my_own_advocate | Somewhere in Los Angeles, Tuesday Night

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Somewhere in Los Angeles, Tuesday Night

He'd started walking again. Just like Monday, when Father had shown up for the first time.

Lucifer just walked, leaving Linda's house far behind him. He kept walking blindly, thoughts racing, barely even aware of Duke and Octavia following behind.

He kept walking until his thoughts were calmer.

Until they found themselves at a fountain in a park, somewhere, he only barely knew where.

He sat down by the fountain's edge and crossed his arms, staring into nothing.

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"My Dad... is my Dad," Lucifer said quietly. "And they say apples rarely fall that far from the tree."

Lucifer had better tread carefully here -- he was dating a man who was trying very hard not to think he was destined to become a serial killer like his father and generations upon generations of Crockers before him.

"Oddly enough, I'm pretty sure angels don't work just like fruit trees."

Yeah, that had made Octavia's eyes flick to Lucifer, too.

"And none of us are our parents," she said, managing a slightly milder tone.

"No," Lucifer said. He folded his hands together. "But perhaps this entire mess sprung forth from the same source, and I, too, am incapable of love."

He stared at the ground. "And that's not fair to either of you."

That dinner had done quite a job on years of slow progress.

Duke shot a look up at Octavia, full of sadness and disbelief.

"I don't believe that for a second."

"I don't, either," Octavia said, and boy, had that mildness not lasted long. She'd just felt like her stomach had dropped, and she sounded it, too.

Her eyes were wider than they had been, a few seconds ago, as she looked from Duke to Lucifer. "Incapable? Just because your dad made all the wrong choices?"

"He made me," Lucifer said. If her stomach had dropped, then his had plummeted down to the center of the earth sometime during that silent walk. But it made such a horrifying amount of sense: he couldn't be there for any of the people who cared about him because he was fundamentally broken.

"The two of you can have the bed tonight."

"I was made by a serial killer and a useless junkie," Duke said. "I'm not incapable of love." He tried pressing a kiss to Lucifer's cheek. "Neither are you."

Octavia crouched down in front of Lucifer, trying to catch his eyes.

(Tried not to think about the times Duke had done the same with her.)

"Where the hell do you think you're going to sleep?"

"The couch, obviously," Lucifer said. He glanced up at her eyes only briefly, and then to Duke, and then back at the floor.

(He didn't flinch away from Duke's kiss, at least.)

"I mean my parents made me," he said. "Yours-- smashed their DNA together and somehow managed to pass on only the good bits."

"What about your mom?" Duke asked. If Lucifer was sleeping on the couch, Duke would just sleep on the couch too. He was much too stubborn to be put off like that. "She made you, too, right? Was she incapable of love?"

Octavia was slightly more likely to choose the slightly more subtle approach to sleep next to the couch on the floor, but the thought was the same.

She tried putting her hand on Lucifer's knee, the expression on her face slowly morphing into concern.

Goddess adored him, and on some level Lucifer knew that. But right now all he could think of was how broken everything had been, how much he was letting everyone down by being him, again.

So he said nothing. He couldn't parse the question.

Duke moved to slide his arms around Lucifer's waist.

"You're tired," he said, barely more than a whisper. "Let's just get you back to your loft, huh?"

He wanted to wrap Lucifer up in a blanket and hiss at anyone who came close who wasn't him or Octavia. (Or maybe Chloe, but she was on thin ice.)

And to think they'd been worried over Lucifer kissing Chloe. And how that had felt like it might be a step away from them.

"Yeah," Octavia agreed in a murmur. "We should do that."

"Right," Lucifer said.

He really was tired. And miserable, and in pain, but also very, very tired. "All right."

He rose gingerly from his seat.

Duke moved with him, unwilling to let him go for any longer than he absolutely had to. Like when he had to use one hand to dip into his pocket and pull out his phone.

"I'll get us an Uber."

Octavia stood up, too.

And found herself just watching them. It wasn't like she could help. And her chest felt --

Too tight.

Octavia had at least figured it out, Lucifer reflected.

"I don't deserve this," he told Duke, who clearly hadn't.

Duke knew that feeling.

"I don't give a shit if you deserve it or not. You're getting it."

He tucked his phone away again.

"Carlos will be here in a red Honda Civic in six minutes."

"Deserve's got nothing to do with it," Octavia murmured.

Not for the first time.

"A Civic," Lucifer muttered.

Yeah, he was going to judge the car choice because otherwise he'd have to engage with what they were saying.

What? Carlos was the closest one who wasn't picking up multiple people at once!

"Deal with it, babe," Duke said gently, and moved to kiss Lucifer on the hair.

Octavia didn't know what else to say. Maybe one of these days she would learn Duke's strategy of going for the touching, even in a public place like this, but she wasn't there yet.

She just wanted them to get home.

(Except that wasn't where they were going.)

Lucifer sighed, knowing he should really move away from Duke and not let him continue to indulge this-- fool's errand. He really should.

(It was also the one thing holding him together right now.)

So he stood there, muttered something about the indignity of the car, and then fell silent. Waiting.

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