Chapter Text
The criminal rate in Pentagram City was spiking through the roof and Inspector Detective Lucifer Morningstar knew that the whole existence of legal system he was supposed to maintain was useless there. He lost his enthusiasm years ago, and he kept asking himself for what he was even there. To do paperwork, of course, because no one wanted to deal with the hundreds of petty crimes going on around every week. Back in the day, when Sera was still in charge of the precinct, his name meant something. She relied on him in the most difficult of cases, knowing that he had the ability to crack anything she might throw his way. Then, these two clowns - Adam and Lute - showed up with "proof" that Sera was a dirty cop and turned Lucifer's world around. He would never forget the hurt in Sera's eyes when he didn't support her at the court. Too much was on the line for him then (and how terrible excuse was that?) So, now he was stuck in the office doing work that even a trained monkey could manage, under the lead of two tyrants who work for the underground, arresting only those criminals that failed to pay the ridiculous "mercy tax". At the end of every second month, Adam and Lute went over their accounting ledges, to find the biggest unpaying fish in the sea to "exterminate," as they called it jokingly among themselves.
Maybe, just maybe, a day would come when everything would get back in order.
One didn't have to be a crime-solving genius to know that something or rather someone big was about to turn up on their doorstep, for it only took one look at Peter's pale face as he ended his call with Lute to figure it out. The boy, usually so cheerful and bright, was trembling with terror. He was hardly able to grab the keys from the pre-trial detention cells. Not long after, he heard the main gate screeching and Lute shouting insults. She kicked the door to the precinct open, pushing the perp inside with the point of her shiny silver gun stabbed between his shoulder blades. Lucifer noticed that there was a slash wound across the man's chest but despite the pain it must have caused him and the gruesome way the officer was managing him, there was a confident smile on his face. He was quiet too. Usually, these things didn't go smoothly, with every criminal putting up a fight with every officer within arm's length. This one looked much timider, and therefore interesting.
He was taller than Lucifer (although, that wasn't anything exceptional given his unremarkable height), with messy brown hair, dressed up in old-fashioned red suit. His left eye drifted slightly outward, giving the impression he was looking at two things at once. That sounded familiar... With one kick to the desk, Lucifer sent his office chair wheeling across the floor. It eventually bumped into a file cabinet and stopped. Aj- Ak- Al- there it was! The description fit the man perfectly and so Lucifer knew with unmistakable certainty that he was staring into the face of Alastor, a former radio host, better known as The Louisiana Cannibal.
Hmm. Maybe that day wasn't so far away...
Having put on a brave face, Peter strode up to the cell and held it open. However, Alastor stood glued to the spot, making no move to get behind bars. Instead, his head was turned, and his other eye was fixed on Lucifer with whom he was at least as fascinated as the inspector was with him. Lucifer was used to intimidation, but this man was no ordinary scum, and so he stared back with strange calmness in his heart.
"Move, your fucking ass inside!" Lute shouted maniacally, hitting Alastor over the head with the gun. The criminal grinned, his smile faltering for a mere second before he finally obeyed the young officer's orders. He stopped in the middle of the cell, with back straight, eyes searching and remained like that for as long as Adam and Lute were present in the building. Only once they left, laughing at their stupid private jokes and high fiving each other for the job well done, Alastor's forehead broke out in cold sweat. It was late, late enough for Lucifer to call it a day, and yet, when Peter approached him, he already knew that it wasn't going to happen.
It is worth mentioning that Peter was a young police warden with angelic blond hair who became part of the precinct only recently after Husk quit his job (according to Adam and Lute, he mailed them his resignation, which didn't sound at all like his style, but Lucifer was far too afraid to search for him anywhere, because the last time they talked, nasty things were said and they probably weren't friends anymore) and had respect for the senior colleagues on duty. In regard to Lucifer, his respect bordered on fear, no matter how much the Inspector smiled at or praised him. It was frustrating whenever he started stuttering in front of him, petrified to say something wrong that could anger Lucifer who, by the way, didn't feel scary or easy to offend at all. He liked to think of himself as intimidating to the perps and friendly to his acquittances.
"Aren't you going home, sir?" As for Peter's job, he was the one staying at the station and guarding criminals held in the cells. Recalling his expression from earlier, Lucifer couldn't let the innocent blond spend the whole night with Alastor alone.
"I was hoping I could keep you company for the night." He flashed the young man one of his charming smiles, but Peter looked at him even more nervously as if Lucifer had too many teeth in his mouth.
"But-"
"Or do you wish me to give you some privacy here with Mr. Al McCreepyface over there?"
Peter risked a glance behind himself - Alastor gave him a wide shark-like smile. The corners of his mouth twitched - a sign that he was doing his best to hide the pain his untreated injury must have been inducing from the moment he was brought in. The whole afternoon, he kept them all guessing how high his pain tolerance was. If a long bleeding slash across the chest only made his smile twitch and forehead to sweat, then he might as well react like that to one of his limbs being severed from his body. Let's be real, given his nickname, he'd be even happy to have a severed limb to nibble on. Lucifer could deny him the pleasure, but he wouldn't.
"N-no, sir," the warden shook his head nervously. "Y-you may suggest that it is n-none of my business and you'd be absolutely right, just-" Lucifer rested his head on the palm of his hand, telling himself to be patient, because losing his temper would do no one any good. Peter's seemingly pointless rant surprisingly had a point, and not exactly an insignificant one: "What about Charlie?"
Oh. What kind of a father forgets about his daughter? His eyes snapped towards the clock and the number they saw flooded him with panic. She's been alone at home for more than four hours now! "Shit!" he cursed under his breath. "Look, we can still make this work. Just a sec, I'll give you-" Lucifer wildly rummaged through the papers on his office desk until he found what he was looking for and handed it to Peter. "Here! Keys to my house. I must ask you to go there and make sure Charlie is taken care of while I finish my business here. Could you do it for me?"
The suggestion made Peter relax as he looked at the keys in the palm of his hand fondly. "Of course," he said softly but then his forehead wrinkled with worry. "Won't she be afraid when a strange man suddenly appears on the doorstep of her home?" Charlie was a ten-year-old girl with so many talents and interests Lucifer couldn't ever count them. Well, it's true that he hadn't ever really been engaged much in her activities. Although he wanted to spend more time with her, desperately so, he wasn't strong enough to do it. He hated himself for the bad thoughts that always flooded him when he was near her while, at the same time, his heart suffered whenever she was out of his sight. Her smile was like the sun - burned the eyes when you looked at it for too long and made you mournful when not seen under the dark clouds of depression. At least on Lucifer it had this effect.
Embarrassingly enough, it was Peter who was concerned whether his arrival wouldn't cause little Charlie a shock, and not Lucifer, to whom similar thought didn't occur at all. "Don't worry. Apparently, she can somehow detect who's friend or fiend, plus, considering your hair and face, she might even welcome you as some kind of an angelic protector," he waved it off, trying to sound casual, and could only hope that the girl wouldn't start freaking out once Peter entered the house. The argument was enough for the gullible warden to finally agree and leave, which left Lucifer alone with Alastor.
Observing from afar the dried blood all over the criminal's vest and pinstriped pants, Lucifer decided that it was just enough blood loss for one day and approached the cell with a first aid kit in one hand. Alastor watched the box being shoved in between the bars and to his feet, then he glanced skeptically at the other man. The Inspector had to laugh. "I admit that it would be hilarious if something deadly jumped out of it to kill you, but I'd honestly prefer if you survived this and actually attended your trial." Alastor contemplated his choices, then nodded his head gracefully and kneeled to rummage through the medical supplies.
"There are no scissors to cut the thread or the bandages," he complained. Unfortunately for him, Lucifer belonged among those responsible people who believe that children and criminals shouldn't be allowed to wield scissors and kept the sharp tool locked away safely.
The Inspector shrugged with his arms folded on his chest and suggested: "Use your teeth." The other was smiling, but at the same time looked utterly unimpressed. His eyes never wasted time looking at meaningless things - they avoided Lute before and avoided the pain-relievers now too. So, instead of popping the lid of the pill bottle open, he grabbed the thread and attempted to pull it through the eye of the needle. A minute and thirty tries later, when no progress was made, Lucifer's patience was wearing thin. "Have you seriously never had to patch yourself up before?" Alastor stopped squinting at the chirurgical needle at once, dropping his hands into his lap. Lucifer threw his hands up in surrender: "I'm just stating the obvious. You're not at all skilled with this."
"I would be, if I had two functioning eyes like a certain someone who's amused by watching a victim of police brutality struggle with simple seamstress task," the Cannibal remarked snarkily.
"Can't you just cover the lazy eye? Or close it?"
"For starters, I need to use both hands to accomplish the task I'm burdened with. And then..." he made a small pause, his eyes leaving Lucifer, drifting to the side self-consciously. "Not everyone possesses the ability to wink or otherwise manipulate their vision." The Inspector would call bullshit on that, if he hadn't witnessed it - Peter couldn't wink even if his life depended on it and it was hilarious. They didn't bully him over it or mock him for it. The warden offered his bad attempted winks to cheer the group up whenever the mood wasn't the best. It was granted to make them all smile and think positively again.
"Alright," Lucifer sighed with resignation and went to grab the keys. After years of service, he lost any illusion about the perps they were catching. They were all skilled liars and manipulators. At the same time, he considered them sad cases, who were born with sin in their blood and thus couldn't really help behaving the way to which they were made. Alastor's bad blood came from his father and, as the file disclosed, he killed him to rid his mother of the abuser, although there was evidence suggesting that Alastor suffered a great deal as a child under the man's firm hand. It is tragic to imagine what thoughts haunted the young mind when it tore flesh apart from bones in a fit of dangerous fury. According to the profiler, there surprisingly aren't many things that could trigger the Cannibal to strike. On the other hand, certain behavioral patterns apparent from Alastor's murders also show that the calm demeanor broke easily in situations others would see as too trivial to be worth spending years in jail for. Bearing all of this in mind, Lucifer entered the cell.
He knelt in front of Alastor, their knees an inch apart from touching, and offered his cupped hand. When the perp handed over the needle and thread, Lucifer took it as permission to stitch him up but before he started, he made a gesture towards the painkillers. The other shook his head resolutely. It was his choice if he wanted to suffer more and who was Lucifer to go against his wishes? Still, he refrained from putting the pill bottle away just in case he changed his mind. Slowly, Alastor's fingers worked their way down the buttons of his vest and shirt, holding the fabric apart without taking a single layer off. Such modesty was to be expected if you had read the files.
Despite acting all tough, Lucifer noticed very subtle clues indicating that Alastor was, in fact, suppressing a wince whenever the needle went through the skin. Perhaps it was the late hour that made the Inspector soft - next thing he knew, he started talking to the criminal, to distract him from the agony. "It's been, how long, seven years since your last murder? Man, I remember it like yesterday. New Orleans, right? Everyone expected you to show up there eventually, your beloved hometown, and you knew it. It must have felt like a challenge, I bet." Alastor's expression got dreamy with a tinge of sadness as he recalled those times. "The only ones who saw your face that day were the gutted victims police found in a sewer. Speculations were that one of the bodies belonged to you. What a masterful deceit. I thought you were dead, and it is kind of unbelievable to see you from up close, alive and breathing."
"Did you work on my case?"
Not expecting the monologue to become a dialogue, Lucifer momentarily fell silent. To hide his surprise, he busied his teeth with the thread, cutting it, then continued: "I did. Well, at least for a while until I was dismissed from service from the FBI."
"Why were you dismissed?"
Lucifer shrugged, securing the bandages around the criminal's stitched up torso. "For making a rather bad timed decision. Also, they didn't like how deep I was getting into the case. Thinking about it, leaving the team temporarily robbed me of any enthusiasm I had and anything I did from then on was... sloppy and without real passion. The feeling was lost to me, never to be found again." He no longer wanted to elaborate on the topic, knowing that he couldn't say more without revealing too much and decided to promptly change the topic: "There you go! This should last for a while. Still, you should find a way to redress it in a few days."
The two eyes, one healthy and one defective, were on him again, boring into his skin with even greater intensity than before and he allowed it. After all, this was Alastor's rare opportunity to take a better look at Lucifer, before the Inspector would be forced to put distance in between them, going too far to be more than a blurred image. "Thank you," Alastor's smile stretched wide. And it continued to grow off to the sides until it looked insane and menacing. "For all this and the gun." Gun?! Before he could pat his backside where he kept his pistol safely hidden away, he found himself standing at the gunpoint of a familiar nuzzle. Everything after that happened too fast. There were five gunshots in total. Something strong hit his chest, making him stumble back and fall painfully. Lucifer couldn't hear anything through the tinnitus in his left ear but one thing he knew for sure - he wasn't shot. Looking around, he saw that the one camera attached to the wall outside the cell had been destroyed.
Alastor checked the empty magazine before tossing the gun away as if it was covered in filth. He looked satisfied with the mess he had made and when he checked on Lucifer, he even threw his arms out in delighted surprise. "One target out of two hit! I could never have hoped myself to be more successful!" The Inspector was still partially deaf from the gunshot that must have luckily missed him thanks to the perp's bad eyesight. Something about what happened didn't sit right with him. The Cannibal's victims were never shot, only stabbed, strangled, or otherwise mutilated by the murderer's hands. Why use Lucifer's gun now? Out of desperation? One question piled over another, and he knew he would never ask any of them aloud because he preferred subtle hints for him to interpret them, solve them, rather than have the truth spoiled.
Having collected the empty shells and sorted through the remnants of the surveillance technology for a memory card, the taller man offered a hand to Lucifer, who itched to take it but was determined to resist in favor of not having his arm ripped away like the one musician in Nashville who angered Alastor by declaring Jazz to be dead. Seeing his reluctance, the other flexed his fingers, his jaw tightening the slightest bit: "I missed, you're alive. Today is clearly not your day to perish and who am I to challenge destiny? After all, if you are smart and cooperative, we could both gain something good out of this."
Reluctantly, he let himself be pulled up on his feet. "I'm not getting involved in your games!" he spat, brushing dirt from his clothes.
"Too bad. You're already playing." Although Lucifer's face mirrored an expression of a shocked person, he felt excitement pump through his veins, prompting his heart to pound strongly against his ribcage. "From the viewpoint of this ugly thing, which, by the way, is substandard in terms of performance in comparison to the classic camera obscura, you might as well be dead, and who is a better accomplice than a dead man?"
"How is that relevant? It's not like anyone can get to the footage now to 'see me die' as you suggested," Lucifer said, taking up the role of the voice of reason, for he knew well that the camera's data recovery was very unlikely at this point.
"You are right to a certain extent. Truly, no one will be able to rewatch the little show I put up here, but that is beyond the point, considering that they have already seen it live." The implication of being watched was ridiculous. No one would bother watching the boring police station where the only excitement means stealing ribs from Adam's food delivery. "I hear the sound of the cogwheels in your head turning. You probably think me insane." The last sentence came out as mere observation, untouched by judgement or anger.
"No." His thoughts were leading him in a whole other direction, the details of which he wasn't about to disclose aloud and insanity he dismissed immediately. Alastor has been around the criminal underworld for long enough to know of complex secret schemes the police had no chance of discovering unless they somehow got involved, however, those who get involved never report it as they either become converted or dead. Lucifer wasn't driven by power. The thing that got him going was justice, and that made him differ from all the rest. He could be the one bringing back order to this God forsaken city. Well... with a small help. His eyes drifted to his potential partner. "So, someone's watching you?"
"They watch all of us. Every second of our lives."
"How? And who exactly are they?"
He followed the tall man with his gaze as he walked around, humming a tune Lucifer didn't recognize until he settled on a chair, his leg crossed over one knee. "Let's talk business first." The change of tone annoyed Lucifer but at the same time he was curious what might come out of it. "With my influence, money and equipment, I am your perfect man in the background. The rest is on you, the one who will find a way to publicly expose their activities and tear down their empire. If you help me, and we succeed, I'm going to turn myself in as a reward." Lucifer certainly didn't expect that. Not to mention how casually Alastor said it - while smiling and picking at a blood that collected under his nails - as if giving himself up didn't mean an instant death sentence. The perp was smart and must have been aware of the capital punishment that would inevitably come. The offer was rather tempting though. With an achievement like that, Lucifer's voice would finally be heard, and he would tell everyone about Adam's wrongdoing. He would bring order back to Pentagram City. He would bring Sera back.
"What's in it for you?"
At that moment, it was as if Alastor's mask lifted, revealing his true self - a pitch-black darkness with two red gleaming sparks for eyes and pearl-white teeth sharper than razors. His voice appeared a tone or two deeper as he growled: "I'm going to have my revenge." It all was a sign of wreath so great that Lucifer dreaded imagining what they did to make the coldhearted murderer’s blood boil like that. From what he knew from the files and from what he remembered from his work in the field, there were only few places where he would be vulnerable. They were cracks in Alastor's shield. Hitting any of them would hurt the otherwise invulnerable man. So, the options were limited, but each one scored high on the scale of tragedy. Suddenly, the perp's face lit up as the careless mask clicked back in its permanent place. "So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?" He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand.
It should have taken him more time to agree. No. He shouldn't have agreed at all! Nonetheless, there was no time for pondering whether teaming up with a criminal to overthrow another criminal from a pedestal to get credit for catching both said criminals was morally correct or not. After all, they had already sealed the deal with a handshake.
"What now?" he asked, wondering if Alastor had something planned or if he was making up the plan as he went.
The former radio host got up on his feet swiftly. "Now you have to do exactly what I say." He demanded to know Lucifer's address and then, being familiar with all blind spots of the city surveillance, instructed him how to get home to avoid being seen on any of the street cameras. The criminal must have the complete map of vast Pentagram City burned into memory because otherwise there was no way he could remember every corner of it. This sign of obsessive behavior anchored Lucifer's theory about Alastor going through a trauma that made him disappear for so many years. "Get there safely, kindly make sure the blondie keeps his mouth shut or I will do it my way, and we will meet tomorrow to discuss further details of our plan."
"Meet? But where will I find you?"
With one foot already crossing the threshold, Alastor craned his head to look behind himself. "If there was a radio show about asking questions, I would employ you as the co-host!" he laughed. "Remember, I get found only if I want to, so, wait until I contact you, which will happen soon." Lucifer wondered if getting caught by Adam and the slash wound over his chest were also something Alastor wanted. It would open doors to many new questions but just as the perp, Lucifer was also already fed up with them. "Oh, and leave a bit of your blood on the floor, will you?" Having said that, the taller man was out under the midnight cloak of darkness and with him also disappeared the spell Lucifer must have been under when he agreed to all those things. Nonetheless, even as he cut his forearm with the sharp edge of the scissors he previously confiscated and watched the thick red liquid drip on the floor in front of the cell, he couldn't bring himself to regret the choice he had made. Fighting the smile that threatened to spread over his features, he left the office, leaving there all his personal possessions except for a family photo he kept inside a drawer, which he tucked away inside his jacket.
In the safety of his apartment, Lucifer felt his tense muscles relax. He shed his jacket, and, in the mirror, he adjusted the white vest with accentuating pink pinstripes. Taking one last look at himself, he gave his hair a quick brush with his fingers, he whispered: "Just act natural." After all, who better than he knew how to be in a cheerful mood when there's absolutely nothing to be cheerful about? When he was at the rock bottom, a smile was the only thing that helped him keep things together. It helped him keep Charlie in blissful ignorance. He wouldn't ever allow the little girl to see how much he was struggling at times, because otherwise, he feared he could lose her.
Thinking of his daughter, he couldn't wait to check on her in bed and kiss her forehead to scare away any bad dreams that might attempt to haunt her but firstly, he had to deal with another youngster. Peter was curled up on a sofa, snoring quietly. There were three cups on the table. The first one, painted in colors of rainbow, was empty and smelled of tea. The second one, white with golden winged books had remnants of coffee on the bottom. The last one carried a simple message: 'the Gratest Dad' (when Charlie presented him with her creation for his birthday, he didn't have the heart to bring up the bad spelling) and was full to the brim with now cold chocolate drink and one too many marshmallows. He picked up the last one and took a sip, then he reached out his hand to gently shake Peter awake.
The warden frowned, slowly opened his eyes, and hurled himself on his feet once his sight landed on his boss. "To your disposal, sir!" Lucifer had to laugh. He told him to relax and report on how things went in his absence from home. "Charlotte acted very responsible and didn't let me in until I described my badge and told her its serial number. She originally wanted me to draw a picture of the badge on a piece of paper she slipped under the door, but I didn't have a pencil on me and her crayon didn't fit through the keyhole." That was such a Charlie thing to do. Lucifer felt immensely proud. He reached into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and produced a twenty-dollar bill. Peter stared at him, confused. "I can't take that from you."
"Why can't you? I'm giving it to you for babysitting my daughter, with no strings attached. After all, I'm sure it was quite an inconvenience," he said, to persuade Peter to take the money. To emphasize it further, he waved with the valuable paper.
To his surprise, the warden shook his head. "Seeing Charlotte was the highlight of my whole week, maybe even the whole month if I'm completely honest with myself. So, I won't take the money because you've already given me enough," he said softly. Lucifer could swear he had never witnessed the young man looking so sad. "You are so lucky to have her, sir, to await you at home every day after you come back from work... after the mistreatment temporarily ends and you are allowed to breathe again." The Inspector wasn't the only one who mastered the art of hiding his true emotions, it seemed. He noticed that Adam was harsher on Peter than on the rest of the officers because the warden was the youngest in the precinct but naively believed that he didn't let the insults get to him. "Looking at Charlotte and her genuine joy of life is like looking at the Morning Star. She's a promise of better days coming." Peter turned to the slightly open pink door, fondness apparent in his gaze, then his eyes drifted back to his boss. "Don't ever let her go."
"I won't," Lucifer promised, for he was a lot of things, but fool wasn't one of them. From the moment he realized that Lilith, Charlie's mother, had left him to take care of the little girl on his own, he knew he would never give her up. Nevertheless, he wouldn't say a peep if Charlie ever decided to go her own way without him. The reason for that was simple - Lucifer just wasn't good enough to be a single father. The teachers at school called it parental neglect as if he were forgetting to check Charlie's homework deliberately. As if he was always working overtime deliberately. Forgetting her on purpose... They never paused to think about the position he had been thrown into, with little possibility of escaping from it, because otherwise they would know better than to think that a depressed man who resorts to way over-the-top behavior when feeling caged with a tendency to isolate himself from the rest of the world could ever be capable of A++ parenting. Lucifer had no idea what Charlie's stance towards him would come to be like once she's old enough to be aware of everything that was wrong with her upbringing. He only knew that he wouldn't stand in a way of her happiness, even if it meant having his heart broken yet again.
"I s-should get going," Peter said, rubbing his arm awkwardly. Lucifer walked him to the front door, once again thanking him for the service. Standing face to face with the fair-haired warden in the doorway, Alastor's words dawned on him - '... kindly make sure the blondie keeps his mouth shut or I will do it my way...'
"One more thing." The other looked at him expectantly. Although Lucifer rehearsed this on the way home, it couldn't prepare him for this moment. He had to choose his words wisely not to reveal too much and put the boy in danger. "Throughout the days that are about to come, you may hear bad rumors about me, and I need to know you have my back. Please, don't tell anyone you were here or that we had this conversation. I know it will sound insane, but I also must ask you to avoid being seen by the street cameras on your way out of here. It's difficult to explain-" A squeeze of his shoulder made him stop talking.
"No need to explain anything," Peter smiled. "I have never regretted putting my trust in you and I have no reason to believe this time should be any different." Perhaps, the innocent warden was secretly a guardian angel after all. His face fell after that. "My only concern is if you and Charlotte will be alright."
"I'll make sure she'll be in good hands while I'm away. And as for myself, I promise to get back alive enough to rid this city of corruption and set us all free from our cages." The assurance put the gullible warden's heart at ease. Lucifer watched him go, thinking about the luck he got. Taking a sip of his chocolate, he locked the door with his free hand. With the cup still in hand, he comically sneaked into Charlie's room through the slightly open door. With steps lighter than feathers, he approached the bed, bent down to tug the soft strands of blond hair behind the little ear and plant a kiss on the newly exposed temple. He knew that his deal with Alastor was about to change his life forever (for better or for worse) but it was the thing of tomorrow. His top priority today was to enjoy the last few hours of his old life in peace and blissful ignorance of the threads that were to come.