Lucifer, But I'm Not The Devil

The hum of the precinct was a chaotic symphony of phones ringing, conversations buzzing, and footsteps clicking against the tiled floor. Chloe sat at her desk, her mind racing with thoughts of Sariel. His cold, piercing gaze and cryptic words had left her with more questions than answers. Lopez had done her best to lighten the mood on the drive back, but even her usual sunny demeanor couldn't shake the unease that had settled over Chloe.

The precinct doors swung open, and in strolled Lucifer Morningstar. His stride was as self-assured as ever, his tailored black suit and silk shirt catching the light. He oozed charm and confidence, his devil-may-care smile already in place. He spotted Dan across the room and, unable to resist, made a beeline for him.

"Detective Douche!" Lucifer exclaimed, spreading his arms wide as if greeting an old friend. "Still as delightfully mediocre as ever, I see."

Dan groaned, his shoulders slumping as he turned to face him. "Lucifer, I'm not in the mood for your crap today."

Lucifer tilted his head, his grin widening. "Oh, but you're always in the mood for my crap. Admit it—you'd miss me terribly if I weren't around."

Dan muttered something under his breath and waved him off, but Lucifer only laughed, patting him on the shoulder before turning his attention to the bullpen. His gaze landed on Chloe, who was already on her feet, her expression a mix of irritation and urgency.

"Lucifer," she called, her voice sharp. " With me. Now."

Lucifer blinked, his smile faltering slightly. "Oh dear, someone's in a mood." But he followed her, his steps light and unhurried, as if he were strolling into a cocktail party rather than a private interrogation.

Chloe led him to an unused conference room, closing the door behind them with a snap. She turned to face him, arms crossed, her jaw tight. Lucifer leaned casually against the table, his hands resting on the edge, watching her with curious amusement.

"Detective," he began, his tone teasing, "you seem… agitated. Dare I ask who—or what—has vexed you so?"

Chloe didn't take the bait. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she jabbed a finger toward him. "When were you planning to tell me you have a twin brother?"

Lucifer's smirk vanished. His posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing as confusion flickered across his face. "Twin brother?" he echoed, his voice lower now, tinged with suspicion. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

Chloe didn't back down. "Sariel," she said sharply. "He showed up at the crime scene. Looks exactly like you—white suit, same face, same stupid air of superiority. Only he's colder, and way charming."

Lucifer frowned, his jaw tightening. "Sariel?" he repeated, his tone laced with disdain. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

Chloe shook her head, but the memory of Sariel's words sent a shiver down her spine. "No, he didn't hurt me. He just waltzed in, examined the body like he owned the place, and said it wasn't 'Mother's handiwork.' Then he made some cryptic comment about not digging too much into his business unless I wanted to get hurt." Her voice rose slightly, her frustration bubbling over. "And he kept referring to Ella and me as humans—like he's not!"

Lucifer's expression darkened. He straightened, pushing off the table and pacing the small room. His usually smooth features were taut with tension, his lips pressed into a thin line. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture sharp and agitated.

"What is wrong with your family, Lucifer?" Chloe demanded, her tone sharp but tinged with disbelief. "First, you tell me you're the devil, and now your brother—who, I'm guessing, is an angel—shows up at a crime scene? Seriously, what kind of soap opera is this?"

Lucifer stopped pacing, turning to face her. His eyes softened slightly, though his frustration was evident in the furrow of his brow. "Detective, I assure you, I had no idea Sariel would be here. He and I… we're not exactly close." His voice dropped, the usual bravado giving way to something more subdued. "And as for his behavior, well… let's just say he's always had a flair for condescension."

Chloe threw up her hands, exasperated. "Great. So now I have to deal with you and your cryptic, judgmental brother? Fantastic."

Lucifer stepped closer, his usual charm returning in small, measured doses. He tilted his head, studying her with an almost boyish sincerity. "I'll handle Sariel," he said softly, his tone unusually serious. "He has no right to interfere with your work—or your life."

Chloe met his gaze, her anger cooling slightly as she saw the flicker of genuine concern in his eyes. But she wasn't ready to let him off the hook. "You'd better," she muttered, crossing her arms again. "Because the next time he shows up, I'm not letting him walk away without answers. And that goes for you, too, Lucifer."

Lucifer offered a small, wry smile, though the tension in his posture remained. "Noted, Detective," he said, his voice light but his eyes dark with unspoken thoughts. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I have a sibling to… reacquaint myself with."

Lucifer's hand rested on the door handle as he turned back to Chloe, his usual cocky grin faded, replaced by a fleeting moment of contemplation. There was something in the air, a lingering tension that refused to dissipate. He paused, exhaling slowly, then turned fully to face the exit. As his fingers wrapped around the handle, he could feel the weight of the words he had just spoken. He was used to control, used to always having the upper hand, but Sariel's appearance, and the uneasy truth Chloe had brought to the surface, unsettled him more than he'd care to admit.

The door swung open, and he stepped into the bustling bullpen once more, the sounds of ringing phones and muffled conversations filling the space like static. His steps, usually confident and purposeful, slowed a fraction. He reached for his phone in his pocket, the cool, polished surface of the device cold against his fingertips. He checked it quickly, but there were no messages. No calls.

His gaze flicked to the precinct's entrance, where the last of the day's sunlight was seeping through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor. That's when the thought struck him. In one fluid motion, Lucifer pressed his palms together as if in prayer, his expression becoming strangely serious. He muttered a few words under his breath, a silent plea for guidance, for some sign of divine intervention. But when he opened his eyes, there was nothing. Not even the faintest flicker of recognition from the cosmos he once so casually manipulated.

He blinked, raising a single brow, his lips curling into a mixture of disbelief and faint amusement. "When you need him the most, he never shows up," Lucifer muttered softly, as though speaking to an invisible force just beyond his reach. His voice was smooth, but there was an undercurrent of frustration threading through it, a reminder that despite his bravado, there were moments when even he felt the weight of the world, or perhaps his own limitations.

For a moment, he allowed the silence to linger, his fingers still pressed together in a mock prayer, as if waiting for some celestial response that would never come. He exhaled slowly, rolling his eyes with exaggerated flair as if mocking his own actions. The familiar gleam returned to his eyes, but it was fleeting, an echo of his usual cockiness. His hands dropped to his sides, his posture straightening as he pushed away from the doorway.

"Well then," he mused, more to himself than anyone else. "A brother to deal with and no divine help. What a day."

Lucifer gave one last glance toward the chaos of the precinct, noting Chloe's distant figure in the corner of his eye, still enveloped in her own cloud of frustration and confusion. He could feel her eyes on him even though she wasn't looking directly at him. It was strange, how she always managed to see through him, to strip away the armor he so carefully cultivated. But today, it was clear—she was still waiting for him to give her something, anything, that would make sense of this chaos. Her chaos. And the chaos he had created.

He pushed through the glass doors of the precinct, the cool evening air hitting him like a wave. The city stretched out before him, the hum of distant traffic, the flicker of streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. Lucifer's gaze softened for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at the sky, that old familiar sense of rebellion stirring within him. The world had always been a stage for him—a place to play, to provoke, to manipulate. But now? Now, it felt like the script was changing, and for once, he wasn't sure what came next.

With a flick of his wrist, the luxury of his car came into view. He walked towards it, each step purposeful, but not rushed. There was no need to hurry—not now, not with the world at his fingertips. But there was something in the air, something different. A shift he couldn't quite place.

He slipped into the driver's seat of his sleek black convertible, his hands gripping the wheel as his eyes scanned the empty road ahead. His fingers drummed lightly on the leather, a habitual gesture of impatience. The engine roared to life, and he leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly as the city lights blurred past.

This wasn't over—not by a long shot.