The Devil Needs No One

Chapter I

It had been a long day, in every sense of the word. And not just for humans, either. Lucifer Morningstar laid stoically in his bed, ignoring the silkiness of his expensive satin sheets for the feel of blossoming bruises across his flesh and the warmth of the mortal body at rest beside him. An exaggerated breath escaped him and he gingerly massaged at his temples. This "mortality thing" he had found so thrilling was beginning to wear his patience thin. It was all well and good until he truly needed his immortality - to save the detective. Why he sought to save her, he hadn't quite grasped yet. It was a mystery even to himself. But, she had needed him, though. So desperately. And indeed, he had been there to rescue his mortal damsel in distress. He recalled the ever-widening of her pale eyes and the moment realization struck her as his anger boiled over. As his persona changed from slick and handsome to murderous...monstrous. The man that invoked such anger and desperation was nothing more than a dim-witted criminal, thinking the death of a cop would get him a little "street cred". The fool.

He could still smell the lingering fragrance of gunpowder and blood in his own hair and the rumpled clothes he'd fallen asleep in. On her. Chloe's expression had haunted him for the remainder of the night. For just a moment, as she thought there was to be no savior for her (he was a savior of sorts, he supposed, as he did ensure her survival) the light of hope left her. Lucifer detested it, the Devil himself had found his blood boiling just beneath the surface before he had even realized, and he had snuffed out the glow of many souls over billions of years. But Chloe, she was special some how. Probably because he was unable to have her - because she could not be swayed by his prowess, he told himself. Such a prize would not easily slip from his grasp or be sullied by another less worthy creature. And he had put out the flame of a soul that night. For her, but had taken a small amount of damage in the process. Not knowing his limits and permitting wild swings and bullets to fly his way as he ripped the offending criminal to almost literal shreds. The police would find a mentally broken (quite physically damaged as well) man rocking in the streets of L.A. screaming about Satan himself.

Still, he wished he had done more. Destroyed him mind, body, and soul. The Devil had refrained, anger replaced with the odd feeling of...pity? Regret? No, he did not feel regret, not as he turned to see the brunette woman slid down onto the dirty warehouse floor, shaking and gaping in horror and pain at the ceeature of darkness before her. Of the man too that had nearly ended her life. But there had surely been something there as he gathered her up, her silence painfully deafening.

Somehow, they had stumbled here to Lux, after various shots were fired at the devilishly handsome man (and he was quite pleasing to the eye even bloodied up if he did say so himself), and demonic carnage ensued. It probably would have terrified the poor girl if she had the capacity at that moment to fully comprehend that she wasn't dead herself. Ah, dramatic last minute entries and saving damsels, the shock of it all to her mortal mind. It sounded to the fallen angel much like the human comic books he had seen once a couple years back.

When all was said and done, Chloe had, despite her strong will, sobbed wholeheartedly into him upon being moved from her perch on the dusty floor before falling asleep in his arms. Lucifer remembered blood smeared across her cheek and an abrasion at her temple where the criminal had struck her with his handgun, her breathy hiccups finally having slowed to gentle, restful quiet. Lucifer made for her to stay with him, allowing himself to seek comfort in her presence after she had been so shaken up. Carrying her up the stairs to his bed, he found himself unable to part, her slender fingers wrapped much too tightly in his shirt after the night's horror to be removed without waking. So he had just...rolled with it, cradling her too his chest almost awkwardly, closing his eyes too for what he had assumed would be just a moment as he healed up. After all, the child spawn (Trixie) was with her father, and eventually, even a human as strong as Detective Decker found themselves breaking under the pressure of their life's stress and near death experiences. Deep down, a part of him had longed for this sort of...companionship.