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The King of Hell was missing.
That in and of itself wasn’t really the issue. Hell had been running itself for quite some time now without any interference from the royal family. Lucifer being missing for a few months was hardly going to do any damage.
What was the problem was that Charlie Morningstar was upset.
And it was becoming Alastor’s problem.
“Alastor, you don’t understand what he gets like sometimes. I’m really worried!” the princess cried into her cups (of root beer), making a nuisance of herself in Alastor’s radio tower between his broadcasts. “He can dissociate really badly and I’m worried he might have gotten himself into trouble.”
The Radio Demon was well aware of the king’s moods. The devil could switch between manic and depressed at the drop of a hat. He just didn’t see why it was his problem. “Charlie, I’m sure he’ll come back in his own good time. Besides, you have me. Whatever do you need him for?”
“Exactly!” the princess declared. “Alastor, you’re just so~ good~ at helping me out,” she pressed, so very obviously pandering to his ego. “If anyone could find him, it would be you!”
Alastor heaved a very long static sigh. He had a sneaking suspicion that Charlie had now fixated on this to be her solution. She was going to hound him until he agreed. Better to just cut to the chase now and get it over with.
“Fine~” he replied, “I’ll see what I can do.” He fully expected the squeal of happiness and braced himself for the princess to fling her arms around him. The things he did to stay in Charlie’s good graces. Well, it was probably fine.
Besides, how hard would it be to find one manic little king?
~o~
It took a solid month for the Radio Demon to scour the whole of Hell to figure out that the king had entirely left the premises. Calling in a rather pricey couple of favors to search the rest of the Rings on his behalf. The King of Hell was simply not in Hell. And he certainly wouldn’t be in Heaven. So that left one rather obvious place left. Lucifer must be on Earth. However, the options for Sinners to be able to breach that realm remained few and far between.
Leaving him with his last resort.
Alastor stared at the frosted glass door in front of him. The words I.M.P. - Immediate Murder Professionals etched into the glass. It had taken him a while to even hear about the quaint little company. It did not help that they only played their advertising on the noisy picture box and only on one channel of that besides. However, he learned through word of mouth and through twisting a few limbs they had a unique value proposition. To be able to spy on the land of the living.
Even so, for an Overlord such as himself to frequent such a place was utterly demeaning. This had better be worth it. Alastor opened up the door, only to be confronted by a surly Hellhound sitting at the front desk.
....This had better be fucking worth it.
Bypassing the hound completely, who paid him absolutely no mind, Alastor skirted around the edges of the reception and pushed on through to the inner conference room. He was immediately greeted by absolute chaos. Three imps appeared to be engaged in some kind of poly-romantic spat. Involving crossbows.
Gently he coughed to catch their attention. “Did I come at a bad time?” he asked lightly, wondering if he ought to dispatch them after his business was through due to their sheer dysfunctionality. He didn’t want his name associated with such incompetence. One hotel-full was bad enough.
“Holy shit! It’s the goddamn Radio Demon!” the white haired imp cried, shoving his combatant aside as he strode up to Alastor with starstruck eyes. “Ohmygosh, Sir, can I please have your autograph?!”
How delightful. Maybe he’d let them live after all. Smiling, he let a tentacle sign the little book the awestruck imp held out. “As nice as this is, I do have some business to attend to. I understand that you have ways to look upon the living?”
“Oh yes, of course, Sir!” the largest imp cried, pushing the white haired imp aside as he rubbed greedy little hands together. “And we’re more than happy to dispatch them for you! And we’ll give you a bulk discount! I feel like you have a lot of enemies you’d like to take care of.”
“Quite unnecessary. All my prospective victims will end up down here sooner or later,” Alastor assured them, watching them deflate. Ah, such bloodthirsty instincts. They were starting to grow on him. “Rather, I need you to look up someone very specific for me. And I will need absolute discretion. If I hear a word that you have broadcasted my business, I will have no choice but to rip your heads from your puny little bodies to serve our hotel’s new soup tureens.”
It was a mere statement of fact, rather than a threat. However, all three imps drew back as if he were brandishing a scythe right in front of them. Good.
“Ah... haha, of course! Discretion is my middle name!” the tallest imp replied, all bravado with a waiver in his voice. “But of course we need to talk about payment first. Discretion means a bigger price tag, I’m afraid.”
Alastor appreciated the hustle. However, he wasn’t one to deal with things as pedestrian as money. So instead, he looked to the little picture box that seemed to be playing an ad in the corner. “You seem to have a jaunty little jingle,” Alastor replied. “I approve. I’ll run your ad over my broadcast for the next nine months if you do this for me.”
“DONE!” the head imp in charge bellowed. Before either of the other imps could intercede. “So who’s the mark?”
“Lucifer Morningstar.”
A moment of absolute silence followed, all their jaws dropping. However, recovering himself, the head imp called to the front room. “Loony! Bring the Book!” Alastor very quickly found himself on the other side of the room as the Hellhound entered with an ancient cobalt tome under her arm. It reeked of diabolical asceticism. Like the Ars Goetia. Ahh. So that explained it. This seemed a little above some mere imps’ paygrade.
The head imp put a hand over the book, reciting a small incantation as a to open up a window to another world. Allowing them to peek into the land of the living. “Alright Book. Tell us the whereabouts of Lucifer Morningstar!” The window whirred by visions of cities and landscapes, finally settling on a scene in a dingy low lit room.
Alastor stared at the vision before him in utter horror. “He’s where?!”
~o~
Luc Magne felt a headache coming on.
It had become more and more common nowadays. He blamed the stress. The captain was completely on his ass to close the Hollander B&E. A small time crime with a big time name. Captain would rather pander to the well connected rather than dealing with the deaths of not one but five mob hits in Hell’s Kitchen. It was only going to be a matter of time before innocent bystanders got involved.
Luc got up from his desk in the police bullpen, going to the worn out coffee maker in the break room to churn out a cup of bitter machine oil. He put plenty of milk and sugar into it to make it palatable. “Night, Luke! Don’t burn the midnight oil too long!” a couple other NYPD detectives called, as they headed home to their families.
“Night,” Luc replied, knowing he was going to do just that. He didn’t need as much sleep as the others. Even if the bags under his eyes said otherwise. Idly, he looked at his reflection in the glass, noting that they looked worse than usual. Marring what was otherwise a pretty face. Maybe too pretty for this line of work, with pale skin, blond hair, and hazel eyes. But he was too short to be a model, so detective it was.
Sighing, he pulled out the Hollander file, rubbing a hand over his face as he tried in futility to find some missing clue in between the lines. This would be easier if he had a partner, but he had scared off three in as many months. Apparently he was a little difficult to work with.
Suddenly, something slid into view. A body occupying a corner of his desk. Black slacks over slender hips and a sharp dark red vest. Luc looked up from his file, only to find an incredibly tall lanky tanned fellow sitting on the edge of his desk. He was handsome in a very classical sense - tall, dark, and handsome, dressed in tailored clothing that only accentuated his best features. He smiled down at Luc, looking at him underneath the brim of a maroon fedora, his dark brown eyes seeming to flash with crimson highlights. “Hello Lucifer. I’ve been looking for you.”
Luc stared at the stranger, wondering how the hell he managed to make it past security. “It’s Detective Luc Magne to you.”
“Luci then,” the man replied airly, looking around their environs. The bullpen was empty save for them, just a myriad of cluttered desks with too many unfinished files stacked on them under the glow of rather unflattering fluorescent office lights. Some had tchotkes on them or photos. Luc’s own was devoid of personal effects save for a little rubber duck in the style of Lady Liberty. “Sins Below, of all the places you’ve ended up. The Big Apple? Really? Have you had your fun? It’s time to go home.” The man made to grab for him, but Luc easily danced out of the way, kicking his wheeled chair away from his desk.
“Whoa, hold on! First of all, you’re not authorized to be here! Second, who the fuck are you? Third, how the Hell do you know my full name?”
The man gave him a very long look. His brown-red eyes flicked to the nameplate across his cluttered desk, very clearly stating his name and rank. “How long have you been a detective, Luci?”
Still with the damned nickname. “Two years to the day, thank you very much,” Luc snapped, defensive at the analysis of his credentials. He knew he looked young. “And I walked the beat for longer than that. Some kind of point you’re trying to make?”
The stranger gave him yet another very long and calculating look. After a moment, he replied, “Well! Good to know that you’re qualified.” He held out a hand. “Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure. My name is Alastor.”
Luc stared at the hand. But the man was so unassumingly charming, so he slowly took the proffered hand to shake. “Nice to meet you. Mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here?”
“Well, it appears that I’m going to be working with you from now on,” the stranger, Alastor, said with a sharp smile. “I’m a... how do you put it? I’m an exceptional expert in the area of your focus. Homicide, is it?”
“…So you’re a consultant,” Luc replied slowly.
“Exactly! A consultant!” Alastor replied cheerfully. “So, what dreary case are you working on now that’s preventing you from going home?”
“Well I hate to break it to you, but I’m not working on a homicide. Captain’s got me on some high falutin B&E for some rich douchebags. And-“
“The maid did it.”
Luc blinked. And stared. “What?”
Alastor looked over the file, upside down from his view. “Inside job. Looking at the security and opportunity. Plus that boyfriend of hers you’ve been investigating is trouble.”
“She has an alibi.”
“Oh, that she’s been out of the country? That photo of hers at the border has a baseball cap over her face. Sure she’s seen at the resort later, but that was after the robbery. Does she have a sister?”
Luc immediately flipped through his files. “…yes?”
“Well, there you go,” Alastor said with a self-satisfied smile. “It was the maid.”
Unable to believe that this man just up and solved the case in less than a minute, Luc picked up the phone to make some calls.
By morning the case was solved. His captain was ecstatic. He put on a show in front of the entire unit, laying a hand on Alastor’s shoulder as he spoke to the whole division bundled together in the dust sweaty bullpen. “The mayor sends his regards for our quick turnaround on the Hollander case. And I want to introduce the man who was instrumental in solving it. Alastor Laveau, on loan from the FBI. He’s going to be helping us with our most high profile cases. Luke, you’re going to partner with him.”
Luc felt all the eyes of the unit turn on him. He fidgeted, not quite enjoying being the center of attention. “I’m sorry, why do I need a federal babysitter?” he demanded.
“Stop scaring your partners off and I’ll reconsider,” his captain replied. “Alright, let’s get to work, people.”
The crowd dispersed, leaving Luc to deal with his new ‘partner’ of sorts. “What the fuck are you actually doing here?” Luc demanded. “The FBI doesn’t show up just because. Are you working a case?”
The tall handsome fellow only smiled down at him. “You could say that. So~ Luci. You seem to be enjoying yourself here. Got any family to go back home to?”
“None of your business. And stop calling me Luci,” Luc snapped, getting defensive as he always did when someone brought up his family. He instead moved to his desk, pulling out the mob hits he’d been working on in his spare time. Maybe he curled up a little away from Alastor’s prying eyes. The FBI consultant strode over to his desk. Once again taking up residence on the corner of his desk. The man seemed allergic to chairs.
“Do you enjoy what you’re doing?” Alastor asked all of a sudden. “Does this give you fulfillment?”
Luc looked up at him from over his file. “That’s a pretty loaded question for a cop, you know. But yeah, I like to see justice served.”
“You enjoy seeing the wicked punished then,” Alastor asked.
“I like seeing people get what they deserve,” Luc clarified. “Are you here just to make quips?”
“And to look good doing it,” Alastor chuckled. “Everyone knows the feds are all style and no substance after all.”
Despite himself, a laugh bubbled at the back of Luc’s throat. Although he couldn’t exactly deny that Alastor had an exceptional amount of panache.
“Oh, it was Fat Tony, by the way,” Alastor replied, getting the scarcest look at his mob file while Luc was distracted.
Oh for fuck’s sake.
~o~
Luc and Alastor appeared at the crime scene in the back alley in Hell’s Kitchen, crossing over yellow police tape to the grisly scene before them. A pool of blood nearly coated the whole alley. Splashes of blood sprayed against the brick and mortar walls. “Vic’s name is Leo Marsden,” a coroner told them as they approached the body. “Sliced from balls to neck. It’s nasty. Get your Vicks ready.”
“Vicks?” Alastor echoed, strangely naive about certain things sometimes.
“For the smell,” Luc replied. He took his time circling the body, halfway expecting Alastor to solve the case with a single glance. Noting that there was hardly a struggle even with all the blood all over. “Not a crime of passion. This was calculated. The unsub took their time. Almost ritualistic. Maybe he was drugged first. I’d check for puncture wounds. What do we know about the vic?”
“Teacher. Quiet guy. Kept to himself. Liked dogs.”
“Well he’s already got a mark against him,” Alastor remarked idly. He merely stood by the body, casually glancing over the entrails that had been piled up next to the body as if the killer had been doing inventory. It smelled horrendous, flies buzzing around the bloody body, accompanied by the stink of the dumpsters in the alley and the sour smell of sewage from the manhole.
Luc glanced at him over his shoulder wondering why he wasn’t doing his little Sherlock Holmes shtick. “What? No insights, Alastor?”
“Hm? Oh, I just wanted to see how far you’d get first,” Alastor replied, giving him a charming smile. Luc couldn’t help but faintly blush, not immune to the man’s handsome face. “But if you insist. This is a serial killer.”
Anyone who heard him immediately stopped short. Turning to look at the FBI consultant. “That’s a pretty fucking bold statement for having been on a crime scene for two minutes,” Luc said as he raised an eyebrow. “We haven’t seen any other scenes like this. What makes you think it’s the work of a serial killer?”
“Oh is that what you think I meant?” Alastor said casually. “I meant the teacher was a serial killer. Looks like he got caught in someone else’s net, poor lamb. He’s not going to enjoy Hell.”
Luc stared at him. “Again! Pretty fucking bold statement!”
The brunet gave a long sigh, as if Luc were being deliberately obtuse. “Luci, dear, you’d see it too if you were just looking at it the right way.” After that rather cryptic retort, Alastor continued on. “I suppose if you must have evidence, meet me in the file room at the office. Ta~” With that, he simply left, sauntering back towards headquarters.
“Alastor. Alastor! We’re supposed to solve this crime first!” Luc called after him. Only to be completely ignored. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”
Luc spent the next three hours at the crime scene, doing his actual job. Canvassing the alley for evidence, collecting witness statements, asking for footage from CCTV from local businesses, waiting for the body and all its bits to be moved to the coroner. What he got was a whole lot of nothing. It was like the killer was a ghost. Needless to say, he was in a pretty foul mood by the time he made it back to HQ. He could only hope that maybe there actually was something to Alastor’s ‘serial killer teacher’ theory that would generate some leads.
He found Alastor in the file room as promised, sipping away at a cup of coffee that actually smelled good. Unlike the machine oil from the coffee maker in the break room. Did that bastard actually go off on a coffee run?! Fuming, Luc stormed up to the table the consultant got himself situated at, surrounded by cardboard boxes of files. Alastor didn’t even look up from the folder in his hands as he approached. He somehow magicked up a second cup of coffee from who knew where and put it on the table. “That one’s for you.”
Luc stopped short, slightly mollified. Suspiciously, he picked up the cup and was immediately assaulted by the sugary sweet smell. “...We’re not supposed to drink in here,” he said reproachfully, even though the drink in his hands smelled so tempting.
“Oh, you can rebel just a little bit,” Alastor smiled and winked.
A strange little flicker of warmth spread from the back of Luc’s neck down his shoulders. For an FBI consultant, he was a pretty bad influence. Reluctantly, he took a tentative sip of his coffee. It took everything he had not to moan in toe-curling bliss. A warm apple caramel macchiato with an obscene amount of whipped cream and caramel drizzle. It was sweeter than anything Luc would have ordered for himself at a coffee shop, but it was absolutely perfect.
He suddenly remembered Alastor and found the man carefully watching for his reaction with a sly smile. Coughing lightly, Luc joined him at the table, cradling the cup of coffee to his chest as he looked over the files. “So, what did you find?”
Alastor immediately pulled out seven different unsolved cases. “Here you are. Seven murders of homeless minors. Likely more, considering the transient population. If there’s any biometric evidence at these scenes and you compare them to your dead body there, you’ll have your proof.”
A wave of disgust came over Luc as he looked over the photos. He was very glad the sinner was dead. They had a very special place in Hell for people like him. Luc shook off the sudden, strangely vengeful thought, instead remembering that he still had a job to do. “So if you’re right about this, it’s possible that someone caught onto what Marsden was doing and decided to stop him? Maybe if we went to these original scenes, we can see if he was being followed?”
Alastor let out a rather put upon sigh. “When you find out I am correct, Luci, I am sure that everyone will be utterly distracted by the fact that you solved the serial spree of a child murderer. It will make headlines. How he came to his demise will be inconsequential. You won’t be able to find your missing killer regardless.”
As it turned out, Alastor was completely correct. As much as Luc protested that all he did was turn up first at the crime scene, he kept getting asked for interviews. And all anyone wanted to hear about were the grisly deaths of those poor kids. As much as he wanted to track down who killed his killer, any possible leads dissipated like smoke. Meanwhile his captain was foisting new cases onto him to solve, pushing justice for that piece of scum lower and lower down the priority pile. Until it was all but forgotten.
~o~
As Luc was putting away his coat in his locker one morning, he just happened to overhear some whispered gossip the next couple of locker rows over. And maybe he was a bit of a snoop (he was a detective after all), so he kept himself out of plain sight as he listened.
“So~ you going to ask him out? I mean, he’s a consultant, so it doesn’t count against your no office romances rule.”
“I mean, he is very nice to look at, but I don’t think he actually swings that way. He’s only got eyes for Luke.”
Wait. Why was his name coming up? And consultant? Surely, they couldn’t be talking about-
“Alastor and Luke? Really?” a third voice joined the gossiping duo. Luc recognized it immediately. Fucking Brad, who had it out for him as long as he could remember. “Everyone knows that Alastor’s the actual brains of the operation. Luke’s just riding on his coattails. What would Alastor see in a twink like- OW!”
“Oh, pardon me,” a new, fourth voice joined them. “You were right next to the bulletin board and my hand slipped. You do make a rather remarkable impression of a block of wood though.”
“What the- Did you actually fucking staple me, you psycho?!” Brad yowled.
At this, Luc chanced a look around the corner of the lockers and found Alastor standing in front of the bulletin board with a stapler and a sheet of paper in hand. Smiling charmingly, completely unrepentant, at Brad who was covering a bleeding hand. Moira and Anne looked on the scene in shock. “As I said, my hand slipped,” Alastor replied with a shrug. “Perfectly innocent mistake. Now, could you all please clear out? Wouldn’t want another accident, now would we?”
The three of them scattered. Looking perfectly pleased with himself Alastor stapled up the paper announcement. Something about a lost cat. Then turned in Luc’s direction. “You can come out now.”
Blushing fiercely, Luc stepped out from behind the lockers. “I can’t believe that you actually stapled Brad,” he said, incredulous.
“I was simply putting riffraff in their place,” Alastor said with a half-shrug. Then he leaned in and said in a low and lovely voice, one that could easily outdo any podcaster, “I’m the only one that gets to mess with you.” With that, he spun on his heel. “Now come along, it appears that we’re wanted.” Luc stood behind for half a moment, feeling strangely flattered. Then remembered that Alastor was a complete ass and jogged to catch up.
The pair of them were sent to another homicide. This time one near the Port Authority. “Fucking ballsy to get rid of a body here,” one of the uniforms told them as they entered the scene, “Cameras everywhere.”
Luc stood over the body in the parking garage, this one completely dismembered and sliced to ribbons, blood drawn out in a grisly tableau. He had never seen the victim before. Didn’t even know his name yet.
And somehow he just knew.
“Rapist,” he blurted out. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. The dead scumbag had it coming.
Alastor glanced at him in surprise. But far from being miffed that Luc stole his thunder, the man’s smile only widened. “Very good, Luci. See? Was that so hard?”
Luc gave him an annoyed glare. “Yeah, well clearly I’ve been hanging out with you too much. We still need evidence, remember? And we still need to figure out who killed this guy.”
At this Alastor only sighed. As if he couldn’t be bothered. “Fine, fine, you and your little rules.” Which was a rather alarming thing for a representative of the FBI to say. “I’ll play along. So long as we can have this discussion at your place tonight,” he added coyly, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
Luc stared at the man, stunned.
Wait. Did. Did Alastor just ask him on a date?
“Oh, I, that’s- I mean-“ Luc stammered, feeling a blush creeping up the back of his neck as the taller, very handsome man only smiled blithely at him. “Um, okay…? What do you like to eat?”
Alastor raised an eyebrow as he straightened. “I wasn’t aware I would be getting a free meal out of this.”
…of course it wasn’t a date. Just a meeting between colleagues. Stupid, stupid. Stupid.
However, the man carried on as if Luc hadn’t committed a massive interoffice faux pas. “I like steak.”
Of course he did. Probably dry aged prime rib on top of that. Luc’s eye twitched. “And how would you like that cooked? Medium-rare, I’m guessing?” he asked, gritting his teeth in a forced smile. Fancy-pants stuck up.
“Don’t you dare touch it with fire. I’ll take it raw, thank you. I’ll see you later then,” Alastor said with a tip of his maroon fedora, striding off to whatever sleuthing he planned on doing.
Raw? What a weird request. Was he planning on cooking it himself? Then Luc realized that Alastor had just walked off another crime scene and left him all the work. Again. “Alastor! You ass!” he called after the taller man’s retreating back. “Get back here!”
~o~
When Luc returned to his tiny brick-walled studio apartment in Queens that night, groceries in hand, he realized to his horror that the place was an absolute pig sty. Funny how the threat of guests turned a rather harsher eye on one’s living situation. Dirty clothes were strewn about, shoes and jackets piled next to the door, dirty dishes in the sink, his bathroom just looked grungy, there were books stacked in teetering piles all over the floor, and he had wood shavings all over and around the little workbench he had for his little duck decoy hobby. (He knew Alastor was going to have some snarky comment about that.)
So in a panicked rush, Luc flew around his little studio, tossing everything that he could into his single closet until it was practically bursting at the seams. Then he scrubbed the kitchen and the bathroom until they were spotless. He was in the middle of hastily making his bed, when the door finally knocked.
Sucking in a long breath, Luc did a quick look over of himself in the wall mirror he kept by the door. Smoothed out his clothes. Slightly despaired at the bags under his eyes. Then opened the door for his guest.
Alastor looked, well, very nearly the same as always. Dressed to the nines in his dapper vintage clothing that for some reason didn’t look at all out of place on him. The only change really was that he wasn’t wearing a tie and had opted for a pocket square instead. Luc stared at his bare throat as if it were an albino deer.
“Can I come in?” Alastor asked, holding up a bottle of red wine and several bound up files. “I come bearing gifts.”
Remembering himself, Luc muttered, “Better not be a Trojan Horse,” but waved the man on in.
Once inside, Alastor immediately halted inside the threshold. He turned an almost confused look around the space. Looking from the exposed brick walls, to the pastel colored kitchenette, to the single table with two seats, to the metal rail full-sized bed. “...Huh.”
“Huh? What’s ‘Huh’ mean?” Luc asked defensively, grabbing the bottle and the files from him to put on the little kitchenette table.
“Well, I must say I didn’t quite know what to expect,” the brunet muttered, taking long strides into the small space and coming up to the end of it very quickly. “But it certainly wasn’t this. It’s so... sad.”
Luc’s eye twitched.
Then Alastor shrugged off his coat, leaving him in just a white button down and exquisitely tailored red vest. Without asking, he headed to the closet to hang it up. The one stuffed to the brim with his things. Full blown panic encased Luc as he imagined the door opening and the avalanche of stuff falling all over his partner. “No, no! Wait, wait wait!” he cried, trying to stop him. Too late.
Alastor opened the door. Only it was bare inside save for some hangers. Alastor looked back at him in befuddlement. “What is it?”
“Oh, haha! Nothing! Nothing’s wrong!” Luc replied with a slightly hysterical laugh. But stared at the empty closet.
...Where the fuck was all his stuff?
Oblivious to Luc’s slight metaphysical crisis, Alastor put his coat away. Then immediately made himself at home, snooping through what little clutter Luc had left out. He cast a peculiar look at the only personal photo Luc had. A picture of a mother and child in a silver frame. “Are you married?”
“Divorced,” Luc replied, still trying to get over the mysterious disappearing closet. “Got a daughter out of it though.”
Narrowing his eyes, Alastor picked up the photo frame and without asking immediately popped the back open. Exposing Luc’s dirty secret. Raising an eyebrow, he held up the little photo, showing off the factory label on the back that came with the frame. “Not actually yours, I take it?”
Luc reddened, now having forgotten all about the closet. “Wha- I just don’t have a picture of them, okay?! They exist though!”
“And their names?” Alastor pressed, now intent on interrogating him.
“Lily and Charlie,” Luc snapped, not at all appreciating the line of question.
“I thought you said you had a girl.”
“I do! She just likes going by Charlie though!”
Alastor watched him carefully, making Luc feel like he was an ant under a microscope. “Fine,” he said, but took the fake picture and crumpled it up despite Luc’s loud protests. Then he proceeded to look through the rest of his things. Surprisingly saying nothing of the workbench where he was working on a Mallard decoy. However, he thumbed through the couple of books he had left on his nightstand. Rifled through his kitchen cabinets. Peeked into his medicine cabinet. And even bent down to examine underneath his bed. (Thank God, he cleaned.)
“The fuck are you doing?” Luc demanded, watching him the whole time.
“You appear to be living alone,” Alastor said, dusting off his hands as he straightened.
Luc gave him a strange look, trying to figure out what the Hell this guy was on. “...Yeah, and?”
“I was just checking to see if you had any current entanglements,” the brunet replied lightly. “You don’t appear to even be dating.”
Luc gave the other man another long look. Why on earth would that even be of interest? A very obvious answer came back to him, making him faintly blush. However, he jumped the gun before and he wasn’t about to do it again. So instead, he turned his attention to hosting. “I’m way too sober for this. Let’s crack open the wine and get into the files, okay?”
The pair of them poured over the case files, once again tying their current victim to a number of egregious crimes. Luc’s disillusionment with humanity only grew with each file they read. He didn’t enjoy the idea of rehashing such a traumatic event with any of the victims. He just hoped that this would bring all the victims closure. At the same time, the man’s murderer might be among these very files.
His head pounded, his on again and off again headaches getting worse.
Alastor glanced over to him as Luc massaged the knot between his brows, trying to will away some of the pain. “Let’s set these aside for now, shall we?” he decided, setting the folders aside before Luc could protest. “Now I believe that you promised me dinner.”
“Yeah. Steak’s in the fridge. Cook it however you like,” Luc muttered before taking a long swallow of red wine. “There’s salad too.”
Once again, Alastor made himself perfectly at home. He made a hum of approval as he pulled out the medallions of filet mignon that Luc had splurged on. Then less so at the pre-packaged box of Waldorf salad. The smell of cooking meat filled the air as he availed himself of the stove, making Luc’s mouth water. In almost no time at all, Alastor put two plates down on the tiny kitchenette table. On Luc’s plate, a giant mound of dressed Waldorf salad and a perfectly cooked medium-rare filet mignon. On Alastor’s not a speck of greens. Just... raw filet mignon.
Luc stared as his partner very happily cut into the bloody blue steak, taking delighted bites of it. “Holy shit. You weren’t kidding.”
“I like what I like,” Alastor replied without a hint of self-consciousness. “Why don’t you tell me about your family?” Luc paused. No one ever asked about his family. A wide smile broke his face as his eyes lit up with excitement.
An hour later, he was still regaling Alastor with stories about Charlie from when she was a wee thing. His partner simply let him talk, not caring that some of the details were just a bit muddy. After all, they couldn’t have possibly had two goats in the city, but he remembered having expansive grounds for them to frolic in. So maybe they were in the Hampshires? And there were the debutante balls and the galas where Charlie went through a pretty extensive emo phase. So his mind fudged some details that Lillith came from Old Money. Of course that would be the only reason why Charlie went with her. Luc would never have given her up.
“Oh, and- and- she’s running a hotel now! Would you believe it! My little girl!” Luc said, a perfectly proud Papa. He was a little tipsy by this point. The bottle of red that Alastor provided seemed to be never ending. He found himself suddenly rather melancholy, missing Charlie desperately. Sighing, he slumped over the kitchenette table, heaving a sigh. “I wish I could go see her.”
Alastor, who had been surprisingly patient this whole time, idly swished his water glass still half full of wine. “Then just go see her,” he said, as if it was as simple as all that.
Luc sent him a bland look. “She doesn’t want to see me. She’s got her own life now. Girlfriend, friends. All that.”
“Lucifer, I know for an absolute fact that your daughter misses you,” Alastor said, with such certainty that it was almost comforting. “Just go home.”
“...Maybe,” Luc allowed, curling up into his arms on the table. He peered up at his partner over his forearms. “You’re surprisingly kind, you know that?” Alastor made some indignant noise of protest. But Luc shushed him. “Don’t get up in arms. You’re not nice. Far from it. But... you’re actually very kind.”
For the first time since meeting him, Alastor seemed remotely flustered. He brushed a hand through his dark brown bangs, looking askance as he took a long drink of wine. That was about as much as he was going to give away. But it was enough. Luc smiled. This night wasn’t so bad after all.
~o~
The interviews with the victims were awful. Luc hated every minute of it. Wishing he didn’t have to dredge up their trauma all over again. And as soon as any of them got a whiff that they were looking for their rapist’s murderer though, they clammed up fast.
Well. Bright side, they closed a whole bunch of unsolved cases at once. So. Yay~
“Sometimes, I really hate this job,” Luc confessed after their third day of grueling interviews.
“Then quit,” Alastor replied, completely unsympathetic.
“Fuck you,” Luc replied goodnaturedly. The pair of them were sidled up to the counter of some underground dive bar, listening to a very bad stand up comedian set. Of course Alastor looked like he completely belonged in the seedy place as he nursed a glass of rye, fedora half cocked on his head. Luc propped his chin on the heel of his palm, studying him. “You know, you’ve been here for a while now. There must be something you like about it.”
“It has its charms,” Alastor conceded, glancing in his direction. After a long moment of listening to bad comedy, he leaned into Luc’s shoulder, murmuring into his ear. “Want to play a game?”
“What did you have in mind?” Luc grinned, starting to get used to his partner’s particular form of banter.
“Kind of like I Spy,” the brunet replied. “I name the sin and you find the sinner.”
“I already don’t like this game,” he sighed.
“Oh, but just think of it as practice,” Alastor insisted, waving his protests away. “Isn’t that what hard core detectives are supposed to do? Trust their gut?” He playfully batted Luc on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun~!”
Luc wasn’t so sure. However... “Alright. If I manage to get all seven out of seven of your guesses correct, you’ll do a favor of my choosing.” He couldn’t help but notice the other man’s eyes alight in challenge. “And of course~ if I lose you get your own favor.”
“Done,” Alastor said, a little bit too quickly. Before Luc could even get his bearings, he said, “Adulterer.”
“Blonde by the bar.”
“Pirate.”
“The comedian leans pretty heavily into bittorrent.”
“Counterfeiter.”
“That kid over plagiarized his college essay.”
“Thief.”
“Well that one stole $20 but the douche with his toupee just embezzled $5 mil.”
“Shouldn’t you worry about that?”
“Not my department.”
“Liar.”
“This whole fucking room.”
“Jaywalker.”
“Again. This whole fucking room. It’s New York, Alastor. Jeez.”
“Murderer.”
Luc turned to look at him. His vision suddenly swam with darkness, of yellow sharp cheshire teeth, glowing radio dials, eldritch tentacles, black branches crawling into the air. Claws coated in dripping blood. The chair beneath him squealed as he suddenly pulled back, so violently that he lost his balance. An arm snaked around his waist, keeping him from toppling inelegantly from the barstool to the floor and Luc looked up to see just Alastor again. Who simply smiled innocently at him.
Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. “The guy who just left out the back door,” Luc said, turning to the door. “Oh, shit,” he cursed, stumbling out of his chair to pursue the suspect. Temporarily forgetting his brief moment of insanity.
~o~
“You still owe me a favor, Alastor.”
The Port Authority case was put on the backburner by this point. More pressing cases clamored for attention. Luc didn’t exactly like the pattern that was emerging, but it was captain’s orders at this point. So instead, he distracted himself by bothering the consultant who perched himself on top of his desk.
Alastor daintily sipped on his coffee. The same place he got Luc that apple caramel macchiato every morning. “I believe that the last one was outside. That hardly counts, Luci.”
“Well, he was inside when you called it. And he counted enough that we got commendation for bringing him in,” Luc insisted. At his partner’s bland look, he said, “Okay fine. What if we call it a draw? We’ll both owe each other a favor.”
That got Alastor’s attention. “...Alright,” he agreed, setting down his coffee to look down at Luc. “Although now I wonder what kind of favor you insist on asking of me.”
“Can you take me clothes shopping?” Luc asked, fighting down the embarrassment that threatened to swell up. However, it was desperately needed at this point. All the stuff that he’d thrown in his closet was all still missing. He could only imagine that he’d somehow thrown it all outside in the dumpster than inside his closet like he remembered. His memory wasn’t always reliable. Besides, say what you will about Alastor, but the man had impeccable taste in clothes.
The other man’s eyes glowed with excitement. “Oh, I would be delighted to,” he said, his brown-red eyes sweeping over Luc’s form. “You hardly needed to call in a favor for that.”
“Oh, so I don’t owe you a favor then?” Luc asked hopefully.
“Oh no, I’m keeping that.” Alastor looked at him more critically now. Noting the khaki pants, the rumpled white shirt, and the NYPD issue jacket. “...I’m almost afraid to ask, but what kind of budget are we working with?”
Luc pulled out his wallet. “I’ve got... three hundred dollars.”
A pained noise escaped his partner. “Thrift store it is.”
What Alastor ended up meaning by thrift store, however, wasn’t actually what Luc expected. Instead of some warehouse packed with too many clothes and uncategorized racks, Alastor took him to a vintage consignment store after work. Everything was still pricey as hell, but at least he could maybe buy one or two things out of there. Even better, Luc didn’t feel overwhelmed as he simply took in the well organized rows of clothes. Each given their little time in the spotlight.
However, it was clear that Alastor was on the hunt for something very specific. Rolling right past a slick gray Hugo Boss suit that actually looked like it might fit him. After some digging, the man finally found what he was looking for, smiling brightly as he returned to Luc with his prize. It was an extravagantly made YSL with a bold timeless silhouette. And it was stark white.
“...I can’t wear that,” Luc said, looking at it in horror. “I’ll get it dirty in a day.”
“Just humor me,” Alastor insisted. Then pulled out a pinstriped pink vest to accompany it. “Here, go change.”
With absolute skepticism, Luc did so, changing out of his frankly appallingly grungy attire by comparison and slipped into the clothes. Enjoying at least the feel of the luxurious fabric. When he stepped out from behind the velvet curtain, he fidgeted nervously. Not sure how he would look in something so expensive. However, at Alastor’s appreciative look he took a look at himself in the standing mirror. He had to hold in a gasp. The man in the mirror looked absolutely stunning. Elegant with sharp clean lines that actually showed his slim figure in the best light. The white matched him perfectly, bringing some rosy color out of his otherwise washed out pale complexion. Even the pink vest added to it, hugging his torso to accentuate his tapered waist.
He faltered when Alastor came up behind him, suddenly putting hands on him to pinch fabric to tighten the look up even more. “You’re keeping this,” Alastor insisted. “It just needs a little alteration.” And Luc couldn’t help but agree. Even though it was insanely impractical. He slid a hand down the pink vest though, more unsure about that even though he liked it.
“I don’t know about this though. Doesn’t it look... I dunno, a bit feminine?” he fretted.
Alastor shot him a glance. “Wherever did you get that idea?”
“Oh, well,” Luc said awkwardly, not quite meeting his eye. “Brad might have said some stuff... when I first transferred.” The look on Alastor’s face promised absolute violence. “...Alastor, you can’t staple him again.”
“Oh perish the thought,” his partner said with a wave of his hand, before his smile darkened. “I was thinking much worse than that.”
“Alastor!”
“Fine, fine,” the other man said, quite put out. “But you’re keeping the vest.” He looked over Luc once again, before he idly commented, “Sometimes I forget that you cut a remarkably fine figure.” Luc blushed profusely, but Alastor had already spun on his heel to check out some more pieces for him. He found a classic red Armani that fit him as well and threw three more vests into the pile. He slapped Luc’s hand away from the gray Hugo Boss. Then proceeded to haggle the shit out of the store manager. Charming the pants off of her as he said such things as, “Oh, but we would be doing you a favor by taking these off your hands.” “Do you see how short he is? You’ll never find any other clientele who will fit those clothes.” and “Doesn’t he just look darling in them?”
They left the consignment store, just ten cents short of three-hundred dollars lighter.
~o~
The first day Luc entered the precinct with his now perfectly tailored white YSL suit, he expected a lot of flack from his colleagues. However, strangely, he didn’t get all that many jeers. Only some raised eyebrows, appreciative looks, and even a wolf whistle. His captain just frowned, but didn’t say anything. Apparently there was nothing in the manual that said he couldn’t wear expensive European made suits.
Only Brad made any kind of derogatory comment, laughing as soon as he saw him. “What the hell, Luke!” he guffawed, “What are you, on the set of Miami Vice?” However, a minute later, he managed to spectacularly trip over himself. So badly that his face hit the corner of his own desk, knocking out his two front teeth and sending him to the ER for a concussion. Luc could have sworn that he saw something dark and shadowy slip away when it happened.
So, Luc stood on from the rest in a different way than he expected. Between the two suits, the vests, and different colored shirts, he got quite a bit of versatility out of them. And always looked like he belonged on Seventh Avenue instead of in the middle of a grungy police bullpen. It made him feel much more confident, holding himself up straighter and more at ease. And miraculously, the white suit stayed pristine no matter how much he used it.
For his part, Alastor was quite pleased with himself for his hand in it. Until Luc started getting attention of a different kind. The first time a witness asked for Luc’s personal number, the man looked like he had swallowed a lemon. And again, when he noticed some bystanders appreciating Luc’s backside while the pair were at a crime scene - he had just been wearing the red trousers and red vest with a black shirt that day - he stood behind Luc to block their view, glaring at the crowd. If looks could kill...
What took the cake was when Luc was approached in the break room. He was in the middle of trying to decide if he wanted to risk drinking the engine oil coffee or if he’d try to beg Alastor to go get him another of those apple caramel macchiatos. Then he heard a light cough behind him. “Oh, hey Linda. Am I in your way?”
Linda smiled at him. “Oh no, not at all,” she replied, curling a lock of hair behind her ear. She was a very nice woman from a different department, tall with sandy blonde hair. Very much his type (he thinks). “Actually, Luke, I was wondering if you were busy later tonight? Maybe we could grab dinner?”
Luc’s eyes widened. He hadn’t actually dated for longer than he could remember. How did this go again? “Oh! Uh- I mean...”
“He’s busy.”
Luc and Linda both turned to the glass break room door, jolting when they found Alastor looming there like a dangerous shadow. And even though he had a perfectly pleasant smile on his face, his eyes were hard and hateful. He strode up to Luc and put a hand on his shoulder, tugging his partner into his side almost possessively. Luc very nearly squeaked, like the little rubber Lady Liberty duck he kept on his desk. “He and I are having dinner later,” Alastor declared, even though they had no such plans.
Linda’s blue eyes darted between them. Naturally drawing the conclusion that Alastor painted for her. “Oh! Of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean- Ah, well, I hope you have a good time,” she smiled nervously as Alastor continued to glare at her until she hurriedly left the break room.
As soon as she was gone, Alastor whirled on him. Grasping him by the shoulders, smile almost deranged. “Lucifer, so help me, you are not going to date anyone on this plane under my watch. Do you understand me?” he demanded, fingers digging into Luc’s biceps like claws.
Luc stared at him. Then asked, “What are we having for dinner?”
“What?” Alastor asked distractedly.
“For dinner. What are we having? We have to now, since you told Linda we were.”
“Does it matter?” his partner replied, flabbergasted. “Fine, steak. Whatever we did last time. The point is-”
“Great!” Luc beamed at him. “I’ll see you at seven. Oh and would you be an absolute doll and get me another one of those macchiatos I love so much? Please and thank you.” Grinning, he spun on his heel, leaving a stunned Alastor in his wake.
That evening, he splurged again on some really nice steak. This time a much larger cut for Alastor, since that was all the man would eat. He dressed in the pink vest and white trousers and shirt, somehow getting a sense that his partner liked that best on him. Then he manic cleaned for bit. Then waited, anxiously watching the clock.
At precisely 7:05, five minutes after Luc started feeling crushing despair, the door knocked. Rushing to the door, he found Alastor there, bottle of wine in hand, looking uncharacteristically unsure. “Luci, was there a case you wanted to talk about? I didn’t bring any files.”
Luc laughed his question off nervously. “What? Oh no. We can just hang out, can’t we? We’re friends, right? Oh wine, thank you!” As he opened up the bottle, he added, “I got us some wagyu. You know, to celebrate. I think we have the highest close rate of the unit. Even with you skipping out on all the grunt work.”
Whatever Luc said after ‘wagyu’ honestly didn’t matter, as the other man began to practically salivate. Alastor took the cup of wine offered to him, holding it up with a smile. “Well, here’s to us then.”
Dinner turned out to be a perfectly pleasant affair. While the settings weren’t great, the food was delicious and the wine took just the right amount of edge off. He regaled Alastor with more tales about his daughter, but managed to pry just a little bit of information out of the man about growing up in New Orleans. Luc listened intently, pleasantly tipsy and fascinated as he watched the expressions of soft nostalgia come over Alastor’s handsome face as he spoke.
At some certain, undetermined part of the night, with both of them in pleasant moods, Luc made his move. Gingerly, he reached out and very, very gently placed a hand over Alastor’s. The brunet froze, glass halfway up to his lips. He looked like a startled deer. “Is this okay?” Luc asked, his whole body alight with nervous energy.
“I... what- Why?” Alastor demanded, as if it were completely out of the realm of possibility that Luc would like him. Pure confusion flitted through his eyes as he began to redden. It was... cute.
Smiling, Luc leaned in just a little bit more. Noting the other man hadn’t tossed his hand away. “Well...” he said, voice almost teasing as he listed out his considerations, “You’re smart. You’re kind, to me at least. You make me smile. You’re quite the dresser. And let’s not forget,” he leaned in just a little bit further, now really getting into his personal space, “you’re hot as Hell.”
Alastor still didn’t seem to know how to react, still frozen stiff. So Luc pushed his luck just a little more. Cupping Alastor’s face, he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips.
When he pulled back, he found himself staring into unrecognizable red eyes. Alastor, or at least the thing that looked like Alastor, suddenly bolted up, knocking into the table and spilling red wine all over Luc’s pants. Luc barely had a chance to register that as he looked at the demon standing before him. Dressed in Alastor’s clothes but the fedora had fallen off, revealing two antlers and fuzzy ears atop his head. Sharp crimson claws grew from blackened hands. And his face. It looked almost the same actually, more undead gray, but the smile was darker, sharper. And his eyes, red irises over red sclera, looked on Luc in horror.
“No, no, no,” Alastor spoke, his voice broken by static as he slowly backed away. “No, this is not the way this is supposed to go. You don’t even realize who I am. You absolute little fool. You don’t know what you’re doing.” He let out a hysterical laugh that made Luc’s heart break. He looked as though he were about to cry. Luc wanted to reach out. To hug him.
Before he could react, Alastor turned wild eyes in his direction, pain etched into his smile. “Sorry, Luci," he said softly, "This is the end of the road for us. Time for you to see my true colors.”
The demon suddenly dissipated into smoke, leaving Luc alone in his small studio. Luc could only stare ahead of him, trying to reconcile what he’d just seen. Then numbly, he began to clean up, picking up broken glass and dishes, assessing the damage. Which is when he noticed it.
His pants, which had red wine spilled all over them, were still pristine white.
~o~
Alastor didn’t show up at work.
Not the next day or the next. And when he asked his colleagues about him they didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. There was never an Alastor Laveau on loan from the FBI. He never had a partner this whole time. Was he delusional?
Luc was starting to think so.
Things had been weird since that dinner. The world felt unreal, like he was disconnected from his body, from his life. Like everything just felt a bit wrong. He opened up his locker door and looked in the mirror and suddenly didn’t recognize himself. He pinched and prodded his face, trying to figure out what was wrong. Then the human Brad started trying something on him again, maybe sensing something was amiss with him, but Luc barely registered it. Just imagined what kind of demon he would be. Maybe a toad-faced hyena. And his head hurt. All the time.
There was only one thing that felt real though. Which was the apple caramel macchiato that appeared at his desk without fail each morning. It made him smile.
Meanwhile, the cases kept piling up. Luc had an omniscient understanding of each event and he could see why Alastor kept getting frustrated by the inane details. He went through the motions, the repetition. Waiting. Then finally...
“Heads up! Got a fucking mass murder site at an abandoned warehouse at the docks,” the human captain called out to the whole bullpen. “This is all hands on deck! Everyone move out! You too, Magne!”
Luc nodded, a thrill in his blood as he knew. He stood from his desk and took a quick step to the left. Then he was there. Before any of the humans could catch up. The scene before him could have been a picture from Hell. Bodies littered the ground, faces distorted in agony and terror, sinew and viscera piled in still steaming heat all over the ground. The walls were painted in blood, the tang of iron almost overpowering. Luc’s eyes drifted over the bodies, tagging them all with their grisly sins. Honestly, he was only surprised Alastor found so many to collect to paint this tableau.
Speaking of. His gaze drifted up to one end of the warehouse, distantly aware of the sound of sirens coming closer. The Radio Demon awaited him, his cracked and distorted body framed in shadows as he loomed like the hungry beast in the woods.
Alastor smiled wickedly at him, black radio dial eyes and predatory teeth. “ Why hello again, Luci. Tell me. What do you think of me now?”
“Hi Alastor,” Lucifer called out, summoning his cane to stand casually in front of the demon. He raised an eyebrow. “Kind of overkill, don’t you think?”
The Radio Demon looked distinctly put out. His body cracked and morphed back into his usual form, striding out of the shadows with his radio cane. “Don’t tell me you suddenly remember everything,” he said in utter annoyance. “If I knew all it would take to knock you back to your senses was a bit of mass murder, I would have done it ages ago.”
Lucifer merely grinned at him. “Oh, but we had fun, didn’t we?” Then he looked around at the piles of cooling bodies. “Although we are going to get a shit ton of flack from Heaven for this. You know you’re not even supposed to be up here, right?”
“Heaven’s not going to care that we murdered a bunch of sinners. I can guarantee you that. And you can thank Charlie for sending me after you,” Alastor replied, quite miffed. “Who knows how long you would have stayed up here playing detective if I hadn’t.”
The demon did pause though. And reluctantly admitted, “I did have fun though.” His red eyes studied the king, trying to gauge just how much of their little adventure Lucifer remembered. Which was all of it. “I’m calling in my favor,” he said suddenly.
“What, now?” Lucifer demanded, gaze turning towards the doors as the sirens only grew louder. If the humans showed up with them still there, it would be annoyingly inconvenient to bend reality all over again to explain this.
Then came the words, soft, hopeful, full of dread:
“Kiss me again.”
Lucifer blinked, and then turned to face the Radio Demon. Who was very much not looking in his direction. Seeming to find the slop of entrails dripping from the rafters particularly interesting. His face was bright red.
So cute!
Smiling, Lucifer stepped over to him. His hand reached up to the back of Alastor’s neck, yanking him down into a demanding kiss. Alastor shuddered. Then reciprocated, claws digging into the white cloth on his back to pull him closer. Lucifer laughed against his lips, “Oh, hey careful now. That’s vintage.” A look of delight passed between them at their shared joke. They put off letting go to the very last second, teasing each other with their mouths until the humans were right on top of them. The metal doors of the warehouse began to clack.
Lucifer looked up to Alastor, still holding him close. “Ready to go home?” he asked, powerful grip promising this wouldn’t be the last of their embraces.
The Radio Demon smiled down at him in affection. “Yes. Let’s.”
When the NYPD finally entered the warehouse, it was empty. Save for the grisly remains. Not a single one of them remembering the names Luc Magne and Alastor Laveau.