inane feeling told him to go check on Henry. And for some reason, Lucifer listened to it.

The drive to the doctor’s apartment was quick - especially since he gave little regard to the speed limit. He bound up the steps and gave the door a few short raps before twisting the knob. A frown flicked across his face when it cracked open. Unlocked.

“Hello? Doctor?” Lucifer called, stepping into the apartment. Only the hall light was on, and it illuminated the pale, bare walls of the small foyer. There was a jangly crunch underfoot, and Lucifer found a bunch of keys discarded on the floor. His curiosity and worry only deepened.

He picked up the keys and fiddled with them as he wandered the empty apartment. There didn’t seem to be any other evidence of foul play. He was, however, drawn to the shelves filled to the brim with old books - a library that nearly rivalled his. Most of the books looked to be in pristine condition, even the ones that appeared to be first editions.

On another occasion, Lucifer would have loved to peruse the collection, but he was there for other reasons. After some deliberation, he decided to give the detective a call. But before he could place the call, the front door creaked open and the sound of heavy footsteps resonated through the apartment. Maybe whoever broke in had returned. Lucifer strode towards the foyer, intent on scaring the living hell out whoever it was.

He wasn't prepared to come face to face with a soggy-haired Henry dressed in nothing more than an oversized hoodie and a pair of tatty sweatpants.

The two did nothing but stare at each other in mild shock until Henry spoke. “What are you doing in my house?”

Lucifer had to give the man some credit; he sounded remarkably calm given the situation. “I came to check up on you, of course,” he stated matter-of-factly. He gave a thin grin, his gaze lingering on the threadbare clothing the other man wore.

Lucifer was expecting a reaction like “how did you get in?” or “get out!”, not “why”. However, that was all the doctor asked. Why.

Why indeed? Lucifer was beginning to wonder that himself. He barely knew the man; what had driven him to check up on him? He racked his brain for a plausible reason. “You were acting… odd after we left the crime scene. Well, odder than most humans normally act. And you did save my life, after all.”

“So that constitutes breaking into my house?” Henry sounded more confused than angry, a very different reaction from when Lucifer had broken into the detective’s house.

“Your door was unlocked,” Lucifer defended himself. “I thought someone might have robbed you. What has happened to you, by the way?” He redirected their attention to the state of the doctor’s clothing and dripping curls.

The question seemed to make Henry nervous; the man swallowed and wordlessly opened his mouth before closing it again. He said nothing and brushed past Lucifer. This time, Lucifer made no move to grab him. Instead, he opted to follow the man. “ Ooh, you’re not involved in the mafia, are you? Attempted assassinations, witness protection, and all that?”

Henry still made no comment, and Lucifer followed him to the door of his bedroom. His gaze flicked around the room, taking in the walls decorated sparsely with oil paintings and black and white photos.

What grabbed his attention the most was the beautiful flintlock pistol on a wooden display and the pictures that surrounded it. Most of the photos were black and white, but two colored ones stood out from the rest. One was of Henry and another man - older, looking around his late seventies; they were grinning at the camera, and the old man’s arm was slung around Henry’s neck in an embrace. The other was of a table in a bar; around the table sat people laughing and smiling, but the photo was focused on Henry and a woman obviously enjoying each other’s company.

“Who is she?” Lucifer purred, making to pick up the picture.

Henry reached it first, snapping it out of Lucifer’s grasp. Slightly startled, Lucifer looked up at the man. Henry’s expression was guarded and tinged with pain. “Please, get out of my house.”

Throwing his hands up in surrender, Lucifer showed himself out. Outside on the sidewalk, he glanced back at the apartment door. If anything was to be taken from the night, it was that Doctor Henry Morgan was a very mysterious person, and Lucifer aimed to solve him.


At 8:30 sharp the following morning, Lucifer was stood on the curb outside Lux. He fiddled with his cuffs as he waited for Chloe to arrive. Normally, he would drive himself, but there had been another murder, and the detective insisted she pick him up. Not that it bothered him; he happily jumped at the chance to spend more alone time with her.

The sound of an engine brought his attention to the street, and he sent a smile at the person behind the wheel. He opened the passenger side door and slid into the seat. “Good morning, Detective.”

Chloe returned the smile and the greeting as Lucifer settled back into the seat. “Where are we off to today?” He queried.

“The beach. Couple of joggers found a body washed up on shore.”

“And you think it’s the same killer?”

Chloe shrugged as she pulled away from the curb. “Maybe. I’m sure Ella and Henry can tell us for certain.”

Lucifer gave a nod that likely went unnoticed and lapsed into a brief silence. “What do you make of the doctor?” He spoke finally, shooting a curious look at the detective.

Chloe glanced at him. “I think he’s good at his job.”

“Yes, yes.” Lucifer flapped a hand at her. “But besides the job. He seems very… private.”

Chloe gave a small laugh. “No offense, Lucifer, but so are you.”

Lucifer took full offense. “Me?” He asked incredulously. “But I’m an open book, Detective!”

“Mhm… I’m not talking about your tendency to overshare about your sex life.” Once more, Chloe’s pale eyes met his. “I mean your personal life.”

Lucifer opened his mouth in protest before snapping it shut once more. He humphed and stared out the window, watching the streets of Los Angeles flash by.

“Why’d you ask, anyway?”

“I went to his house last night and no one was inside.” He replied nonchalantly.

Chloe slammed on the brakes a little too harshly as she pulled into a parking space; Lucifer nearly bashed his head in against the window. “You broke into his apartment?” She accused.

“Not really. The man’s door was unlocked, after all-”

The detective groaned and rubbed at her forehead.

“I thought someone else had already broken in, so I went to go see.”

Chloe heaved a sigh and looked about two seconds away from strangling Lucifer. “And?”

“No one was inside. However,” Lucifer held up a finger, praying that Chloe had a little more patience, “the doctor did appear. The poor sod was dripping wet and looked like he had gotten dressed in a dumpster.”

“Really.” Her tone was dry and doubtful.

“When have I ever lied, Detective?”

Sighing, Chloe got out of the car, and Lucifer followed suit. “You can’t say that’s not the least bit intriguing. D’you think that man’s in the mafia?”

Chloe fell in step beside Lucifer as they made their way to the beach. “I just think it’s a miracle that Henry didn’t file a report against you.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Honestly, Detective, the doctor looked hardly surprised to see me there.”

Before he could take another step forward, the detective was in front of him, a hand on his chest halting him. He looked down at her in surprise.

“No, stop.” She jabbed her finger at his chest, and he couldn’t help but wince a little. “You can’t keep doing this Lucifer. Just because you work with the police doesn’t mean the laws don’t apply to you. One of these days, you won’t just be getting a warning or being arrested; you’ll be dead.” Chloe sucked in a breath, calming herself.

Lucifer gawked at her a bit before his expression sobered and he nodded his head. “Alright,” he acquiesced, “if you insist, Chloe.”

She stared at him for a moment before continuing down to the beach, beckoning for him to follow. Together, they walked to the crime scene in silence. Upon reaching the police tape that flapped in the breeze, Lucifer pulled it up while Chloe ducked under it.

The unfortunate fellow that awaited them looked worse for wear. While not bloated as Lucifer expected, he was slashed and barely clothed, and his face was almost marred beyond any recognition.

Ella and Henry were already there, knelt beside the body. Lucifer spared a glance at the medical examiner; his eyes were deepened by dark bruises beneath them, evidence of a sleepless night. He froze a bit like a deer in the headlights as Henry suddenly looked up and met his gaze. The man’s expression was as guarded as ever, and his eyebrow was raised as if he were asking a question. Lucifer licked his lips and wrenched his eyes away.

“Any idea what the cause of death was?” Chloe crouched down, resting her elbows on her knees.

“The guy’s got lots of lacerations, but most of them were probably caused by bashing on some rocks post mortem; there’s no sign of blood or scabbing in them.” Ella started, pointing out a particularly long slash on the corpse’s neck. “That one, though…”

Henry took over, pulling apart the wound with gloved hands. “The water washed away any blood, but the cut is torn at the edges, like it was caused by a serrated knife, not rocks. However, it’s not very deep - at least, not deep enough to be lethal. Likely, whoever killed him first slashed at him with a knife before the victim was pushed into the water.”

“If the knife wound wasn’t fatal, why is he dead? Surely the victim could have just swam to safety.” Chloe puzzled, looking to Henry.

“Miss Lopez if you would please.” Henry picked up the corpse’s head and shoulder and made to flip him over.

“Sure,” Ella chirped, and the duo eased the man onto his stomach.

Once the corpse was turned over, a number of puncture holes varying in size were revealed across his back. Lucifer eyed the wounds with curiosity. They looked like some kind of torture from Hell.

“Any idea what caused this?”

“Most likely, the currents pushed him down onto some sort of metal rods - scrap metal, drain pipes, old salvage,” Henry listed, sighing. “We can’t know for certain until we find exactly where he was murdered.”

“What connection does this poor fellow have to the others?” Lucifer asked, peering at the grievous holes.

“None,” Henry’s tone was despondent. “As of now, we have two murder cases on our hands.”

“Hey, maybe the guy’ll be related to the first vic,” Ella’s voice was painted with weak optimism, “or something…”

“Perhaps, but we’ll have to wait for dental records to identify him; his face it too disfigured to match with a missing person’s report.” Henry stood, stripping the gloves off his hands.

“Any idea how long he’s been dead?”

“Based on the limited bloating and lack of missing flesh, I would say less than two days. Again, we will know more when we perform an autopsy.”

The detective gave the doctor a nod and beckoned for him to come with her. Having nothing better to do, Lucifer tailed the two. Chloe cast him a glance but said nothing of it.

“Lucifer said something happened to you last night. You okay?”

Henry shot a glance at Lucifer, a flash of panic crossing his face. He swallowed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I, uh… it’s nothing to concern yourself with, Detective. It was just a few neighborhood teenagers playing pranks.”

Chloe raised a brow, crossing her arms. “It sounded pretty serious to me. You should have called the police.”

“Really, Detective, it was nothing too serious. It was just a… what do you call it… a hazing.”

Lucifer wanted to point out that wasn’t what a hazing was, but he bit his tongue when Chloe glared at him. “Fine, but if they do it again, don’t hesitate to call the cops on them.”

Henry dipped his head. “Will do, Detective.”

“Also, feel free to report his ass for breaking and entering.” Chloe pointed at Lucifer.

The motion made a crooked smile settle on Henry’s face. “I’ll will keep that in mind if he decides to do it again. Though, I do believe he was simply worried.”

The doctor’s insinuation made Lucifer pout and cross his arms in defense. “I beg your pardon? The Devil does not worry over mortals.”

Chloe chortled softly and pulled Lucifer away. “We’ll let you be on your way, Henry.”

Henry murmured a goodbye and turned back to the dispersing crime scene. Grumbling under his breath, Lucifer followed Chloe back to her car.

Chapter Text

Figuring out the name of the John Doe by dental records took longer than expected, so Henry and the police spent two days twiddling their thumbs. There wasn’t much other evidence to go on; Ella dug deeper into Kristen Daniel’s phone, but she didn’t recover anything more than the fact that the woman was very private and had a deep love for cats. Detective Decker and Lucifer spent the two days talking to the victims’ relatives. Henry flitted between the morgue, the station, and his home, feeling more anxious and restless than useful. More people were probably in danger, and they could do nothing but wait. The newest body didn’t even promise any correlating evidence; there could be two completely different murderer running around LA.

When the results finally came in, the victim was revealed to be Thomas Holt, the owner of a deep-sea fishing service. Henry still found himself holding his breath. Nothing yet connected the cases together, and they desperately needed a break.

Oddly enough, Detective Decker requested Henry accompany Lucifer and her to talk to the wife and two daughters Holt left behind. He met the partners outside where they stood beside the detective’s car, chatting. Or rather, Lucifer was talking expressively while Chloe was nodding along with a bemused expression. She straightened as Henry approached and motioned for Lucifer to get in the vehicle.

“May I ask why you requested for me to come along?” Henry pondered the question as he got into the back of the car.

“Lucifer thinks you might be able to help.” The detective pulled out of the LAPD parking lot. After a moment, she added, “and I agree with him, actually.”

“Really?” Henry was surprised. After he had left New York, he hadn’t been expecting to see much field work. He was proving himself wrong, however.

“So,” Detective Decker was attempting to start a conversation, and Henry jerked his head up before he could get lost in his thoughts. “Is there any connection between the two bodies yet?” The detective continued as she navigated the streets towards Holt’s house.

Henry gave his head a shake. “No. There weren’t any trace of drugs in Holt’s system. No evidence that Mrs. Daniels was selling anything to him. His only degradation of health was due to his serial smoking.”

Decker took the information with silence, and it was in silence that they spent the rest of the drive to their location.

Thomas Holt’s home was a textbook definition of a white picket fence lifestyle. It was in a nice neighborhood, and the yard was green and neatly trimmed. Various toys in shades of pink, purple, and blue scattered the grass and driveway. The house itself was a pleasant pale yellow, looking like something out of a 60’s romcom.

“I didn’t know deep sea fishing payed so well.” Lucifer commented, eyeing the house. His gaze flicked to the toys strewn about and masked a look of horrified disgust.

“It doesn’t… at least, I don’t think it does.” The detective started for the front door, and Henry and Lucifer trailed after her, nearly shoulder to shoulder.

A few moments after Decker rang the doorbell, a woman’s harried face appeared. “Look, I don’t want whatever you’re trying to sell-” She broke off as Detective Decker flashed her badge. “Oh…” Her expression sobered. “Is… is this about Thomas?”

Decker gave a nod. “Mrs. Holt, may we come in?”

Mrs. Holt started, ushering them in. “Yes, yes, sorry…”

The trio hung awkwardly in the foyer as the woman bumbled around before leading them into the living room. It looked in the same state of organized chaos as the front yard. The detective and Lucifer sat beside each other on the small sofa and Henry settled into the worn loveseat beside it. Mrs. Holt perched on the couch across from them, wringing her hands in a nervous manner.

Decker cleared her throat. “Mrs. Holt, we… we found your husband.”

The woman met the detective’s eyes, hope glimmering in her own.

“I’m sorry, he’s dead.”

The little spark of hope that was there quickly died, and it was replaced with glimmering tears. Mrs. Holt seemed to take it in stride, however. She bowed and nodded her head, her hands still squeezing her fingers.

“Mrs. Holt, do you have any idea why anyone would want to have your husband killed?”

She gave another nod and drew a shaky breath. “Thomas…” She swallowed. “Thomas’s business payed well enough to support the four of us, but we were always living paycheck to paycheck. I wanted to get a job myself to help out, but he always insisted I didn’t. Then, a few months ago, things started getting better. Thomas was getting more money; he was happier than he had been in years. He said he had gotten someone to sponsor him. I-I didn’t think to question it. He’d been looking for sponsors since he started. I thought we’d finally just gotten a lucky break.”

“But?” Lucifer’s voice cut in; it was tinged with impatience.

“But a couple of days ago, Thomas got a call. After that, he told me everything. He said he couldn’t do it anymore. He… he said that he hadn’t gotten a sponsor. He was dealing drugs off the docks. Someone had approached him, promised him lots of money if he would…” Mrs. Holt broke off from her story, her eyes searching their faces; her gaze lingered on Henry’s the longest. “He was only doing it to help our daughters. You have to believe that. He wasn’t a bad man.”

“I believe you.” Henry told the woman, casting a glance at his companions. The detective was agreeing with him, but Lucifer was looking rather unimpressed.

“Mrs. Holt, do you happen to have your husband’s phone?” Decker rose from her seat.

“Yeah, yeah…” The woman got up as well, hastily wiping at her eyes. “I think he left it in our bedroom. Hold on…” She bustled away, leaving them alone.

“Well, that was dreadfully boring…” Lucifer bemoaned, standing up and putting his hands in his pants pockets.

“Lucifer-” The detective’s voice held a warning tone.

“I kept my mouth shut while the woman was talking. Isn’t that what you asked me to do?” Lucifer defended himself.

While the two were bickering, Henry cast a calculating eye around the living space. Picture frames were scattered about, displaying photos of two brown-haired girls, Mrs. Holt, Mr. Holt, and a chubby corgi. The toys that decorated the room were still in the shades of pinks, purples and blues, likely the daughters’ favorite colors. Before he could inspect it any more, their host returned with a smartphone in her grasp.

“It’s one of the reasons I knew he was missing. He never left home without it,” she explained as she handed it to the detective.

Decker flicked past the lock screen that was void of a password and went for the recent calls list. There, near the top of the list sat a single name: Kristen Daniels. The detective scrolled down some, and the name reappeared multiple times. “I think we found our connection…” She looked back to Mrs. Holt. “Mrs. Holt, do you mind if we take this in as evidence?”

“Yes, whatever you need. Just, please, find who did this…” The woman looked on the verge of tears once more.

The detective offered her a comforting smile. “Thank you for your help, and we’re sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Holt showed them out, and Decker called someone before they piled back into the her car. Henry rested his head against the back of the seat and gave a soft sigh. Breaking the news to a victim’s loved ones was always exhausting.

In the passenger’s seat, Lucifer was speculating. “Why is this Holt fellow’s murder such a shoddy job? You, Doctor, said yourself that the killer was staging them to look like accidents.”

“Our killer’s getting sloppy. Whatever they’re afraid of, we’re getting closer to figuring out.” Henry looked to Decker. “Where to next, Detective?”

Detective Decker glanced at the phone as she drove. “The last call Holt got was three hours before his time of death, and the number didn’t have a contact. Tech can trace the number back to the phone. It just might be our killer.”

“So more waiting,” Lucifer simplified.

“Not necessarily. It doesn’t take that long to trace-” As she was speaking, her phone began to ring. “Lucifer, would you get that?”

Lucifer picked up the phone and gave a drawled, “hello?” He was silent as the caller spoke. Finally, he relayed the message. “They found the miscreant’s name. Charlie Sousa.”

“Do they have an address?”

Lucifer repeated the question to the caller and delivered the street address a moment later.

Detective Decker turned the car around and started for Charlie Sousa’s location.

Henry only prayed it was really their killer.


Charlie Sousa’s house looked like it had seen better days. It was larger and more grand than the Holts’ had been, but the front yard was unkempt and weedy, and the house was in a state of disrepair.

Lucifer was out of the car before the detective could give him any words, and he was halfway to the door before she and Henry had even gotten to the sidewalk. Henry was a bit trepid in his approach. Technically, he wasn’t even supposed to be there. He had tagged along to get some insight on the victim’s wife and nothing more. Now, he was being roped into a possibly dangerous situation… again.

“Lucifer…!” Detective Decker hissed. The man in question was knocking on the dilapidated door.

“Helloooo?” He chimed, “bad guy?”

“Lucifer!” Decker repeated the warning. “They’re not officially a suspect yet. We’re only here to question them. Don’t-”

The detective wasn’t even able to finish her sentence before Lucifer somehow jimmied the door open and scooted inside.

“Dammit…” Decker hissed under breath, and Henry was inclined to mimic the expletive. “Stay here, just in case.” She threw the words over her shoulder at Henry and entered the house with her hand on her gun’s holster; she didn’t even look to acknowledge the doctor’s nod.

For once, Henry listened. He was out of his depth here, and interfering could get him fired. Or worse. So he stayed put, standing awkwardly on the splintering porch and watching a butterfly dance around a vine that weaved its way up to the roof. Slowly, he began to relax. Maybe everything was fine; maybe the duo had found Charlie and were asking their questions peacefully.

The gunshot that broke the peace a minute later was a testament to how wrong Henry was. It took every inch of steel in him to not jump at the sudden sound, and all of his nerves were suddenly on end. They can handle it, he promised himself. There was no reason he needed to get involved.

Again, he was proved wrong as shouting started from the second story after a few more shots were let off. He could make out the detective’s voice; she was talking to someone - obviously not the shooter. She was requesting backup and an ambulance. Someone was hurt; someone had been shot. Decker sounded fine so that left Lucifer… The idiot had gotten himself shot. Henry found himself twitching with nerves. Every instinct was screaming at him to move; to do something. He weighed up the possible consequences to his actions before tossing the thoughts aside. Someone had been shot ; what kind of doctor would he be if he didn’t help?

Muttering curses under his breath, Henry crept into the house. They were all upstairs, but even a wrong move would set a floorboard to squeaking and give him away. The yelling upstairs had quelled, and the tension was palpable even without being able to see the standoff. Faint voices still drifted downwards every so often, but Henry wasn’t able to discern them. He picked his way up the stairs, testing each step before putting his full weight on it. On wrong step would ruin everything. Finally, he reached the landing at the top of the stairs and exhaled a deep breath he had been holding. He peered into the room nearest to him, the one he figured the action was taking place.

He was able to make out Detective Decker crouched behind an overturned desk. Lucifer was on the ground beside her, half sitting against the wall. His coat suit was discarded to the side, and his white shirt was stained a dark red, pouring from his left shoulder. The man’s eyes were lidded and he looked about two seconds away from passing out, but he was as talkative as ever, throwing raspy jabs at the shooter.

The shooter, whom Henry assumed to be Charlie Sousa, was a girl who looked no older than twenty. Her hair was cropped short and was mostly obscured by her hood, and she looked like she hadn’t slept for a week. Her hand that was clenched around the gun was shaking, and her poor aim was proven by the bulletholes that riddled the wall. Still, a wild shot could be deadly with a dose of luck; Lucifer could testify to that.

Henry ran a tongue over his lips, suddenly balking. What the hell was he thinking? The situation was tense, and there was no good opening. Showing himself would get him shot. Getting shot could lead to death, and dying in front of two of his colleagues meant he would have to relocate and start over.

He cast another glance at Lucifer. The man was growing paler by the minute, and his face was strained and dotted with sweat. His breathing looked more labored than it had before. If he didn’t get medical attention soon… Henry didn’t even need to finish the thought. Henry stepped out from behind the door frame. Before he could even raise his hands in the surrendering position, Charlie’s attention was on him, and so was the muzzle of the gun. “Charlie…”

“Shut it!” She hissed; she looked a little haunted as she stared at him. Was there the possibility she recognized him from the scene with the needle? It had definitely been her in that room; the height was the same, as well as the old gray hoodie.

The detective was throwing glares at him, clearly infuriated by the fact that he had disobeyed her orders of staying put. Maybe he and Lucifer were more alike than he thought...

Henry ignored Decker’s seething stare and took another step forward. If he could distract Charlie for long enough, the detective would be able to subdue her and the entire situation would be resolved. “I know you don’t want to shoot me… it was revenge, wasn’t it? They wronged you-”

“I said shut it!” Charlie’s voice was shaking as much as her hands. Only chance could land a lethal blow on Henry if she chose to fire, but knowing his luck, it would hit. Henry’s mouth snapped shut, and he pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Of course I wanted revenge… that bitch ruined my life!” Charlie’s voice was charged with anger. “All of them!-” she broke off, sucking in a breath. “She stole my mom’s company and then closed it down after Mom died to sell drugs out of it. She thought that because she was fucking my mom before she died somehow made us friends. That I would be okay with all of this…” Tears were brimming in the girl’s eyes, and her gun hand was wavering. “She had to die first because she started this fucking mess. And that Queen girl - she was feeding that bitch more money than the rest of the customers. And… and Holt… she was giving him another load to sell… I warned him if he went to the docks he would pay… he didn’t listen… why didn’t he fucking listen…?”

Tears were spilling down Charlie’s cheeks, illuminating her sallow state. Henry’s heart went out to the girl despite all she had done. “Charlie, I-” He tried to speak again.

The detective chose at that moment to pounce. She fire off a shot, but Charlie was hyped up on nerves; she fired quicker. Detective Decker’s bullet hit its intended target, pegging Charlie in the leg and forcing her to drop her gun. Charlie’s bullet shot true as well, just as Henry’s luck would have it. As crooked as the shot was, it pierced through Henry’s shirt and skidded across his side. A burning sensation sprang up in the bullet’s wake, and Henry bit his tongue to keep from crying out. He slapped a hand over the offending wound, and his fingers came away tacky with blood.

Henry forced away the pain as best he could and stumbled over to Lucifer’s side. The man gave him a bleary look and a crooked grin. “Coming to my rescue… again, Doctor?” He rasped, somehow finding the energy to chuckle.

“Yes,” Henry spoke as he worked. His side burned as he lifted his arm to remove Lucifer’s bloodied shirt and tear the clean bits into cloths. “Best not make a habit of it.”

The man had the gall to look offended as Henry desimated the silken shirt. Lucifer grumbled about how hard it was to get designer clothes that good, but Henry paid him no mind; he focused on two things: managing the raging pain in his side and making sure his new patient didn’t bleed out. A quick examination of the wound revealed it to be a through and through. The exit hole was more sizable than the entrance and was sluggishly pumping out dark blood. The bullet didn’t seem to have hit anything vital; only muscles seemed to be damaged. That, and Lucifer’s shirt.

Henry pressed the remaining cloth to the wounds, doing his best to slow the bleeding. Silk didn’t do much to soak up the blood and help it clot, but at least it was something.

The doctor wasn’t even aware that Detective Decker was absent until she reappeared at his side, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “The ambulance is here.” She told him in a soft tone.

He gave a slow nod and rose, removing his stiff hands from Lucifer’s wound. As he stood, he swallowed a wince; his own injury had crusted over slightly as he was working, and his sudden movement stripped the thin scab from his skin. Blood began to soak his shirt with renewed vigor. He covered the wound with his hand and watched as the paramedics scrambled in and removed Lucifer.

He stared after them in somewhat of a daze. Maybe he had lost more blood than he had thought. It took him a moment to realize the detective was looking at him with visible concern.

“You should probably have that look at.”

Henry nodded, shaking away stray thoughts that hung like cobwebs. “Yes, yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” He started for the exit, vaguely aware that Decker was trailing him closely. He didn’t make it farther than the top of the stairs before his legs buckled. Shit. There went his endorphins bottoming out. The buzzing that had filled him since he had been shot was suddenly gone; the adrenaline rush had ended, and now he was running on empty. His fingers wriggled beneath his torn shirt and felt at the bullet wound. In a haze, he pondered the fact that the bullet hadn’t just grazed him. It had buried itself in his side. Hah . Some doctor he was.

Getting lost in his fading thoughts, he barely heard Detective Decker calling his name as he stumbled against the stair’s railing and slumped to the cold floor. He just hoped he didn’t die. Again.

Chapter Text

Getting the detective to leave his side was honestly the hardest part of the entire ordeal. After Lucifer finally convinced Chloe that she would be doing more good at the station, his recovery process became ten times easier. Yes, the bullet wound hurt like a son of a bitch, and he was constantly being swarmed by nurses (not that he was really complaining about that; most of them could rock the scrubs), but the situation was going swimmingly. Or, it was until someone (read: Dan) informed him that Doctor Morgan had been shot too.

Lucifer had celestial healing; the doctor, on the other hand, did not. At least, he didn’t think he did. Lucifer wanted to see him right away, but he was told he was in no condition to be moving around. Maybe they did have a point there, but it didn’t stop him from trying. He nearly fell flat on his face the first time he tried, and only Dan kept him from acquainting his nose with the floor (after which, the detective couldn’t stop laughing).

Okay, he could thank Doctor Morgan for saving his life again later. That was the proper thing to do, wasn’t it? In the meantime, he lulled in and out of sleep. The anesthetic drugs didn’t really work on him, but getting shot took a lot out of the Devil.

In four hours time, however, he was feeling in tip top shape. Apparently, a “miracle” healing was quite astonishing to the medical staff, and it took them awhile to get over their shock. Eventually, Lucifer was able to get some new clothes (courtesy of Maze) and a release form signed.

He was directed in the way of Doctor Morgan’s room after asking around and flashing a few charming grins at the nurses. Lucifer was greeted upon entering the room by the steady beeping of the doctor’s pulse. The room was devoid of other visitors, and it was bland and gray. The doctor’s pallor nearly mirrored his room’s color scheme.

Lucifer’s fingers fiddled at his cuffs before he seated himself in the nearby chair. The chair was rough and rigid as a washboard, but he settled into it and tried to make himself comfortable. Who knew when the doctor would wake up, after all.

The afternoon melted into the evening, and Lucifer drifted in and out of his thoughts. Head propped against his hand, he once more traced the cracks between the tiles. He raised his head at a soft groan coming from Doctor Morgan.

Lucifer pulled on a smile as the man’s bleary attention drifted around the room before settling on him. “Hello, Darling. Sleep well?”

The doctor merely blinked at him, his brow furrowed a little. Slowly, he seemed to realize where he was. “As well as one can when they’ve been shot.” Henry’s voice croaked a little as he spoke, a stark difference from his usual well-spoken self. His attention shifted to where Lucifer himself had been shot.

Chuckling softly, Lucifer patted his once-wounded shoulder. “Mm, yes, I can imagine. No need to worry about me, though. It’s all better now.”

Henry’s eyes still held a multitude of questions, but the man held his tongue. He nodded slowly before shifting into a more upright position. He winced slightly as he did so.

At Henry’s grimace, Lucifer stood, debating whether or not to help him. He decided against it and was left standing awkwardly halfway to the bed. “Ah,” he started, dropping his hands to his sides. “I suppose I should thank you for saving my life. Again.”

Doctor Morgan’s lips twitched with amusement. “Of course.”

“I’ll try not to make a habit of it, at least.”

A small smile split Henry’s facade. “Hoping to return the favor someday?”

Lucifer froze, not sure how to respond to the question. He licked his lips before answering. “I do deal in favors. It’d be the proper thing to do.”

Henry’s smile dimmed slightly, and Lucifer wondered if he had said the wrong thing. Hastily, he straightened his shoulders, smoothing his blazer. “Right, I—” He trailed off and dropped his gaze. “I’ll leave you to rest. The LAPD will want you on your feet as soon as possible.” Shaking off the doctor’s curious stare, he walked from the room.

Lucifer was sitting at his piano in his penthouse when Doctor Morgan emerged from the elevator doors. It had been nearly a week since they had last spoken. Lucifer had avoided the hospital since his last visit to Henry, despite Chloe’s urgings. The detective had told him that the doctor was on the mend, so Lucifer found no reason to visit him (or so he tried to convince himself).

The Devil turned to greet his visitor, raising the glass of bourbon he was nursing. “Ah, Doctor! I suppose I should have been expecting a visit from you. All better now? No more bullets turning you into swiss cheese?”

Henry chuckled softly, stopping beside the bar. “I could ask the same of you, you know.”

“I will return the favor one day. Promise.” Lucifer grinned and shot the doctor a wink. He took a sip of his bourbon. “I’ll be the knight in shining armor saving you from a hail of bullets.”

Henry’s smile grew faint. “I… hope it doesn’t come to that.” He swallowed and cleared his throat, straightening. He, Lucifer noticed, still favored his uninjured side.

“Right.” The Devil spoke into the awkward silence. He stood in a fluid movement, setting aside his glass. “Care for a drink?” He edged towards the bar.

“No, thank you.”

Pulled up short, Lucifer paused and fiddled with his hands before waving towards the couch. “Have a seat, at least? Did you pop by to discuss something, or did you just wish to exchange pleasantries?”

Henry eyed the offered seat before walking over and sinking into the cushions. “To talk, actually. If you aren’t busy, that is.”

“No, not at all.” Grabbing his tumbler, Lucifer joined the doctor, sitting opposite of him.

Henry watched him before speaking. “It was Detective Decker, actually, who suggested I come see you. She said you had been avoiding… well, everyone.”

That wasn’t entirely true, Lucifer wanted to scoff. He’d stopped by Chloe’s apartment a few times, mostly on the spawn’s insistence. Sure, he’d skipped out on the current case, but that was only because it was dreadfully boring—mall murderers killing ‘innocent’ soccer moms seemed a little above his pay grade.

“Mhm, well, yes. Just taking a little break. Getting shot takes a lot out of a person—even the Devil. I’m sure you understand.” He turned the amber-filled glass between his fingers.

“Of course. She was simply concerned.” Henry paused, his attention flicking to the spot where Lucifer had been shot. “You are alright, aren’t you?”

The amount of concern in the doctor’s voice surprised Lucifer, and he lifted his head to meet Doctor Morgan’s gaze. “Absolutely. S’not my first brush with mortality. Certainly shant be my last.” Lucifer pulled on a charming grin.

Henry nodded slowly, breaking the scrutinizing stare. He opened his mouth and shut it again, as if he considered saying something but deciding against it. The doctor released a sigh through his nose and stood. “Lucifer.”

The Devil tilted his head up towards the man, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“I—if you ever need someone to talk to—about anything—I’d be willing to lend an ear.”

Lucifer blinked, taken aback by the man’s sincerity. He stayed silent before speaking. “Likewise, Doctor.”

Nodding again, Henry continued to the elevator. As the door opened and washed him in golden light, the doctor turned back towards the Devil. “Do try to stay out of trouble.”

A smirk crawled onto Lucifer’s lips, and he inclined his glass towards the man. “No promises.”