Lucifer was sitting on his balcony having a drink and looking out over the city. It was late afternoon and the sun on the distant hills made them glow with a golden light. He loved this view and he intended to memorize every detail while he still could. He knew what he had to do now.
Maze had left earlier in the day. Now that they had reconciled their differences, Lucifer asked her to run a few errands, seeing as he couldn’t leave the penthouse. He had made arrangements for if/when he left Los Angeles and he had sent Maze to put those plans in motion. He had changed the disposition of his assets in recent years, ever since meeting the Detective. If nothing else he could take care of the ones he had grown to close to.
He had never become attached to humanity before. They were fun to have around for pleasure and for the occasional indulgence in a variety of vices but to actually care about them, care about their welfare was a completely new concept. In the last 3 years he had connected with several on a personal level, so much so that he had made arrangements for Linda, Beatrice, the LAPD, even Detective Douche, after he was gone. However, nothing compared to the connection he felt with The Detective.
He thought she was like all the others. Just another beautiful woman to warm his bed for a time. But things began to change when he helped her investigate Delilah’s murder. She intrigued him, vexed him, challenged him in ways no one had before. He thought that if he could just bed her, everything would go back to normal but the longer he was around her, the more her wanted to be around her. He enjoyed working with her. He was a punisher and working with her gave him an outlet to dispense punishment on deserving mortals before they got to Hell. It was thrilling.
Then he became vulnerable and suddenly his life was much more exciting. He reveled in the novelty, much to Maze’s dismay, but he thought it was wonderful. As an immortal being, there wasn’t much that could surprise him.
When the Detective found out the truth about him, he realized just how much she had come to mean to him when he thought he had frightened her away. He didn’t want to lose the connection he had with her; didn’t want to not have her in his life. He was thrilled when she was able to accept him for who he was and continued their partnership.
In the ensuing months they had grown closer or at least he had grown closer to her. He wanted to please her and not in a sexual way. Although that option was DEFINITELY still on the table, he was more concerned with her happiness. He found himself spending more and more time with her and her offspring and enjoying it. He thought she may feel something more for him but as his powers did not work on her, he couldn’t be sure. Linda had told him before that the Detective could have feelings for him but he didn’t know if he should believe her. He wanted to believe her.
But he should have known it was too good to be true; known that he couldn’t have anything real with the Detective. He was beginning to think that he learned all there was to know about torture from his Father. How else could you explain the fact that He had allowed Lucifer to stay on Earth for so long; long enough to become attached to someone so special and then take it all way? It was just too cruel but no more than he should have expected. He also figured that was why nothing had happened after he killed Pierce other than his physical appearance. No need to send any of his siblings to drag him home when he had no other choice.
He had received a call from a detective in charge of Pierce’s murder investigation asking him to come down to the precinct to give his statement. He was able to finesse his way out of making a physical appearance but did give a statement over the phone. Since he couldn’t tell the absolute truth, he played fast and loose with the facts so that he told them what they needed to hear but didn’t incriminate himself. From the general direction of the question he knew that the Detective was considered the prime suspect. He was sure that was the Detective’s plan.
Through his contacts at the hospital, he knew that they had kept her overnight for observation but she was expected to be released that morning. He knew the extent of her injuries and that they believed she would make a full recovery. He would not blame her if she never wanted to see him again, but he knew she would come; she was a woman of her word after all. He would listen to whatever she had to say but his mind was made up. He would return to Hell where he belonged, where monsters dwelled.
His phone dinged, indicating he had a message. It was from the Detective.
/C: I’d like to come over now, if that’s ok? /
After a few moments he replied.
/L: I will be here. /
He returned to the living room and made his way to the piano. He hadn’t tried to play in his demon form before but now seemed like a good time to give it a whirl. His demonic hands were slightly larger than his angelic ones but he was still able to strike each individual key. Something unwound inside him with the realization that he would still be able to play and he began a repertoire of his favorites. Bach, Beethoven, Muddy Waters, Howling Wolf, artist he had known over his previous times on Earth. The Blues music spoke of anguish and futility, while Beethoven’s dark and moody compositions fit his current mood perfectly. He poured everything he had into the music. Anger, despair, longing and a deep sadness that seemed to come from a never ending well within his being. He played until the keys began to shred from his claws but even then, he continued as long as the music flowed. He sent it out into the ether, into the void and emptied himself, leaving behind a hollowed-out husk of a celestial being.
When he had poured everything he had into the music, he slowed, sending the last note on its way to follow the others and rested his hands on the keys. The Detective would be here soon, so he closed the fallboard to cover up the damage and returned to the balcony. The stars would be out soon; well the few that were bright enough to shine through the light pollution of the city. He planned to gaze upon them as much as he could as well.
Lucifer had heard her when she called him after exiting the elevator. He would have known it was her even without her saying a word. He always felt a pull when she was near, a pull that had increased the more time he spent with her. Even now she had the gravitational pull of a black hole upon him; he was powerless to resist her.
She made her way onto the balcony but he couldn’t look at her; couldn’t look upon the damage he had inflicted on her. After an awkward silence when neither said a word, she finally addressed him.
“Thanks for seeing me,” she said. Her voice was still pretty raspy. “I know it’s been…,” she stopped. “I don’t know what to say, Lucifer. Sorry just isn’t enough.” She let out a sigh and sat in one of the deck chairs.
The raspiness of voice twisted his gut. He had done that when he had choked her. He wasn’t really listening to what she said but when she sighed and sat down, he finally looked at her. The left side of her face was an ugly shade of purple but it was the finger marks on her neck that really upset him.
She had leaned her head back on the chair when she sat down but now, she looked up at him and he was surprised not to see fear or condemnation in her gaze. All he saw was sadness and a plea for forgiveness. What would she need forgiveness for? He was the monster here.
She blinked and swallowed, looking away from him; he saw the expression in her eyes close off when she regained her composure. She told him what she knew of the investigation; how IA and the FBI were taking over the investigation. How it seemed her plan was working, not that it was any comfort, but at least he had nothing to worry about.
“I’m not worried about me, Detective. It’s you I’m concerned about.” He had not moved closer to her but he couldn’t stay silent any more.
“I’m fine, Lucifer,” she told him. “Really.” She tried to convince him she was alright.
“Your face says otherwise,” he quipped, taking a drink from the glass in his hand.
“I will heal.”
Neither spoke. There was so much to say and neither knew how to start. He could tell she was tired. She should be at home getting some rest, not sitting on his balcony, pretending nothing had changed.
“Detective,” he finally said, his voice flat and cold, “you should go home and get some rest. I have remained here and you have come by and informed me of the progress in the case. Our deal has been fulfilled. There is really nothing left to say. As you can see, I am unable to resume my human appearance so I will be returning to Hell. I have some unfinished business to attend to but afterwards, you will never have to see me again.”
Chloe just looked at him and made no reply. She nodded her head as if she was mulling over all that he had just said.
“That’s your final say?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “You’re leaving and I should go home and rest?”
He nodded before turning away from her.
“Very well,” she said as she rose from her chair and headed back into the living room.
Lucifer remained exactly where he was and waited for the sound of the elevator arriving to take the Detective out of his life for good. After several minutes went by and he still hadn’t heard anything, he looked inside only to see the Detective disappear down the hallway that led to the guest rooms.
‘What the fuck?” he thought to himself as he went to see what she was up to. He found her in the same bedroom she had stayed in the night of Charlotte’s funeral. What he saw had him dumbfounded.
She had a duffel bag on the bed and she was taking out clothes, placing them in a dresser drawer. As he watched, she took out a toiletry bag and headed into the attached ensuite.
“What are you doing?” he asked when she came out of the bathroom.
She stopped and faced him. “You’ve had your say but I haven’t had mine. We still have to talk and I’m staying until we do. I’m on suspension and Dan has Trixie so I have nowhere else to be. But I’m tired, I’m going to turn in for the night and we will talk in the morning.” She went back to unpacking.
He gaped at her, at a loss for what to say. He didn’t know whether to be angry or impressed by her audacity. It seemed she had planned on staying all along since she came to his home with a packed bag. He finally just left her when he could think of nothing to say.
Throughout the evening, he found himself inexplicably drawn back to the guest room several times. He knew she was asleep; he could tell by her breathing. Whenever he returned, he stood in the doorway just watching her. She was lying on her left side away from the door leaving her dominant arm free so that she could access her firearm if need be or so he assumed. He wanted to stand there all night and watch her, drink in the sight of her and commit it all to memory. But he ached for more and before he could stop himself, he had stretched out on the bed, close to her but not touching. He tried not to wake her and when she didn’t move, he figured he was safe so he just lay there, feeling that constant pull that drew him to her.
He only wanted to take comfort in her nearness but he must have dozed off because she suddenly moved, startling him. Before he could remove himself from the bed, Chloe had turned over and placed her head on his chest and draped her arm across his torso.
Lucifer froze, arms poised in the air hoping she didn’t wake up. She would probably shoot him if she found him in bed with her. Although he might welcome a bullet to the heart if it would make the ache go away. But she didn’t awaken. Instead she seemed to settle even closer to his side. He finally allowed his arms to come down and rest on the bed. He placed one hand on her lower back, feeling her heart beat, while his other hand gently griped hers resting on his chest.
He finally allowed himself to relax when several minutes passed and nothing happened. He couldn’t believe she was snugged up to this monstrosity but she probably wasn’t aware he was there. He hoped so anyway; it was enough that he had hurt her he didn’t need to frighten her as well. While he lay there, he thought of all the things he should have done differently; all the things he wished he had told her when he had the chance.
Gazing at the ceiling and listening to the Detective’s gentle breathing, he decided to finally tell her all that he was feeling, all that was in his heart. But he spoke to her in a language he had not uttered in an eternity. He could speak all languages but this one was special. This was his native tongue, one he wished to share with her. There was really no true English translation for the words he spoke, but this was the feelings he wished to express:
My North Star.
My guiding light in the darkness.
You pierce my heart with your warmth.
You vex me, challenge me.
You are my beginning and my end.
I love you now until the end of time.
My cherished one.