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I don't own any of this. That honor goes to Neil Gaiman, Vertigo,
DC Comics, Netflix, Warner Bros., and (Dad-help-us), Fox. Use of and
sharing by others, in any way, shape or form, is not allowed.
Unless you're one of the actual owners of the LUCIFER property, of
course, then feel free to use any bit of or all of it with my
enthusiastic blessing. I wouldn't even want compensation or credit.
Really.
The Whole Truth
“Lucifer?”
Lucifer
looked up from the half-full tumbler of bourbon he had been
contemplating from his seat on his Italian leather couch, and saw the
Detective’s offspring, Beatrice, staring at him. He was surprised to
realize how much she had grown in the—what had it been—seven years since
the day they met on the bench at her old elementary school. The impish
little human with the upper row of missing front teeth and the
mischievous smile that lit up a room was now a teenager, having passed
through the urchin stage, now racing toward adulthood, and he wondered
how he had missed the transformation.
She’d
gone from “cute” (her mother’s and grandmother’s descriptions) little
graphic tee-shirts, leggings, and pigtails, to jeans, nice tops,
tasteful jewelry, an actual hairstyle that required at least a small
amount of daily maintenance, and the occasional application of the small
amounts of makeup her mother allowed. And then there were the hormonal
human male children who seemed to want to spend entirely too much
of their attention on her these days—he drove that thought from his mind and
returned to his consideration of Beatrice.
It was
odd having the young human loose in his home, but he had long ago
developed a genuine fondness for her. Being with Beatrice allowed him to
release his mischievous side to a degree and he rather enjoyed that
opportunity. Though he would admit it to no one, he found that most
times, Beatrice was fun to be around.
“Your mother is napping, child,”
he told her. “She had a long night on a case and decided to get a few
winks in before heading back home. She’ll take you both home once
she wakes and has something to eat.”
He
realized that “breakfast” would probably be one of those incessant egg
sandwiches she seemed to prefer, but whatever made the woman he loved
happy was fine with the Devil. Of course, that did not mean he wouldn’t
have one right along with her. He had come to know them as being a kind
of comfort food for her, and he would not be the one to take such a
thing away from her.
Chloe
Decker was intelligent, serious, stubborn, and beautiful both inside and
out--and she knew who and what he was and continued to stand by him as a
partner both in work and in his personal life, accepting him exactly as
he was. When first they met, he had insinuated himself into a position
as her partner in an effort to get her into bed, since she had flatly
refused his advances, something he had never before experienced. It was
not long before he was her partner, not only because he discovered he
liked working with her, but that she enjoyed working with him.
She chose
him, and that memory warmed his immortal heart. He returned his
attention to the Detective’s daughter, that internal warmth carrying
over to the urchin’s presence.
Originally, he had accepted the presence of young Beatrice only because
she was important to Chloe, but over time, he had developed actual
feelings for the child, but pretended that he merely tolerated her.
Only his
brother Amenadiel, Doctor Linda, Chloe and Beatrice knew better than
that, and they were kind enough to keep his secret.
“I wanted
to ask you about something,” Beatrice said, her expression unusually
serious. “Are you busy?”
“Not
really,” he replied. “Just doing some thinking. Whatever could you want
to ask me?”
“Remember
when Pierce made my Mom so sad,” Beatrice asked as she sat down next to
him. She kept her voice quiet. Such a serious face! “I was so angry.”
Lucifer
bristled. He remembered that night as though it had happened only
moments before, rather than a few years previous. Sleep deprived as a
result of some cruel gaslighting, he had pounded on their door,
demanding entrance. Little Beatrice had answered the door, her
expression a thundercloud. When he entered, he had seen his beloved on
the couch, her anguish so tangible he could feel it. It had taken no
thought at all for him to turn and leave, bent upon venting his fury on
“Pierce”.
If only
he had followed through on that original intent, instead of allowing the
world’s first murderer to live. Charlotte might still be alive now.
Renewed
pain. Hard, raw memory, tearing at his heart. Dear, sweet Charlotte, who
had also known who and what he was before even Chloe did, and accepted
him anyway. He trampled hard on those feelings, pushing them down and
back as best as he could. Even in death, Cain could still bring back
those emotions, and he hated it. Knowing the bastard was now undergoing
an eternity of torture in Hell helped, if only in the tiniest iota.
Back in
the here and now, Lucifer nodded, gritting his teeth in renewed fury. If
he could have killed the man again, he would gladly do so. He brought
his glass to his lips and pulled a small amount of bourbon into his
mouth, allowing it to rest atop his tongue, a burning amber lake that
teased his tastebuds.
“I never
thanked you for beating him up, so thank you,” Beatrice said, putting
her hand on his knee and giving it a light squeeze. She released his
knee, old enough now to know that Lucifer didn’t like to be touched. “I
was too small then, but if I could have, I would have done the same.”
Lucifer
choked on the sip of bourbon he had in his mouth, spraying some of the
expensive stuff out into the air, spattering onto the top of his coffee
table. This was not the conversation he had expected.
“Nobody
hurts my Mom and gets away with it,” Beatrice’s voice was flat and
seemed to promise mayhem. Looking at her in that moment, the Devil
realized that was likely the case. She was so much like her mother in
some ways, and in others, she was most certainly her own person.
“I can
promise you that, child,” Lucifer replied, squeezing her shoulder gently
with one hand. “I will not allow anyone to hurt your Mother.”
He
allowed his eyes to flash red before he realized what he was doing. He
waited for Beatrice to scream, but she smiled at him, instead.
“I wish I
could do that,” she said, wonder in her voice.
“Do
what?”
“Make my
eyes do that,” the girl explained. “I think it looks pretty cool.”
“Doesn’t
it frighten you?”
“Why?
You’re not mad at me, right?”
Lucifer
made a face, snorted a burst of air, and then shrugged. He was unable to
argue with her logic. And yes, he supposed it was pretty cool, as she
had described it.
“No, of
course I’m not mad at you, Beatrice,” he replied. “I simply forgot
myself when I remembered that night.”
“Thank
you for coming so fast that night,” she continued. “I was so mad, but
there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I’m glad you could.”
“Indeed.”
“Why did
she agree to marry him again?”
“I ask
myself that question all the time, child, but I suppose he was
exceptionally good at getting what he wanted. He’d had a long time to
learn how to make that happen.”
“What
happened to him? I know Mom said he was dead, but what happened?”
Lucifer
opened his mouth to answer, but Beatrice interrupted him.
“Everything that happened,” she said. “The whole truth, like Mom wants
when she asks me things.”
“You
should probably ask your Mother about that, child,” he suggested. He
wasn’t sure what Chloe would want her daughter to know and as he did not
lie, he knew that he would only tell the child the absolute truth.
“No, I
want to hear about it from you,” she replied. “I want to hear your side
of what happened. All of it.”
Well,
shit.
“Very
well, then,” he told her. “Pierce wasn’t actually called ‘Pierce’, he
was really Cain, from the Bible…”
Almost an
hour later, Lucifer finished relating the tale to his rapt audience.
Beatrice had asked few questions, instead only asking for a
clarification now and then.
“Is that
what you wanted to know, child?”
“Well,
mostly, yes.”
“What do
you mean, ‘mostly’”, he asked, curious.
“When are
you going to ask Mom to marry you?”
This
time, he choked so hard on his most recent mouthful of bourbon that
Beatrice moved over to pound between his shoulders in an attempt to help
him regain his breath.
“Sorry,
Lucifer,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“What
makes you think that’s going to happen,” he asked her once he regained
his composure.
“I know
you love her and she loves you,” the child told him with absolute
certainty. “And so do I.”
The Devil
actually blushed. He stared at the little girl, shock registering on his
face.
“You
love—me?” This time, he was
fortunate that he had not yet begun to sip again at his drink.
Beatrice
never failed in her ability to shock him. He put down his bourbon before
he inadvertently wasted any more of it.
She
leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before he could move
away. She had gotten quite good at such things during the previous seven
years. By this time, it was almost a game they played.
“Of
course I do, and it’s okay with me if you get married,” Beatrice told
him, beaming one of her toothy smiles at him, the little imp.
“What
about Detective Dou—“ he stopped himself barely in time. “Your father?”
“I know
lots of kids who have more than one Dad or Mom,” she replied. “But I’d
be the only kid who has the Devil for a Dad!”
“Dev—wha—child!” His face went bright red, but remained human in
appearance. He had forgotten that she had seen his wings before he left
for Hell.
Beatrice
laughed.
“You
thought I didn’t know? You’re silly!” She giggled. “You went back to
Hell, after all! You thought I’d forgotten?”
“I
suppose I never really thought about it,” he admitted. That was usually
the thing that seemed to get him into the most trouble on a daily basis
with Chloe, it seemed. Not for the first time, he marveled at her
continued patience with him.
“Don’t
wait too long to ask her,” Beatrice advised. “Please.”
“Very
well, urchin.” No, he wouldn’t let her grow up that fast.
This
time, he did not argue with the hug she gave him then, and even may have
squeezed her back just a tiny bit.
Well,
you are
silly, he thought. He may or may not have been talking to himself.
C