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Published:
2020-11-03
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2021-06-15
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33/33
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Believer

Summary:

There are three things Chloe Decker knows:
One, she is in love with the Devil.
Two, the Devil loves her back (even if he hasn’t said it yet).
And three, “celestial craziness” doesn’t even begin to cover what she’s gotten herself into.

Picks up right after the cliffhanger in 5A. Fluff, angst, and shameless amounts of Deckerstar within.

Chapter 1: One

Chapter Text

Chloe Decker knows Lucifer Morningstar better than most people do.

That’s not saying much, considering he keeps pretty much everyone at arm’s length. Even as Lucifer’s partner—in more ways than one, given recent events—there are still a million things Chloe doesn’t know. 

She knows him, though. She knows his brand of cigarettes and his brand of shoes and how much he abhors wrinkled clothing. She knows better than to steal a sip of his coffee because all she’ll get is a mouthful of coffee-tinged whiskey. She knows that despite his colorful array of nicknames for her daughter, he’s actually very fond of Trixie. She knows that although he prefers to call it punishment, he cares about justice and fairness just as much as she does. She also knows that he cares very, very deeply about what she thinks of him. 

If someone who didn’t know him asked her to describe him, there are plenty of descriptors she could use. Most of them would be contradictions. He’s smart, but also stunningly clueless. He’s friendly but aloof. Affectionate but distant. Observant but oblivious. Casually kind and casually cruel, often in the same breath. 

Dan was right when he muttered Guy’s a freaking enigma. 

If she had to settle on two words, though, she knows which ones she’d pick. The first is proud. No one is as proud as Lucifer. It often gets him into trouble, and it often infuriates her, but there’s something magnetic about how sure he is of himself. It makes her want to be sure of herself, too. 

The second is that he’s impulsive. He just...he doesn’t think . The moment an impulse throbs in his chest, he chases it—no questions asked. He says what he wants and he does what he wants, regardless of how it might impact the people around him.

When they first started working together, Chloe hated his impulsivity. It made her job harder, and it pushed her out of her comfort zone, and it transformed her carefully ordered life into something messy and unpredictable. 

If she’s honest with herself, though, she knows there was a part of her that was just jealous. She envied his freedom. She didn’t know what it was like to get an idea in her head and act on it, consequences be damned, but it seemed...exhilarating. Sometimes, on nights when she felt restless but didn’t know why, she wondered if she would be happier if she was more like her partner. 

But then she saw the dark side of his impulsivity. She experienced the devastation that his thoughtlessness could leave in his wake, and it hurt. It hurt to sit in that restaurant at an empty table, pretending she didn’t see the waitress shooting her looks of pity when Lucifer stood her up. It hurt to get her hopes up that they would finally talk about what was going on between them, only to get ghosted and then subjected to Mrs. Candy Fucking Morningstar. 

After Lucifer went back to Hell—after she begged him not to go and told him she loved him and he still left her anyway—there was a brief period where she hit rock bottom. It seemed like her life since she’d met him had been nothing but one giant loop of putting herself out there and getting rejected. Confessing her feelings and hearing goodbye in response was the worst rejection yet, and she couldn’t deal with his decision making anymore. She couldn’t keep caring about someone who didn’t care enough about her to think before he acted. It just...it hurt too much. 

She realized, eventually, that she was wrong. His return to Hell wasn’t selfish or impulsive. It was the opposite. It was noble. Sacrificial. He did it for her, and for their family and friends, and it made her love him even more. 

But even though she understood his decision—admired it, even—she still felt abandoned. Even though he told her that he spent thousands of years in Hell dreaming about their reunion, she wondered whether part of him was relieved to have an excuse to be away from her after her declaration. And even when she was finally, finally naked in his bed, and his hands were like fire on her skin as he breathed her name like a prayer, there was still a small, quiet voice in the back of her mind whispering He’s going to leave you again. 

That’s exactly what she’s thinking in the evidence room after the Michael fiasco. 

She’s trying not to cry. Really, she is. But her throat is too tight, and it feels like her sternum is cracking from the force of everything building in her chest, and she can’t help it. 

“So just tell me,” she says, voice wavering. “Is that...why you haven’t said it back?”

Lucifer looks incredulous. “Haven’t said what back?”

That’s when she realizes she was wrong. She thought the worst thing he could possibly tell her was yes, you’re right, I haven’t said it back because I don’t lie and I don’t love you. But this is worse. He doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. She spent every day he was gone replaying her confession and his last words over and over again, certain that if she could just get him back then he’d say the words to her. But here he is, back and supposedly hers, and he doesn’t even remember.  

She can’t look at him anymore. She drops her gaze. Her eyes are warm, and then they’re wet. Lucifer exhales a soft, “Oh,” and Chloe’s heart starts to break in her chest. 

She forces herself to glance up at him, hoping she’ll see something encouraging in his expression, but she doesn’t. He seems to be at a loss for words, and the cracks in her heart start to deepen. Lucifer is never at a loss for words. 

He doesn’t love her, does he?

He doesn’t love her.

“Detective, it’s...it’s complicated,” he murmurs.

“Right,” she says, hoping that she can pretend to be fine long enough to get the hell out of here and compose herself somewhere that he’s not. It’s bad enough he doesn’t love her. Falling apart in front of him because he doesn’t feel the same way she does is a humiliation she can’t bear. 

But he sees right through her. Suddenly he’s rambling, and he sounds increasingly desperate, and she just keeps saying right like some kind of broken record until—

“Chloe.”

She snaps her gaze back up to his. She knows what it means for him to call her by her first name. Hope flutters in her chest. 

“I…” he starts. 

Oh my god, she thinks, her whole body going still. He’s going to say it. He’s…

Gone. 

He’s gone. 

Wait, what?

Chloe blinks at the empty space in front of her where, just a second ago, Lucifer stood. Except he’s not there anymore. There’s no trace of him except the faint scent of his cologne. The room is dead silent. She’s alone.

Why is she alone?

“...Lucifer?” she murmurs.

No response.

She frowns. She turns around, but he’s not behind her. He’s not anywhere. She walks the rows of evidence just to be sure, sweeping her gaze over every inch of the room, but he’s nowhere to be found. He just...disappeared.

“Lucifer,” she calls again, her voice louder this time. If he’s playing a trick on her, she’s going to strangle him. 

But he wouldn’t do that. She knows that. If he’s gone it’s because something happened. Probably something celestial. 

Or because he’s running from her. 

Again.

For a moment, she feels like she’s right back in his penthouse, staring at all his furniture covered in sheets. 

Gone, a voice whispers in the back of her mind. It repeats and starts to crescendo. Gone gone gone—

“No,” she says aloud. Her voice cracks on the word, but the whispers in her head stop. She casts one last glance around the evidence room, and then heads for the door. 

When she swings it open and steps out into the bullpen, she finds chaos. There’s a crowd of cops in the distance by the conference room. She scans the area, looking for Lucifer, but doesn’t see him. She hurries in the direction of the crowd, wondering if they’re huddled around her partner, but when she pushes through to the front all she finds is that one of the conference room walls has been shattered and there’s glass everywhere. 

“Chloe,” a voice calls. 

Chloe looks up and sees Linda on the other side of the broken glass, holding a crying Charlie in her arms. She looks concerned, and Chloe has a feeling it’s not just because Charlie is upset. 

No one in the huddle of cops is doing anything except staring at Linda and staring at the broken glass and murmuring shit like What the hell happened? so Chloe takes charge.

“Robbins,” she says, grabbing the nearest uniform. “Call maintenance.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says with a nod.

“Want me to call the lieutenant, Decker?” Cacuzza asks. 

“She’s in a meeting with city brass,” someone says from the crowd.

“Call her anyway,” Chloe says to Cacuzza. “She doesn’t like to be the last to know stuff.”

Cacuzza snorts in agreement and lifts her phone to her ear. Chloe steps carefully through the broken glass and into the conference room. She scans Linda’s body for injuries out of habit.

“Are you all right?”

“We’re fine,” Linda says, waving off her concern. 

“What happened?” 

“I have no idea.” Linda shifts Charlie in her arms and then slips a pacifier into his mouth. He stops crying immediately. “One minute Amenadiel and I were in here talking, and the next thing I know he’s—”

“Gone,” Chloe finishes in unison with her. She glances around the room. “Lucifer too. It’s like he disappeared out of thin air.”

“I don’t understand,” Linda says. “Where’d they go?”

“No clue.”

“Has this ever happened before with you two?”

“No.” Chloe frowns as a memory surfaces. “Well, sort of.”

Linda sets Charlie back in his stroller. “What do you mean sort of?”

“I mean there’s been a few times when I blinked and all of a sudden Lucifer wasn’t where I left him. But he was never gone. He was just...somewhere else close by.” She leans toward Linda and lowers her voice. “Did you know Amenadiel can—”

“Slow time?” Linda finishes quietly as she straightens. “Yes, but he’s had trouble doing it lately.” She shakes her head with a frown. “Even if he figured out how to do it again, why would he?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says with a sigh. “But his timing sucks.”

One of Linda’s eyebrows lifts. “Oh? And why is that?”

Chloe purses her lips and considers whether or not to share. Lucifer and Amenadiel appear to be missing, and there’s shattered glass all over the floor, and a crowd of her colleagues are feet away. It’s probably not the ideal time to ask Linda if she thinks Lucifer is freaked out by the seriousness of their relationship. But if Lucifer is dealing with celestial shit, then there’s nothing either Chloe or Linda can do until he shows up again. She might as well take advantage of the moment.

“Lucifer and I were talking,” she says.

Linda’s eyebrow lifts higher. “About?”

“About the thing he hasn’t said.” 

Linda looks puzzled. “The thing he hasn’t said,” she repeats slowly. 

Chloe glances over her shoulder, and then steps closer so she can lower her voice even more. “You know, the thing. The thing I said before he went back to...well, before he went down south.”

“Ohhh,” Linda says, recognition dawning on her face. “Right. That thing.” And then her eyes widen. “Did he say it back?”

“No. I mean, I think he was going to? He said it was complicated. Then he said I do. Of course I do. But that’s, like, not the same thing.” She frowns. “Right?”

“Not the same thing,” Linda confirms, shaking her head. 

“I thought so,” Chloe sighs. “But then he said my name.”

“Oh,” Linda says, her voice lifting. A smile spreads over her lips. “That’s a good sign.”

“Right?” Chloe says, relieved that she’s not the only one who thinks so. “But then he disappeared, and now he’s nowhere to be found.” Fear flickers in her chest, familiar and uncomfortable. “You don’t think he had Amenadiel freeze time so he could get away from me, do you?”

“No,” Linda says. “Lucifer from a year ago, maybe. But Lucifer now? After spending thousands of years in Hell pining over you? I seriously doubt it.”

Warmth floods through Chloe’s veins. “He said he was pining over me?”

Linda smiles. “Not in those exact words, no. But that was the impression I got.”

An image of Lucifer sitting on a giant black throne, surrounded by flames and staring longingly down at a photo of her, suddenly floats across Chloe’s mind. She presses her lips together so she won’t smile. 

“Chloe,” Linda says gently in her therapist voice. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Yes, please,” Chloe says with a bit of a laugh. “I need all the help I can get.”

Linda folds her hands in front of her the same way she would if she were sitting in the chair in her office. “If Lucifer is having a hard time saying the words back to you, it might not be about you or your relationship. In fact, I’m almost certain that it has nothing to do with the way he feels about you.”

Chloe frowns. “Then what’s it about?”

“Well, it’s complicated.” 

Chloe gives her a look.

“I know,” Linda says with a laugh. “But I don’t think Lucifer was feeding you a line. I think he was just being honest with you. For someone like him, those words are very loaded.”

“You mean because he’s never been in a serious relationship before?”

“Well, there’s that,” Linda says. “But it’s also more than that. We develop our understanding of love through formative relationships with family members. Take your daughter, for instance. She’s got two affectionate, attentive parents, so it’s easy for her to express love to other people. She’s had it modeled for her. Compare that with someone like Maze, who didn’t have parents like you and Dan, and you get the opposite.”

“But Maze is a demon.”

“And Lucifer is the Devil,” Linda counters. “Amenadiel is one of the few siblings he has a good relationship with, and that’s a pretty recent development. Things between him and his mother weren’t healthy. And his father isn’t exactly...”

Chloe frowns when Linda trails off. “Isn’t exactly what?” 

“Let’s put a pin in this,” Linda says quietly, glancing past Chloe toward the bullpen.

“But—”

“Detective,” Lucifer calls.

Chloe’s heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice. She turns toward him. He’s struggling through the crowd of cops on the other side of the broken glass.

“Yes, excuse me, please,” he says. “Devil coming through. I’ve very important things to discuss with my partner, far more important than whatever it is you’re discussing. My goodness, Officer Banks, there’s no need to take up so much space. Excuse me.”

He finally gets through the crowd, takes a giant step over the broken glass, and comes to a stop in front of them. 

“Well I’ve been looking all over for you, Detective,” he says, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. His eyes flicker over her like he’s checking for injuries the same way she just did to Linda. “Why didn’t you stay where I left you? You had me worried.”

Chloe frowns. “I had you worried?”

“Well, obviously,” he says as if she’s just asked him whether the sky is blue and grass is green.

Chloe points a finger at him. “You’re the one who disappeared out of thin air, Lucifer.”

Lucifer blinks at her for a second. “Right,” he says, smoothing a hand absently over his torso. “I’m sure you’re very confused. Might we...” He glances over his shoulder at the crowd of cops and then leans toward her. “Might we have this conversation in private?”

Irritation flares unexpectedly in Chloe’s chest. “We already were."

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “You’re angry with me,” he observes quietly. He searches her eyes like he’s confused but trying to understand, and then his entire body seems to deflate. “Of course. I...I ran out on our conversation and you...well, of course you’re angry.”

He looks like a kicked puppy. Chloe feels immediately guilty. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No, I just…” She doesn’t know what she is, so she doesn’t finish her sentence. Linda is glancing back and forth between them with a clear look of interest on her face, and the crowd by the broken glass doesn’t appear to be going anywhere anytime soon, so Chloe gestures toward the bullpen. “Yeah, we can speak privately.” 

Lucifer perks up immediately. “Wonderful.”

Chloe casts a glance at Linda. “Will you be okay?”

“Of course,” Linda replies. 

“Not to worry, Amenadiel will be along shortly,” Lucifer says. “The good doctor will be just fine until then.” He slides his hand along the small of Chloe’s back and tries to lead her from the room, but Chloe plants her feet. Lucifer frowns at her.

“Can we finish this conversation later?” she asks Linda.

Linda smiles. “Of course. Anytime you want to grab a drink, I’m there.”

Chloe thinks of their first ever girls night and smiles. She reaches out and squeezes the doctor’s arm. Linda covers her hand and squeezes back.

“Did I miss something?” Lucifer asks, glancing between them.

“No,” Chloe and Linda say in unison with matching smiles.

Chloe turns on her heel and steps carefully over the glass again. Lucifer follows. He falls in step next to her once they get through the crowd of cops, and latches onto her elbow like he’s afraid she’ll run from him if he doesn’t hang on. 

Halfway to the evidence room Chloe realizes his eyes are sweeping the bullpen the way hers do when she’s looking for an armed suspect. His back is ramrod straight. He seems on edge.

“Are you okay?” she murmurs.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he says dismissively. But he doesn’t look fine.

She swallows a follow up question and waits until they’re back in the evidence room. As Lucifer shuts the door behind him, she feels a wave of deja vu. 

“Right,” Lucifer says, turning to face her. “Here we are.” He flashes her a smile. “Again. Sorry about that.”

“About which part?” she asks, folding her arms. “Disappearing into thin air in the middle of our conversation, or breaking the conference room glass?”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. “And how do you know I was the one who broke the glass?”

“Well were you?”

His mouth twitches again. “Perhaps.”

Chloe throws up her hands.

“I was forced,” he says, fiddling with one of his cufflinks. “It wasn’t my fault, I assure you. The department can take it out of Maze’s next check if they’re so inclined.”

Chloe frowns. “Maze? Maze pushed you through the glass?”

“Well technically she kicked me, but yes.” Lucifer suddenly looks like he just sucked on a very sour lemon. “It seems she’s taken up with Michael.”

What? ” Chloe demands.

“He promised her a soul,” Lucifer says, waving his hand as if that’s a totally normal thing to say. “Which is just absurd. Really, she should know better. It’s impossible.” He tilts his head thoughtfully. “I suppose Dad could do it. Part of his all-powerful schtick. But he’s bloody well not going to do it for sniveling, psychotic Michael. For Amenadiel, maybe. Gabriel. Perhaps Raphael, if one assumes lacking a soul is an illness, but even then—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off, holding up a hand. “Before we go through what I’m sure is a very long list of your siblings, can you maybe tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Of course,” Lucifer says, bowing his head. “My apologies.” He steps closer to her. “It appears you were right to be concerned about my brother’s master plan. Michael is to blame for Charlie’s cold. He worked Amenadiel into a lather over Charlie being fully human rather than half angel, and Amenadiel’s distress caused him to stop time entirely.”

“I thought he slowed time.”

“He does. Well, he did. He’s been a bit impotent as of late.” Lucifer grins like the Cheshire cat. “Performance issues are not something I struggle with, Detective, I can assure you. Just in case there was any question.”

Chloe thinks it wise not to mention that not so long ago, he couldn’t use his mojo just like Amenadiel couldn’t slow time. She doesn’t imagine pointing out impotence of any sort is something Lucifer would appreciate. 

“Right,” she says instead. “So he stopped time, and…?”

“And you froze mid-conversation.”

“I froze?”

“Yes. All you humans did. I left you here in search of Amenadiel so that he could unfreeze time and we could continue our very important conversation, but we were interrupted by my idiot brother and my idiot demon, who should perhaps consider changing her name to Benedict Maze. Maze-dict, if you will.” Lucifer grins. “Rather apt, seeing as she’s behaving a bit dickishly, don’t you think?”

Chloe blinks at him. “Maze betrayed you, and you’re making jokes?”

Lucifer’s grin fades. “Well it wouldn’t be the first time she’s switched sides on me, Detective. I’m certain it won’t be the last.”

“You mean in Hell.”

“No, I mean in Los Angeles. She’s betrayed me multiple times since you and I met.”

Chloe stares at him. “She has?

“She’s a demon, Detective. It’s what she does. Who she is.”

Chloe frowns. There’s a thought forming in the back of her mind, a desire to point out that maybe Maze keeps acting this way because that’s how he expects her to act, but now’s not the time to open that can of worms. They still haven’t sorted through the first can. 

“So you and Amenadiel fought Maze and Michael,” she guesses.

“Indeed,” Lucifer confirms. 

“And you...won?”

“Well I’m certain we would have prevailed if my father hadn’t shown up.”

Chloe’s mouth falls open. “Your what?

“My father. He appeared on the stairs in a blaze of glory. Very cliche, if you ask me, but he’s always been rather fond of making a grand entrance. Although you’d think for his first appearance on earth in eons he’d have chosen something better to wear than that horrible knitted monstrosity. He looked like he wandered out of an old folks’ home.”

Chloe’s ears are ringing. “Your dad was here?

Lucifer frowns at her. “Yes, I’ve just said that.”

“Like, here? In this precinct? On our stairs?”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “Are you certain you didn’t suffer a concussion whilst in captivity?” He lifts his hands to either side of her face and squints. “I remember a paramedic at one of my particularly raucous parties mentioning something about pupils…”

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, brushing his hands away from her face. “Stop. I don’t have a concussion.”

“Well you’re repeating things like a drunkard.”

“I’m not drunk,” she says, her exasperation building. “I’m human and you’re telling me that God himself was just in the middle of my precinct and it’s...it’s a lot to take in, okay?”

“All right,” Lucifer says. He straightens his jacket absently. “But I don’t think you’d feel this way if you’d seen him in that horrid cardigan.”

Chloe stares at him for a moment, and then she can’t help it. She snorts out a laugh. Of course Lucifer is concerned about the cardigan. Of course he is.

Lucifer looks pleased by her amusement. He always does.

“Okay,” Chloe says, brushing her hair behind her ear. “So your dad...appeared. Did he say why?”

“Well he wasn’t thrilled we were fighting.”

Chloe frowns. “But you’ve fought with your siblings before.”

“Thousands of times.”

“And he’s never stepped in before?”

“No,” Lucifer scoffs. “He doesn’t deign to be involved in such trivial matters as the lives of his children. Absentee father in chief, remember?”

“Right,” Chloe says. “So why now?”

For the first time since they started this conversation, Lucifer looks uncomfortable. He rolls his shoulders, and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He lifts a hand to stroke absently over his vest, and then he starts to fiddle with one of his cufflinks again. His brow is furrowed. He looks...apprehensive.

Lucifer never looks apprehensive. 

Chloe steps toward him. “Lucifer?”

He meets her gaze. “It seems he has an announcement to make.”

“An announcement,” Chloe repeats. As soon as she says it, she expects him to say something obnoxious about how she’s repeating things again. But he doesn’t. 

“Yes,” he says instead. He flickers his gaze over her face, his eyebrows still furrowed, and then he murmurs, “He’d like to break bread tomorrow evening.”

“He...what?”

“Break bread. It’s his insufferably superior way of asking us to share a meal.”

“So your dad...wants to have a family dinner so he can make an announcement?” 

“Yes,” Lucifer says with a grimace. “That is correct.”

Chloe stares at him. She’s not sure what to say to that, so she says the first thing that comes to mind. “Wow.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Lucifer mutters.

Chloe glances up at him, and the expression on his face sends a wave of sympathy crashing over her. She has never thought that Lucifer and Trixie were anything alike. But looking at him now, while he stares off into the distance with a bewildered expression on his face, she can’t help but think of the moment when she and Dan told Trixie they were going to separate. It’s not so much the confusion, though there’s that too. It’s more that Lucifer looks...well, he looks like a little kid. Unsure and maybe even scared. Like he needs a hug. 

The impulse to hug him throbs in her chest. She leans toward him, but second guesses herself and stops. Maybe he doesn’t want a hug. His inability to say those three words back to her not so long ago is still heavy in the air, and she doesn’t think she can handle another rejection right now. So she reaches out and puts her hand on his arm instead. She knows he won’t mind that.

His fingers, which were rubbing over his cufflink, go still. He lifts his gaze to hers.

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

He scoffs. “I’m—”

“Lucifer,” she cuts him off gently. She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t think she needs to.

He swallows, and then nods as if he understands what she’s saying even though she didn’t say it. He covers her hand with his. “I’m not sure how I feel,” he confesses quietly.

“That’s okay,” Chloe says, squeezing his arm. “You don’t have to have any answers. I’m sure it’s a lot to take in.”

His eyebrows furrow again, but there’s a different expression on his face now. It’s more like...wonder. Awe, even. 

“What?” she asks. 

He smiles. “I find your presence very soothing. It...well, it makes everything quieter.”

Chloe opens her mouth, but no words come out. She’s not even sure what words she wanted to come out. What is she even supposed to say to that? It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to her. 

She swallows around a sudden tightness in her throat. “I’m glad.”

His thumb strokes over her knuckles. “As am I.”

Chloe gazes at him. The way he looks at her. Like he’s found water in the desert. I love you is right on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it.

“So are you going to go?” she asks, pulling her hand back.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice,” he sighs. “But rest assured, Detective, I didn’t make the decision for both of us. It is completely up to you whether you’d like to join me.”

Chloe stares at him. Her ears are ringing again. “What?”

“You have a choice,” Lucifer clarifies. “You needn’t come if you don’t want to.”

“Wait,” Chloe says, holding up her hand. “Are you...are you saying I’m invited? To the celestial family dinner?”

“Indeed.” 

For a second, Chloe’s certain that her brain is going to explode. She feels like one of those toys Trixie loved when she was a baby, the ones that started to stutter and repeat the same sound over and over again when they were getting low on batteries. Except instead of an annoying song about five little monkeys jumping on the bed, all she can say is, “What?”

“Linda will be there, of course,” Lucifer says. “So you wouldn’t be the only mortal, should you choose to come.”

“Linda?”

“Well she is the mother of Amenadiel’s child, after all. Dad acted as if including her was a purely magnanimous gesture, but I think we all know he’s just curious about the mother of his first grandson and the woman who caught the eye of his favorite son.”

“Is that why I’m invited?” Chloe croaks. “Because I caught your eye?”

“Well you certainly caught someone’s eye,” Lucifer mutters grumpily. “Michael couldn’t wait to suggest I bring my better half. I tried to point out that you’re very busy being one of L.A.’s finest—” He pauses and grins and darts his eyes over her body. “And I do mean finest in every sense of the word.” 

Chloe can’t bring herself to smile. Lucifer doesn’t seem to notice. 

“But Michael was insistent and Dad was—”

“Wait,” Chloe cuts him off. “Are you saying Michael is the one who invited me to family dinner? Not you?”

“Well I didn’t think you’d be interested in passing the potatoes to the monster who recently kidnapped you, so no. It wasn’t my idea.”

“Right,” Chloe says. “That...that makes sense.” And it does. But also...Lucifer wasn’t going to invite her to family dinner? She’s only invited because his brother wants her there?

“We’ll be in Linda’s home,” Lucifer says, oblivious to her thoughts. “Familiar territory for you, which I remember you saying was helpful when dealing with dangerous individuals.”

Chloe nods. She has said that during cases. But this isn’t a cartel or a crazed serial killer. This is God and angels and...holy shit. She’s been invited to family dinner with the creator of the universe and his winged sons.

Lucifer is still talking. 

“I won’t let you out of my sight. Michael wouldn’t dare harm you while Dad is present. Sniveling coward,” he adds, almost as if he couldn’t resist. “But Amenadiel and I will be there to protect you as well. You’ll be perfectly safe, you have my word.”

Chloe nods but can’t seem to formulate a response. She can’t...she can’t keep up with this conversation. It’s too surreal.

“Detective?” Lucifer calls. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “Yeah, just...just processing.”

Lucifer puts his hands on her shoulders and bends forward so that they’re eye level. She finally looks up at him, and he holds her gaze earnestly. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently.

She shakes her head. “You said we don’t have a choice.”

“I said I don’t have a choice. You have a choice. I made sure of it. I told Dad I’d ask you, but I made it clear that if you refuse then he’ll just have to get over it.”

Chloe blinks at him. “You told God he’d have to get over it?

“Well of course,” Lucifer says impatiently. “You are your own person, regardless of his hand in your creation, and I will not stand by and allow him to force you to do things you’re uncomfortable with. He might orchestrate the context around you but he does not get to control how you react to it. That’s the whole bloody point of free will.”

He says it with such fervor that warmth unfurls in Chloe’s chest. He wanted to give her a choice. After all her angst about not having the free will to fall in love with him, he wanted to make sure she could choose to go to his family dinner.

She reaches for him, curling her fingers into the edges of his jacket and stepping more fully into his space. He looks confused by her sudden proximity. 

“Detective?”

“I’ll go,” she says, tipping her head back to look at him. “If you’re there, I’m there.”

Relief blossoms across his face. “Really?” he says softly. But before she can say anything, he frowns. “Are you sure? I have no desire to force your hand. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I don’t.”

He seems unconvinced. “My family is not like yours, Detective. Or any family, really. We’re rather unique.”

“You think?” she says dryly.

He smiles a little, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“We’re partners,” she reminds him, tugging on his jacket. “Where you go, I go. Even if you’re going to the world’s weirdest family dinner with your angsty angel brothers and your distant dad.”

“Why Detective Decker,” Lucifer says, a genuine smile finally spreading over his lips. “I had no idea you had such a knack for alliteration.”

“I’m a woman of many talents.”

“That you are,” he says, brushing his hand over her face. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. He’s watching his thumb trace over her cheek like he’s trying to convince himself that she’s not a figment of his imagination, and she’s content to just be close to him and stand in a rare moment of silence. He smells good. He always smells good. She doesn’t know what the scent is. She’s never asked. She just knows she likes it. 

“About earlier,” he starts softly. “Before you were frozen.”

Her heart flips in her chest. She very desperately wants to know what he’s about to say, but Linda’s voice is ringing in her ears. 

For someone like him, those words are very loaded. It has nothing to do with the way he feels about you.

He takes a deep breath. “Detective, I—”

“Don’t,” she interrupts.

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows in surprise. 

“You’re not the only one who has no desire to force anyone,” she tells him. “You’ve got enough on your plate right now with your dad and Michael and dinner. Let’s just deal with that first, and then we can talk, okay?”

He searches her gaze like he’s trying to decide if she’s lying to him. “That’s what you desire?”  

She wonders if he wishes he could use his mojo on her right now. She doesn’t ask. 

“I want to give you what you need,” she says. “You were patient with me when I was dealing with the whole gift-from-God thing. Now it’s my turn. Give and take, remember?”

“Right,” he says. “Give and take.” He ducks his head toward her, and a sly smile spreads over his lips. “Speaking of, could I interest you in a little give and take back at the penthouse? Dinner isn’t until tomorrow evening so we’ve got plenty of time.”

Chloe smiles. “That is very tempting, but I haven’t seen Trix since...you know. I asked Dan if I could have her tonight.”

“Ah, yes. Of course. Well, I’ll pick you up at six thirty tomorrow then?”

Chloe smiles and rises to her toes to kiss him briefly on the lips. 

“It’s a date.”

Chapter 2: Two

Notes:

Y'all said such nice things in my comments. Thanks :)

Chapter Text

“What about this?”

Trixie, who is sitting on Chloe’s bed with her back against the headboard, looks up from the sketchpad in her lap. Chloe holds her arms out and spins to show off her outfit. When she turns back around, she’s just in time to see Trixie crinkle her nose. 

“Didn’t you wear that to parent-teacher conferences?”

Chloe frowns. “Did I?”

“Yeah. Because when you got home Daddy said the sweater made Mr. Mullins want you real bad.”

Chloe raises her eyebrows. “You heard that?”

Trixie grins. “I hear everything.”

“Great,” Chloe mutters. She needs to tell Dan they’ll have to be more careful about having adult conversations in Trixie’s earshot. “So is that a no on the sweater?”

“No,” Trixie confirms. And then she tilts her head. “Can I pick one?”

Chloe gestures at her closet. “Go for it. You can’t do any worse than I am.”

Trixie scrambles off the bed. Chloe sets her hand on Trixie’s head as she passes, smiling down at her daughter, and then wanders over to the bed. She pulls the sketchpad closer to her and then smiles. Trixie’s drawings have come a long way since the colorful crayon masterpieces that are displayed downstairs. She prefers colored pencils over crayons these days. And Chloe is probably biased, but she thinks they’re pretty good. Her daughter could have a future as an artist. 

“Hey Monkey?” she calls.

“Yeah?” Trixie says, her voice muffled from inside the closet. 

“Your drawings are getting really good. Do you think you might want to be an artist when you grow up?”

“Maybe,” Trixie says. “But I might want to be a forensic scientist like Ella too.”

Chloe smiles. That explains why Trixie is drawing Ella in her forensics jacket with a camera in her hand. “When you’re finished with this one, we can give it to Ella if you want. I’m sure she’d love it. She might even hang it up in her lab.”

“Okay!” Trixie says brightly. Her voice isn’t muffled anymore, and Chloe turns around to find her daughter standing in the closet doorway. “I think you should wear this.

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. Trixie is holding a black dress with an open back and a plunging neckline. It’s silk and shimmering and very short, and it’s definitely not something Chloe would wear anymore. Especially not to a family dinner where she’s meeting her boyfriend’s dad who also happens to be God. 

“I don’t think that’s going to work, Trix.”

Trixie frowns. “Why not?”

“Well I don’t think Lucifer’s dad is the kind to appreciate a little black dress.”

Trixie grins. “But Lucifer would like it.”

Chloe can’t really argue with that. She’s searching for another excuse when Lucifer himself appears in the doorway. 

“Hi Lucifer!” Trixie greets with her usual enthusiasm. 

“Hello offspring,” Lucifer says with a nod. He glances across the room at Chloe, and his smile deepens. “Hello Detective.” 

“Hey.”

His gaze flickers over her body. When his eyes finally meet hers, he smirks. “Don’t you look smashing.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to thank him—and to ask why he’s got his hands behind his back like a creep—but Trixie speaks first.

“She’s not wearing that.”

Lucifer frowns. “Why not?”

“It’s her parent-teacher conference sweater. It made my math teacher get the hots for her.”

“I beg your pardon?” Lucifer says, shooting a concerned look at Chloe. 

Chloe shakes her head. “No it didn’t.”

“Yes it did,” Trixie argues. She holds up the dress in her hand. “I think she should wear this.

Lucifer glances in her direction, and then freezes. His eyes widen a little as he takes in the dress, and then a grin that’s positively sinful spreads over his lips. “Oh, yes. I approve.”

“No,” Chloe says flatly.

Lucifer and Trixie give her matching pouts. 

“I am not wearing that to meet your father,” Chloe tells Lucifer. She shoots an apologetic look at Trixie as she crosses the room and takes the dress from her. “Sorry, Monkey.”

Trixie sighs. She looks up at Lucifer. “Maybe we can get her to wear it another time.”

“I have some ideas,” Lucifer says. He’s staring at the dress with a glint in his eye, and when he turns his attention to Chloe, she knows he’s not thinking about her wearing the dress so much as what it will be like to take it off of her. 

Behave, she mouths to him over the top of Trixie’s head. They haven’t told Trixie that they’re together yet. Chloe wants to, but she still remembers the roller coaster ride that was Pierce, and she doesn’t want Trixie to have any reason to feel like she’s being whipsawed by her mother’s love life. 

Chloe turns away from her and steps into the closet to hang the dress back up. 

“What’s behind your back?” Trixie wonders. 

“Inherited your mother’s detective skills, have you?” Lucifer says. 

“I’ve learned a thing or two,” Trixie replies. 

Chloe snorts. She emerges from the closet to see Lucifer produce a small plastic container with a single piece of chocolate cake from behind his back. “For you.”

Trixie gasps. “CAKE!” She whips around to look at Chloe. “Can I eat it now, Mom? Can I eat it?”

“Sure,” Chloe laughs.

Trixie snatches the plastic container out of Lucifer’s hand and bolts from the room, presumably down to the kitchen to get a fork. Lucifer watches her go with a pleased smile, and Chloe feels warmth unfurl in her chest. When he turns back to face her, she smiles. 

“That was sweet of you.”

“I didn’t know if you were going to tell her about your ordeal with my brother,” Lucifer explains. “I thought it might ease her pain.”

He looks guilty. He doesn’t say I wanted to apologize to her for my family being the source of her worry, but Chloe hears the words all the same. 

She shakes her head. “Dan and I decided not to tell her. She doesn’t need to worry more than she already does.” And then she tilts her head. “Are you hiding another piece of cake for me behind your back?”

Lucifer smiles. “Always detecting, aren’t you?”

“It’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Lucifer chuckles, and then pulls his other hand out from behind his back to reveal a beautiful bouquet of flowers that makes Chloe’s stomach swoop.

“For you,” he says quietly.

She stares at the bouquet, dumbfounded. “You brought me flowers?” 

“Well I know that you humans believe dying plants are a symbol of remorse,” he says as if he thinks the idea is ridiculous. “I still feel badly about everything that happened with my dastardly twin, and I couldn’t very well bring the urchin a present and not you, so…”

Chloe finally tears her gaze away from the bouquet to look up at him. There’s a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. His body seems tense, almost like he’s waiting for a rejection that he’s certain is going to come. Chloe’s heart squeezes in her chest. She wonders if she’s the first woman he’s ever brought flowers to. 

She crosses the room and takes the bouquet from his hands. He watches her, hope dawning in his eyes as she shifts closer to him and murmurs, “They’re beautiful, Lucifer. I love them. Thank you.”

He exhales as if in relief, and the smile on his lips is so genuinely pleased that she can’t help it—she latches onto his shirt collar with her free hand and tugs him down for a kiss. 

“Well if I’d known all it took was flowers,” he murmurs against her lips.

She smiles. “Shut up and kiss me.”

He chuckles and obliges. He’s a damn good kisser.

She doesn’t mean for it to last. She just wants to tell him that she cares about him in a language he has no problem speaking. But then his hands slide along her hips, and when he pulls her flush against his chest she feels desire flare deep in her body. He holds the curve of her spine in his palm, his thumb stroking over her back, and she drapes the arm that isn’t holding the bouquet around his neck and melts into him. 

She doesn’t hear Trixie’s footsteps on the stairs. Well, she can hear them. She’s not deaf, and Trixie isn’t quiet. But Chloe doesn’t really register what the sound means because Lucifer’s tongue is stroking into her mouth and she wants to...

And then the realization hits her like a ton of bricks, and she shoves Lucifer away from her. He huffs in offense and frowns at her, smoothing his hand over his torso like he’s never been pushed away in his life. He probably hasn’t.

Chloe ignores him and turns toward the hallway, hoping she came to her senses in time. She didn’t. Trixie is standing at the end of the hall with a forkful of chocolate cake halfway to her mouth, which is hanging open in surprise.

“Were you guys kissing? ” she says. It’s the same voice she uses on Christmas morning when she says Are all these presents for me?  

“No,” Chloe says at the same time Lucifer says, “Yes until we were rudely interrupted.”

Chloe shoots him a look. 

Lucifer adjusts his shirt collar. “What? You know I don’t lie.

Chloe presses her fingers to her forehead and sighs. 

“I knew it!” Trixie says. 

“You most certainly did not,” Lucifer says.

“I most certainly did,” Trixie insists. “Dad says you guys have been in love for ages.” Chloe snaps her head up in surprise, and Trixie grins. “He didn’t know I could hear him.”

Chloe sighs again.

“Well, it appears Daniel does have a modicum of observational skill,” Lucifer says. “There’s hope for Detective Douche’s career after all.”

Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “You’re not helping.”

Lucifer frowns. “Was I meant to be helping?”

Chloe swallows yet another sigh and motions Trixie into the bedroom. “Come here, Monkey.”

Trixie flounces into the room and then up onto the bed, cake in hand. Chloe sets her bouquet of flowers on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the mattress next to her daughter. Lucifer steps into the room as well, but he heads for the full length mirror rather than the bed, and proceeds to begin inspecting his reflection. Chloe rolls her eyes and turns toward her daughter. 

“First of all,” she says, reaching out to put her hand on Trixie’s knee, “I want you to know that I love you very much, and there is nothing and nobody that could change that. You are always going to be the most important thing to me. Always. No exceptions.”

“I know,” Trixie says brightly.

“Good,” Chloe says with a smile. “And if there’s ever anything you’re worried about, or confused about, or if you have any questions that you—”

“Mom,” Trixie cuts her off. “I know. Get to the good stuff.”

“Right,” Chloe says. “Okay.” 

She casts a look at Lucifer, but he’s completely engrossed in smoothing his eyebrows. She really wishes they’d gotten a chance to talk about this before having this conversation with Trixie. She would’ve liked to be on the same page. Not that she thinks they’re not on the same page. They’re together and official and exclusive. He made that clear. But it’s one thing to say that during a post-orgasm haze. It’s another thing entirely to say it to her daughter. 

“So,” Chloe starts, turning back to Trixie. “You know Lucifer and I have been friends for a while now.”

Trixie nods. “Uh huh.”

“And in that time, we’ve gotten to know each other really well. And we care about each other. A lot.”

Trixie grins. “Uh huh.”

“And we um...we recently decided to…”

Flashes of that night in Lucifer’s penthouse when they finally decided to seal the deal are suddenly bombarding Chloe’s mind, and she’s finding it hard to focus on anything except the memory of Lucifer’s head between her—

“Be boyfriend and girlfriend?” Trixie offers into the silence. 

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He’s now rubbing his fingers over the five o’clock shadow coating his jawline. He seems completely unbothered by her daughter’s use of the terms boyfriend and girlfriend. And, again, she’s not surprised. But also...she’s kind of surprised?

“Yes,” Chloe confirms. “That’s...yes. We’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

Trixie smiles so wide it looks almost painful. “This is great.

Chloe blinks at her. “It is?”

“Well, yeah,” Trixie replies. “My mom is the Devil’s girlfriend! This is way cooler than when Emily’s mom started dating that guy from Tik Tok!”

Chloe frowns. “What guy from Tik Tok?”

“Does it matter?” Lucifer asks, spinning to face them. “I’m infinitely more attractive than anyone on that ridiculous platform.” He grins at Trixie. “Feel free to rub it in the faces of all the other sticky-fingered offspring you see at school that your mother is dating the Devil. Make the little miscreants squirm with jealousy.”

“Okay!” Trixie says.

“No,” Chloe says. “No, not okay.”

Lucifer frowns. “Why not?”

“Yeah, Mom, why not?”

“She can’t tell people I’m dating the Devil,” Chloe says to Lucifer. “Do you know what that sounds like?”

“The truth?” Lucifer says, tilting his head.

“No, Lucifer, it’s not...I mean, it is the truth, but you know people don’t believe you. You know they think you’re just...quirky.”

Lucifer frowns. “I am not quirky. Daniel and his ridiculous stones are quirky. Miss Lopez’s fascination with a fictional species of aliens is quirky. I am the bloody King of Hell. I’m not quirky.

Trixie turns to Chloe with wide eyes. “Can I tell people you’re dating the King of Hell?”

“Absolutely not,” Chloe says.

Lucifer and Trixie open their mouths in unison to argue with her, but Chloe holds up a hand. “This is non-negotiable,” she says, letting her voice sink into her detective tone. “If she says that to her friends, they’re going to tell their parents and their teachers.”

“So?” Lucifer says.

“So they’re going to start asking questions and digging into our lives. They’re going to want to know why I’m letting my daughter hang out with a guy who claims to be the Devil—”

Lucifer opens his mouth but Chloe keeps talking.

“—and they’re going to think you’re either very ill or very dangerous. CPS has been called for lesser things, and I can’t deal with that. I won’t put her through that.”

Lucifer seems to realize that he’s not going to win this argument, because he presses his lips together and doesn’t argue. 

“What’s CPS?” Trixie wonders. 

“Nothing, baby,” Chloe says. “Just...okay, look. You can tell whoever you want that Lucifer and I are together, okay? But you have to call him by his name.”

“The Devil is my name,” Lucifer says.

Chloe shoots him a look. “No, it’s your title.”

“Well, technically my title is…” He trails off when she narrows her eyes at him. “Right,” he says. “Not relevant at the moment.”

“Why can’t I tell people Lucifer is the Devil?” Trixie asks. “Lucifer tells people all the time.”

“Lucifer is an adult,” Chloe counters. “And when you’re grown up, you can say whatever you want just like he does. But for right now, we need to keep the Devil thing private. It’s nobody else’s business. All right?”

Trixie looks disappointed. “All right.”

“Don’t worry, child,” Lucifer says. “If I ever meet any of your little brethren, you can rest assured I will tell them for you.”

Trixie beams. 

Chloe narrows her eyes at Lucifer. “Do you have to be you right now?” 

“I’m an adult who is permitted to say whatever I please,” he points out, lifting his chin defiantly. “You said so yourself.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and turns back to her daughter. “So you’re okay with this?”

“Yep,” Trixie says. And then she tilts her head. “Does this mean Lucifer is going to sleep over sometimes?”

“Would that be okay with you?”

Trixie casts a glance at Lucifer. “Is he going to make breakfast?”

“Well of course,” Lucifer says. He leers at Chloe. “I have a feeling your mother and I will have worked up quite an appetite by dawn.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses. 

Lucifer doesn’t look even remotely apologetic. Trixie, meanwhile, looks confused. “Does kissing make you hungry?” she wonders.

Chloe has no idea how to answer that question, but she doesn’t have to. 

“Chlo?” Dan’s voice calls from downstairs. “Trix? You guys here?”

“Go tell Daddy we’ll be down in a minute,” Chloe says, ushering her daughter toward the door. 

Trixie scrambles off the bed and bounds for the door. Chloe gets to her feet. She’s opening her mouth to ask Lucifer if he could tone down his leering innuendos just a little bit in front of Trixie, but Lucifer holds up his index finger. 

“May I make a wardrobe suggestion?”

“I’m not wearing that dress, Lucifer.”

“Of course not.” He grins at her. “The only man you’re wearing that dress for is me.”

“Lucifer,” she sighs, but she can’t help but smile a little. 

Lucifer’s grin softens. “You were having a hard time deciding what to wear to dinner with my distant dad and angsty angel brothers, correct?”

“Well, yeah. What the hell are you supposed to wear to meet God? ” 

“One moment please,” Lucifer says, and then ducks into her closet.

Chloe puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head back to look at the ceiling. There’s no way he’s going to pick something appropriate. He’s going to pull out another one of her dresses, or maybe one of her blazers and suggest that she forego the blouse underneath the way she did for that Top Meet mixer. 

“Please tell me you’re not talking to Dad.”

Chloe lowers her head. “Of course not. I…” She trails off when she spots what he’s holding. It’s a black, long-sleeved blouse with white piping along the buttons in the front, the cuffs, and the left chest pocket. She loves that blouse.

“Oh,” she says.

“One of your favorites, correct?” Lucifer says. “Very flattering but also very comfortable. The black makes your complexion stand out. And you needn’t change the jeans or boots you currently have on, which I believe are also your favorite.”

Chloe nods. “Yeah, I...yeah. They are.”

Lucifer smiles. “Excellent.” He hangs the blouse on the closet door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go bury the hatchet in Daniel while you change.”

Chloe nods. “Okay.” 

Lucifer disappears from the room. A beat passes, and then Chloe realizes what he said. 

“Wait, in? ” she calls after him. She bolts toward the door. “No violence in front of my kid, Lucifer!”


Chloe’s first clue that Lucifer is far more nervous about tonight than he’s letting on is that he doesn’t speed on the way to Linda’s. 

She doesn’t notice at first. She’s nervous too, and she’s replaying her conversation with Trixie over and over again in her mind to make sure she handled it well and didn’t leave anything out. Besides, she learned a long time ago that it’s better to ignore Lucifer’s driving if she doesn’t want to give herself an ulcer. 

When Lucifer slows to a stop at a yellow light instead of gunning through it, though, she notices.

She looks across the center console at him. He’s completely still. No drumming his fingers, no bobbing his head along with the radio, no reaching for his flask. He’s always so busy that it’s unsettling. Like staring at someone who’s suddenly been turned into stone. 

A man in a very loud, very ill-fitting powder blue suit strides through the crosswalk in front of the car. Lucifer’s eyes rest briefly on the man, but he makes no remark. That’s when Chloe starts to worry.

“Lucifer?”

He turns his head toward her, but keeps his eyes forward. “Hm?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You don’t seem all right.”

He finally glances at her. He must be able to see the concern in her eyes, because he finally reanimates. He smiles. “I’m with my favorite human,” he purrs, setting his hand on her knee. “I have no complaints. You look beautiful, by the way.”

Chloe’s stomach swoops. For someone who’s spent a good chunk of their partnership throwing every sexual innuendo in the book at her, he can be very innocently sweet when he wants to be. 

“That’s sweet,” Chloe says, covering his hand with hers. “But I think you’re lying.”

The smile drops off his face, and even if she didn’t know him as well as she does, she’d know he’s offended. “I don’t lie.

“Fine,” she says, squeezing his hand. She reaches her other hand out and traces her fingers over the side of his face. “You’re strategically telling the truth then.”

The offense seems to deflate right out of him at her touch. He leans into her hand, his eyes closing briefly. She strokes her fingertips over his stubble. He opens his mouth, and she thinks he’s about to tell her how he’s feeling about family dinner, but she’ll never know. The earsplitting sound of a car horn shatters the moment.

She jumps in her seat, startled. Lucifer exhales a growl and shoots a look over his shoulder at the car behind them, his eyes glowing red. Chloe follows his gaze.

“It’s green! ” some asshole in a bright yellow Porsche screams. 

“Does he know this isn’t the only lane?” Chloe wonders.

Lucifer reaches for the door handle. “Someone should teach him some manners.”

“Not you,” Chloe says, curling her fingers around his bicep. The last thing she needs right now is a Devil tantrum caught on traffic cameras. “Just drive.”

“Detective—”

“I got this,” she cuts him off. “We’re going to be late. Drive.”

Lucifer scowls but does as he’s told. Chloe pulls her phone out, finds a familiar name in her contacts, presses the screen, and then lifts her phone to her ear. It rings twice, and then a gruff voice on the other end says, “Jackson.”

“Hey Jax,” Chloe greets. “It’s—”

“Hollywood. I’d know that movie star voice anywhere.”

Chloe grins. “How’ve you been?”

“Living the dream.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Don’t be. Nightmares are dreams too. I’m good though. You good?”

“I’m good.”

“Trix?”

“She’s great. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

“Feeling’s mutual. I’ll shoot you a text on my next day off. You still got that sleazy guy as a partner?”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. His perfectly coiffed hair is ruffling slightly in the wind as he drives, which means he’s speeding again. She glances at the speedometer. Yep. He’s speeding. He’s also glaring at the rearview mirror. Chloe glances at the mirror on her side of the car and realizes that the asshole in the Porsche is tailgating them.

“Yes,” she tells Jax. “But he’s not sleazy.”

“I’ll take your word for it. But I don’t think you’re calling me at seven on a Saturday night to catch up. What do you need, kid?”

“You still know people in traffic enforcement?”

“I know people everywhere. You got a plate number for me?”

“I sure do. One sec.” She glances at Lucifer. “Slow down.”

He frowns. “What?”

“Trust me. Slow down.”

Lucifer sighs dramatically but slows down. The guy in the yellow Porsche lays on the horn and continues to tailgate them.

“You better have a bloody good reason for subjecting me to this twat,” Lucifer snarls. He shoots her a look. “You owe me.”

“I’m sure I can think of a way to pay my debt,” Chloe says innocently. 

Lucifer arches an eyebrow at her. 

“You heard me,” she says, unable to hide a grin.

Lucifer’s eyes glitter with desire. “I certainly did.”

Tires squeal behind them, and then the yellow Porsche zooms around Lucifer’s car. 

“Asshole!” the driver shouts, waving his middle finger wildly as he passes. 

Lucifer’s eyes flare red. Chloe traces her index finger around the shell of his ear and watches the Porsche, waiting for it to cut them off. It does, and she gets a clear view of the license plate.

“7XY P290,” she says into her phone. “Yellow Porsche. Headed north on Western Avenue, driving erratically and at least fifteen over. And I’m betting…” She trails off. Sure enough, the yellow Porsche zooms through a yellow light, but the driver isn’t quite fast enough—it’s still red when he’s only halfway through. “Just ran a yellow too late. Was still in the intersection when it was red.” 

“Well how lucky for the citizens of California that you were there to witness his reckless driving,” Jackson says dryly. 

Chloe grins. “Just doing my duty. Can you…?”

“I’ll call as soon as you hang up. It’ll be taken care of by tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Jax.”

“Anything for you, Hollywood.”

Chloe smiles again and hangs up. Lucifer slows to a stop at the light the Porsche ran through. 

“Who was that?”

“David Jackson,” Chloe replies. “He was my training officer. And a friend of my dad’s. He requested to train me, actually. Because of my dad.”

Lucifer nods. Silence descends between them for a moment, and then he says in a voice that she thinks is supposed to sound casual but definitely does not, “So he was your first partner.”

Chloe tilts her head. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Lucifer drums his fingers on the steering wheel. Another silence descends. He wraps his long fingers around the steering wheel, and his knuckles go white as he squeezes it. Chloe is opening her mouth to ask him what’s wrong when he says, “In how many ways?”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

Lucifer looks at her. “You said he was your partner. I asked in how many—”

“I heard what you said.”

“Then why ask again? Are you sure you don’t have a—”

“If you say concussion I’m going to strangle you.”

He blinks at her for a second, and then his lips smooth into a predatory grin that sends a wave of heat through her veins. “Oh, very naughty, Detective. You should know I’m not opposed to a little autoerotic asphyxiation in the bedroom. Or restraints, if you prefer.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. 

“Oh, come now. You’ve never used your handcuffs for something more interesting than arresting a murderer?”

“Um, no. Have you...you know what, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. The light is green.”

Lucifer hits the gas and the car roars into the intersection. 

“You never answered my question,” Lucifer points out. “Now who’s strategically telling the truth?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Chloe says, rolling her eyes. “He was friends with my dad, Lucifer. He’s, like, twice my age.”

“You’ve expressed interest in older men before.”

Chloe gives him an incredulous look. “When?”

“Pierce was immortal.”

“Pierce was also a lying psychopath, and I had no idea he was immortal so I don’t think that counts.”

“What about me?”

“You’re the world’s oldest teenage boy. You might be a hundred billion years old but I think I’m more mature than you.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lucifer says. “I am not a hundred billion years old.”

“Two hundred billion?”

Lucifer looks like he’s going to have a stroke he’s sputtering so hard. Chloe laughs. 

“Relax, old man,” she says, setting her hand on his thigh. “You’re like a fine wine. Better with age.”

Lucifer scowls at her. “Are you going to answer the question or not?” 

“Jax knows everybody,” Chloe says. “And I mean everybody. Including a ton of people at the traffic center. They’ll track down the asshole in the yellow Porsche and make him pay. Via human laws, but still.”

“So you and,” Lucifer screws up his face in distaste, “Jax never…?”

Chloe sighs. “No, Lucifer. He was my training officer. He walked me down the aisle at my wedding. He’s like...it’s like you and Ella. Would you sleep with Ella?”

Lucifer looks horrified. “I absolutely would not.”

“Well, then, there’s your answer.”

Lucifer seems to consider her words for a moment. And then he covers her hand—which is still on his thigh—with his and smiles. 

Chloe smiles too. 

They hold hands the rest of the way to Linda’s. Chloe can tell that he’s still unsettled, but he seems better than he was before. When they get out of the car and he meets her on the sidewalk leading up to Linda’s house, she reaches for his hand again. He seems to relax when she touches him, and she still remembers what he said in the evidence room earlier. I find your presence soothing. She has a feeling he’s going to need to be soothed a lot tonight. 

She starts up the walk, but he uses her hand to tug her back against his chest and kiss her. She’s surprised, but she likes kissing him far too much not to melt into him almost immediately. It’s a long, lingering, back-arching kiss. When he finally lets her go, she feels a little short of breath. 

“What was that for?” she murmurs.

He grins. “I desired it.”

Chloe can feel herself flushing. “Come on,” she says, tugging him toward the house by his hand. “We’re late.”

He falls in step next to her, smiling down at her. She glances up at him and smiles too. They stop on the front porch, and Lucifer is reaching for the door handle when the door swings open with a creak. 

Linda is standing framed in the doorway, and even though she’s dressed just as impeccably as ever, she looks unmistakably frazzled. 

Finally,” she groans. And then she launches herself at Chloe, her arms wrapping like a vise around Chloe’s neck. 

Chloe takes a step back from the force of the hug, and Lucifer’s hand presses against her back to steady her. 

“Oh,” she says in surprise. “Um. Ok?” 

She looks at Lucifer over Linda’s shoulder. Lucifer looks just as mystified as she feels. 

“Hi Linda,” Chloe says, patting the doctor on the back. “Nice to see you too.”

“Do I not get a hug?” Lucifer says with furrowed brows. 

“You don’t even like hugs,” Chloe points out.

Lucifer looks offended. “Well I’d like the option, Detective.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Linda breathes into Chloe’s shoulder.

Chloe frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Linda leans back. Her eyes are wide and wild behind her glasses. “God is in my house,” she whispers. “God, Chloe.”

“Is he still wearing that ridiculous cardigan?” Lucifer asks, curling his lip in disgust. “I sincerely hope not. My eyes can’t take such a travesty.”

Chloe shoots him a look that says Hush and then turns back to Linda. “You’re feeling a little overwhelmed?”

God,” Linda hisses in response. 

Lucifer sighs. “Oh for Dad’s sake, Doctor. He isn’t worth all this. It’s no different than having me in your house. Except I’m infinitely more attractive and a far better dinner companion.”

“It’s very different,” Linda snaps, whirling around to face Lucifer. “He is the god of all creation, Lucifer, and I’m just a human. The last time I angered a god…”

She trails off. She’s wringing her hands in front of her and rocking back and forth a little, and Chloe realizes what’s going on.

“Oh, Linda,” she breathes, reaching out to put her hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “You’re thinking about what happened with Charlotte, aren’t you? Well, goddess Charlotte. Not our Charlotte.”

Linda doesn’t confirm Chloe’s assumption, but her face says it all.

Lucifer frowns. “What the bloody hell does Mum...” His frown smooths out. “Oh.”

Chloe opens her mouth, ready to at least attempt to soothe Linda, but Lucifer beats her to it. 

“Doctor,” he says, his voice dropping low. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “You have my word that my dad will not harm you in any manner. As long as you live and breathe, you are under my protection. And Dad doesn’t harm humans anyway. He’s much too proud he created you to destroy you. All right?”

Linda nods. 

Lucifer offers her a kind smile. “Then let’s go have dinner with Daddy Dearest, shall we? You’re mere moments away from years of new material to needle me with in our sessions.”

Linda smiles weakly. She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and then straightens her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s do this.” She turns on her heel and marches back into the house with her head held high. 

Lucifer motions for Chloe to enter after Linda, but Chloe doesn’t move. Lucifer frowns. “Detective?”

She steps into his space, rises up on her toes, and kisses him on the cheek. When she drops back down to her feet, he looks confused. 

“What was that for?”

“Because I desired it,” she says. “And because you’re a good man.”

“Well, technically, I’m not a man. I’m—”

She covers his mouth with her hand. “Don’t ruin the moment.” 

He grins against her palm. She grins back. He curls his fingers around her wrist and pulls her hand down from his mouth. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in ducking into one of the doctor’s spare rooms and—”

“Absolutely not,” she cuts him off. But she laughs as she says it, and his smile makes her heart skip a few beats.

“Well then let’s get this over with,” he says. “The sooner I have you all to myself the better. I was promised payment and I intend to collect.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. She reaches for his hand again, and then leads him through the door. As he shuts it behind them, she looks out over the house from the raised entryway. Linda is disappearing into the kitchen, her blonde head bobbing as her heels click on the floor. And standing in the middle of the living room is…

God. 

He’s not what Chloe expected. 

To be fair, she’s not sure what she expected. In the early days of her partnership with Lucifer, he would talk about his father and she’d imagine an older, smarmier, slightly overweight version of Lucifer. At some point after that case when Lucifer checked himself into a mental hospital, she started picturing him as God Johnson. Ever since she found out the truth though—the whole God, angels, and demons are real and she’s in love with the actual Devil thing—she’s had this weird amalgamation living in her head. In her mind, God looks a little like Lucifer but he’s the strong and silent type like Amenadiel. He has a southern drawl like God Johnson, but he’s youthful and smiling like the Jesus she’s seen in paintings and stained glass windows.

God in reality, though, is nothing like that. He’s dark skinned and his facial hair is a distinguished looking silver. He’s wearing a cranberry colored sweater that makes him look grandfatherly, or maybe like a tenured professor in some insufferably boring subject. He’s standing over Charlie’s playpen and next to Amenadiel. Chloe is immediately struck by the resemblance between them. Not physically. It’s just...a feeling. They have a similar presence. Calming and steady.

She doesn’t get to dwell on the feeling, though, because Lucifer has gone as taut as a bowstring next to her. His hand has stiffened in hers, and when she glances up at him, she doesn’t think he’s breathing. His jaw is clenched, and his face has gone ashen. He’s staring at his father like he’s seen a ghost. 

She doesn’t know what to say to ease his discomfort. She doesn’t think there’s anything she can say. So she reaches her free hand out and presses it against the back of his so that she’s holding his hand in both of hers. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, tracing her thumb over his knuckles. 

He looks down at her. His gaze is glassy and unfocused. She squeezes his hand.

“I’m right here.”

His gaze comes into focus. He studies her for a moment, and then he smiles. There you are, she thinks.

“Luci,” Amenadiel calls happily before either of them can say anything else. 

Lucifer gazes at Chloe for another moment, like he’s not quite ready to break eye contact, and then he looks away. “Hello brother.”

Amenadiel smiles. “Hello Chloe.”

“Hey Amenadiel.”

“No Trixie?” Amenadiel asks.

Chloe frowns. She didn’t realize Trixie had been invited. She glances up at Lucifer, a question on her lips, but Lucifer doesn’t look at her.

“I’m afraid not,” he says as he guides her down the stairs. “She and Daniel had big plans tonight. Something about a Disney princess sing-along. I shudder to think that Daniel may end up in a tutu singing Let It Go. Now there’s a hell loop I’ve no desire to be stuck in.”

Chloe snorts. Lucifer smiles down at her as he steps off the final stair, pleased by her amusement. Amenadiel and his father cross the room. 

“Good evening, Samael,” Lucifer’s father says in a deep voice.

Lucifer goes rigid again. “Don’t call me that,” he snarls in a voice that’s drenched with hatred.

Chloe looks up at him in surprise. He doesn’t return her gaze.

His father ducks his head. “My apologies. You prefer that I use your chosen name. I will honor that wish, though you know it pains me.”

“Yes, you’ve made your disapproval quite clear,” Lucifer replies tightly. He turns toward Chloe. “Detective, this is my father.” He glances at his dad. “Dad, this is my Detective.”

Chloe notices his emphasis on my but doesn’t comment on it. She holds her hand out. 

“You can call me Chloe,” she says, trying to be friendly. And then she realizes she just offered to shake hands with God, and her stomach drops. “Sorry,” she says, yanking her hand back. “I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.”

Lucifer’s father smiles. “There’s nothing disrespectful about offering a greeting that’s customary to your culture.” He holds his hand out. “It is an honor to meet you, Chloe. You may call me John.”

Chloe shakes his hand. His skin is warm. Like, really warm. Not in a hot, gross way. More like how the sun feels on a chilly day. All of a sudden she feels like she’s finally found warmth after spending too much time in the cold, and she’s not sure how she ever lived without it. 

She drops his hand like he’s burned her and leans closer to Lucifer. The feeling fades.

“John?” Lucifer repeats with a hint of disdain in his voice. 

Amenadiel puts his hand on his father’s shoulder. “He’ll be John Smith while he’s on earth. It’s one of the most common human names, so he won’t draw attention.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Lucifer says snidely.

Chloe elbows him in the ribs. “How long will you be staying, John?”

“I’m not quite sure yet,” John replies. “As long as it takes.”

“As long as it takes to what? ” Lucifer asks.

But John doesn’t get a chance to answer. The front door swings open with a creak, and they all turn toward the sound.

Michael is standing in the doorway. He scans the room, and when his gaze lands on Chloe, he grins. She feels her stomach drop straight down to her feet.

He winks at her. “Well look who came to dinner.” 

Chapter 3: Three

Notes:

Thanks again for the comments, guys. Very kind of you :) I’m going to try to get better at carving out some time to respond to them because I so appreciate y’all taking the time to leave them.

Now, a gentle reminder: I told y’all in the summary that there’d be some angst, and it starts in this chapter. I’ll just go ahead and warn you now that there will be plenty of it throughout this fic. But before you get too angsty about the angst, just remember that I also said fluff and shameless amounts of Deckerstar, so there’s that. Also I promise everyone will get their happy ending...eventually.

Chapter Text

The moment Michael walks in the door, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. 

Chloe has never been one to feel unsettled by people, no matter how dangerous they are. She’s a cop, after all, and a damn good one at that. Michael isn’t the first person who’s held her against her will, and he’s definitely not the first asshole who tried to get in her head. She knows how to handle guys like him. But when he walks in the door and winks at her like they have some inside joke, she feels nauseous.  

Then her instincts kick in. She straightens, and her hand moves toward her hip even though her gun is in her purse. She meets Michael’s gaze without flinching or blinking, and as he leers at her, she glares at him. 

“Miss me?” he asks her. 

“Like I miss having the flu,” she retorts. 

Lucifer, who was standing ramrod straight next to her like he was preparing for a fight, turns to look at her with a grin. “Oh well done, Detective. I assume you chose the flu because his presence makes you want to vomit uncontrollably?”

Chloe smirks. “That would be a correct assumption.”

Lucifer laughs delightedly and looks over his shoulder at his father. “Isn’t she incredible?”

“All right,” Amenadiel says in that voice he uses when he’s trying to keep the peace. “Let’s try to keep the insults to a minimum this evening.”

“Why on earth would we do that?” Lucifer asks, turning to face Amenadiel with a scandalized look. “If you expect me to sit silently through dinner with the psychotic git who kidnapped my girlfriend, you’re a bloody fool.”

“Sam—Lucifer,” John says. “I understand your frustration.”

“Oh do you?” Lucifer says. He runs his hand along the small of Chloe’s back. “Well would you look at that, Detective. Your first celestial family gathering and you’ve already witnessed a miracle.”

John seems unbothered by Lucifer’s snark. He turns his gaze toward the front door. “Michael?” he prompts, his eyebrows raised.

Michael clears his throat. “I’d like to apologize, Lucifer.” 

Chloe’s mouth falls open.

“You want to do what? ” Lucifer says incredulously. 

“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” Michael continues, hanging his head. “I never planned to hurt the Detective and I’m deeply sorry if I made either of you think otherwise. I just wanted to talk.”

Chloe feels her temper flare. She’s seen enough grief and remorse in her line of work to know when it’s real. And this? This is the most bullshit apology she’s ever witnessed. 

“So you came into my house uninvited, knocked me unconscious, and stuck me in a cage because you wanted to talk to me?” she asks. 

Michael smirks. “You’re a sparkling conversationalist, Detective, but no. I wanted to speak with my brother and I knew he wouldn’t listen. So I found something that would make him listen.”

“So I was a pawn,” Chloe says. 

“A pretty one,” Michael replies with a leer. 

Lucifer growls—literally growls—at his brother, and when Chloe glances up at him, she sees that his eyes are red and his face is starting to flicker toward its true form. He starts forward. 

“Lucifer, no,” she murmurs, pressing her hand against his chest to stop him. 

She knows that if he wanted to, he could easily brush her aside and go after Michael. But he pauses. “He must be punished, Detective.”

“Yeah, for once I don’t disagree with you,” she says. “But I don’t think Linda needs an angelic brawl in her living room right now.”

Michael presses his hands together as if he’s praying. “Please, brother. Forgive me. I was wrong.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw. His hands are in fists at his sides. “He’s lying.”

No shit, Chloe wants to say. But she’d rather not curse in front of God, even if he does look like an aged librarian who enjoys dusty books and a pipe. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. “Look at me.”

He obeys.

“Not tonight, okay?” she says. 

His face flickers again toward its true form. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t look away from him. She keeps one hand over his heart, and the other wrapped around his forearm, and waits for him. 

Eventually, he exhales and nods. “As you wish, Detective,” he says, rolling his shoulders and then straightening.

Michael grins. “Thanks for the forgiveness, bro.”

“He didn’t say he forgives you,” Chloe snaps. “And I suggest you wipe that grin off your face before I do it for you.”

Lucifer laughs, admiration clear in his eyes. Michael’s grin fades. His eyes flash, and Chloe thinks, Go ahead. Try it and see what happens. 

“Who’s ready for dinner?” Linda’s voice calls cheerily from the kitchen. 

Lucifer turns toward her. “That depends. Is there alcohol?”


Dinner with God is...weird.

It’s so weird. 

Chloe can’t put her finger on why it’s so weird. Maybe it’s because she can’t quite reconcile the absentee father she’s heard so much about with the kind, albeit slightly awkward, man at the head of the table who seems fascinated by Amenadiel and Linda’s stories about Charlie. Maybe it’s that Michael and Lucifer are shooting each other looks from across the table, and Chloe is certain that at some point before the night is over, she’s going to have to break up a fight. Maybe it’s just that she’s one of only two humans in the house, and if someone had told her a few years ago that she would one day be eating dinner with a trio of angels and God, she’d have had them committed. 

It could also be the two glasses of wine she’s had. She holds her alcohol pretty well now, thanks to all her nights partying with Maze, and she’s not even tipsy yet. But it wouldn’t be the worst idea in the world for her to stop drinking before she tilts into her I-feel-like-I’m-floating zone. 

As if on cue, Lucifer starts to refill her glass. She opens her mouth to tell him no, but decides against it. She doesn’t have to drink it. He’ll do it for her if she leaves it sitting there long enough. 

“So,” John says from the head of the table. “Chloe.”

“Yes,” she says, looking away from her glass. 

He smiles. “I hear you’re very good at your job.”

“I hardly think very good covers it,” Lucifer sniffs from his seat on Chloe’s right. “She’s the best there is.”

Chloe chews her lip around a smile. “I don’t know if I’d say the best.”

“You needn’t say it, darling. I said it for you and I don’t lie. There’s no one better.”

“Really?” Michael says. “No one?”

Lucifer glares at him from across the table. 

“I assisted on a case of hers recently,” Amenadiel interrupts, ever the peacemaker. He leans forward, his eyes fixed on his father. “Luci is right. She is very good, Father.”

“Well you were a big help,” Chloe points out. She turns toward John. “And Lucifer, too. I wouldn’t have solved half the cases I have without him. He’s great.”

Lucifer’s chest puffs out a little. He smiles at Chloe. “We do make quite a team.”

“The best team,” Chloe confirms, bumping her shoulder against his.

“Aw,” Linda says.

“Adorable,” Michael mutters into his wine glass. 

Lucifer glares at him again.

“You should tell us all about one of your cases,” Linda suggests. “Maybe a tricky one that required you to work together?”

“Ah,” Lucifer says, setting his whiskey glass on the table with a thunk. “I know just the one.”

And then he launches into a detailed summary of the Wobble case that started with a charred crotch. Chloe was present for most of the events he’s referring to, but she finds herself enraptured anyway. He’s a hell of a storyteller, and he’s got a remarkable memory. It’s absurd how many details he can remember. She makes a mental note to harass him later for refusing to help her write reports when he clearly remembers just as much, if not more, than she does. 

“And that’s how the Detective and I caught the killer and prevented another death,” Lucifer finishes, reaching for his glass. He winks at her. “Best team in the business.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asks. “Seems to me the Detective could have solved the crime just fine without you. She basically did, since you were so obsessed with your own issues.”

The smile drops off Lucifer’s face. “And how many crimes have you solved? Oh, that’s right. You prefer committing them.”

“Well that’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?” Michael replies. 

“Who’s ready for dessert?” Linda interrupts, shooting to her feet. “I’ve got pie.”

“I love pie,” Chloe says. She elbows Lucifer. “You like pie.”

“Pie is great,” Amenadiel says. “Wait until you try pie, Father.” 

Michael sits back in his chair with a sneer, but he doesn’t say anything else. Neither does Lucifer. For a moment, at least, there’s peace.

“Amenadiel, can you grab everyone’s plate?” Linda asks.

“Of course.” 

Amenadiel stands and begins collecting plates. Linda bolts for the kitchen. Chloe watches her go longingly. She should’ve offered to help get the pie so she could get away from Michael’s smirk for a few minutes. She reaches for her wine glass. Maybe she’ll drink it after all. 

“Chloe,” John says, leaning forward after Amenadiel removes his plate. “I hear you have a daughter.”

“I do,” Chloe confirms. “She’s ten years old going on twenty-five.”

John smiles. “Does she wish to follow in your footsteps?”

“You mean be a cop?”

John nods.

Chloe snorts. “No. She wants to be the first president of Mars. Or a forensic scientist. Or maybe an artist. That’s this week, though. Next week she might decide she wants to be a mime. Or a rocket scientist. Or both.”

John smiles. “Quite the ambitious child you have.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agrees before Chloe can. “The Detective does an excellent job of nurturing her curiosity and giving her the space to form her own opinions and identity. Beatrice is very fortunate. Her mother loves her unconditionally whether she chooses to be a mime or the president of Mars.”

The words are about as subtle as a bat to the face. So far John has seemed immune to sarcasm and innuendo, but Chloe can tell that he’s picked up on Lucifer’s subtext this time because his smile fades a little. She almost feels bad for him. 

Almost. 

“She also loves Lucifer,” Chloe says, trying to get them back to neutral ground. “She’s drawn him enough pictures to fill a storage unit, which is a pretty big honor in Trixie’s book.”

“Yeah, who wouldn’t want a storage unit full of kid scribbles?” Michael says. 

Chloe glares at him. She wishes she could shoot him again and wipe that smirk off his face. He sneers at her like he knows what she’s thinking. Lucifer shifts next to her, and then Michael winces and breaks eye contact. Lucifer looks smug, and Chloe realizes he just kicked his brother under the table. 

She presses her lips together around a smile and slides her hand over Lucifer’s knee beneath the table. Lucifer weaves his fingers through hers. 

John is either unaware of what’s happening or he doesn’t care. “Children are wonderful beings,” he says almost wistfully. “They love so deeply and fiercely. That kind of love can inspire miracles.”

Lucifer scoffs. “If only all miracles came from such pure intentions.”

“Okay,” Linda says brightly, appearing with a pie in each hand. “We have apple with vanilla ice cream and chocolate mousse.” She sets the chocolate pie down next to Lucifer. “Your sons are very fond of chocolate,” she tells John with a smile. “I have a feeling you will be too.”

Lucifer tugs the pie toward himself. “Don’t waste your breath, Doctor. This is far too sweet for him. He prefers things that are bitter.” 

Linda shoots a pleading look at Chloe. 

“Hey,” Chloe says, reaching over to yank the chocolate pie away from Lucifer. “I might want some of that.”

Lucifer smirks at her. “We could take it back to the penthouse and eat it off each other if you’d like.”

Chloe feels her face flush immediately. “Lucifer.

Lucifer’s smirk deepens. “You’re still very adorable when you’re flustered, you know.”

“Okay,” Chloe says, trying to avoid looking at John. “Let’s just...let’s keep private things private, all right?” She looks at Linda. “Do you—”

Linda holds up a knife. “Yep. Feel free to stab him if you’d like, but try to keep his blood off the pie.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Lucifer says, turning toward Linda. “I’m invulnerable around the Detective again!”

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “You are?”

“I am,” Lucifer replies happily. 

Linda glances at Chloe. “That’s...interesting.”

“Mhmm,” Chloe says, focusing on the pie. 

There’s a beat of silence in the room as she starts cutting the pie. She’s sure if she looked up, she’d see Linda and Lucifer exchanging a look. She doesn’t look up. 

“Detective,” Lucifer says softly.

She ignores him. “Who wants chocolate?” she says instead. She is not having this conversation in front of all these people.

“Would it be possible to have one of each?” John asks. 

Chloe glances up at him in surprise. His eyes are fixed on Linda, and he looks...hopeful. As if he’s genuinely asking. He’s God, and he’s asking Linda for permission to have two slices of pie. 

“Of course,” Linda says.

He beams. Chloe blinks at him for a moment, taken aback, and then she forces herself to look away. It’s rude to stare. 

Linda cuts the apple pie while Chloe busies herself with the chocolate one. Amenadiel starts explaining all the desserts he’d like his father to try, and Chloe lets her mind wander as he waxes poetic about ice cream. She can feel Lucifer next to her, solid and warm and familiar, and she knows he’s looking at her even without lifting her gaze. She can smell his cologne, and the impulse to bury her face in his shoulder and breathe him in throbs in her chest. She ignores it. 

When she slides a plate of chocolate pie in front of him, he catches her wrist before she can pull her hand away. She glances up at him. 

“Thank you,” he says. And then he gives her that little half smile he’s given her since their first case together, and she feels like melting into a puddle on the floor.

“Sure,” she says instead, and turns back to the pie. 

Eventually, Amenadiel runs out of desserts to discuss. An awkward silence ensues. Chloe glances at Linda. Linda lifts her shoulder as if to say Don’t look at me, I don’t know what to say. Chloe doesn’t either, so she looks back down at her pie. 

“I’d like to discuss something over dessert, if that’s all right,” John says into the silence.

“Is it the reason behind this bloody charade?” Lucifer asks, stabbing his fork into his pie with far more force than necessary. “After hours of horrible small talk you’re finally going to spill the beans on your big announcement?”

“Actually, I think we need to discuss a few things before I make my announcement,” John says. “Clear the air.”

Chloe chokes on her pie.

“What?” Amenadiel says.

“Yes, what? ” Lucifer echoes. 

“I think it best if we air our grievances before we discuss what’s brought me here,” John rephrases. 

Everyone at the table gapes at him. He smiles benignly at them, eating his pie as if he just said I think it’s going to rain this week and not I think we should all say what we hate about each other.  

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He’s pale and suddenly silent. She glances at Linda next, hoping that her chosen career might prompt her to point out what a colossally bad idea this is, but Linda doesn’t say a word. 

“Father,” Michael says in a voice dripping in flattery. “Don’t you think—”

Chloe takes advantage of the distraction and leans toward Linda, who is sitting on her left. “This seems like a bad idea,” she whispers.

“You think?” Linda whispers back.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“What am I supposed to do, tell God he’s doing it wrong?”

Chloe sighs and leans away.

“I know what I’m doing,” John says to Michael. It’s a clear dismissal, and Michael glowers as a result.

“Amenadiel,” John says, glancing down the table. “You have always been the most measured of my sons.”

“That’s an obnoxious way of saying you’re boring,” Lucifer says. 

Amenadiel purses his lips. “Yes, thank you, Luci.”

“Would you like to begin?” John says, ignoring Lucifer. “I believe you will set a positive example.”

Chloe watches as Amenadiel’s chest puffs out a little. It’s cute, for a second, until it’s not. Chloe hates the way he seems to hang on every affirmation he gets—or doesn’t get—from his father. Amenadiel is kind and gentle and loyal and good. He shouldn’t be so starved for approval from his father that being called a positive example is the equivalent of the highest compliment. Also, why the hell isn’t God setting the example? Why do his sons have to do what he should be doing?

“All right,” Amenadiel says. He straightens in his chair. “Lucifer, I’ll start with you.”

“Lucky me,” Lucifer quips. He’s stabbing his pie again. It looks like the dessert equivalent of a murder scene.

A soft smile spreads over Amenadiel’s lips. “We haven’t always seen eye to eye.”

Lucifer snorts.

“But lately, we seem to have found some common ground,” Amenadiel continues. “And I say this now with no reservations: You’re a good man, Luci. What you did for Charlie and the rest of us a few months ago was noble and self-sacrificing, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to express my gratitude.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He looks stunned. 

“I’ve enjoyed our recent closeness,” Amenadiel says, still smiling. “And I look forward to many more years of it. It’s an honor to walk this earth with you, brother.”

Lucifer looks genuinely touched, and Chloe’s heart warms in her chest.

“That’s not a grievance,” Michael points out petulantly.

“Shut up,” Chloe snaps at him before she can stop herself. “It’s not your turn.”

Michael casts a glance at his father, but John doesn’t come to his defense. Chloe turns her gaze back to Lucifer. 

Lucifer clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “Thank you,” he says quietly. 

Amenadiel nods. “You’re welcome.” He glances at Michael. “As for you, I think you could learn a thing or two from our brother.”

Chloe grins.

“From him? ” Michael sputters.

“Well, this might just be my favorite family dinner ever,” Lucifer says, reaching for his whiskey glass.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Michael says. “He’s the Lord of Hell. If anyone should understand how pathetic the human race is, it’s him. And yet he’s living like one of them. He has relationships with them.”

He says relationships like it’s a curse word, and it’s clear that he means Chloe. He looks right at her when he says it. Chloe bristles and straightens in her chair. It’s Lucifer’s turn to smooth his hand over her knee beneath the table. 

“You could learn a thing or two from humans, as well,” Amenadiel says mildly. “That’s your problem, brother. You are incapable of learning from your mistakes, at least so far. Lucifer has proven he isn’t. He’s grown. You haven’t.”

Lucifer tilts his head. “I take offense to the implication that I’ve made mistakes, but I’ll overlook it considering you’re clearly hashtag Team Lucifer.” He leans back and drapes his arm around the back of Chloe’s chair with a cocky grin. “Please, continue with the grievances.”

Chloe barely swallows an amused snort. 

“I have nothing more to say,” Amenadiel says. “Just that I wish you would think of others more than yourself, Michael. We may be celestial, but that does not give us the right to do whatever we please and leave devastation in our wake.”

Michael looks incensed. 

Linda reaches out and puts her hand on Amenadiel’s arm. “Well said,” she says softly.

Amenadiel covers her hand with his and smiles. “Thank you.”

Chloe wonders briefly if they’ve ever considered getting back together. She makes a mental note to ask Linda about it at their next girls night. 

“I’d like to go next,” Michael snarls, turning toward his father. “I have plenty to say.”

Chloe expects Lucifer’s father to recognize that Michael is clearly on the edge of an outburst, and to at least attempt to calm his son. But he doesn’t.

“Of course,” John says, gesturing for Michael to continue. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Michael says, turning toward Amenadiel. “Your attachment to humans is disgusting and beneath you, but I know a lost cause when I see one.”

Amenadiel clenches his jaw but doesn’t argue. 

“But you,” Michael says, turning his gaze to Lucifer. “Oh, I have plenty to say to you.”

“Of course you do,” Lucifer says with a grin. “You’ve got millennia of inadequacy to get off your chest.”

“At least it’s not guilt,” Michael snaps.

The grin drops off Lucifer’s face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, Maze told me all about your hell loop,” Michael replies. “Poor Uriel, stabbed over and over by his own brother.

Chloe frowns. Lucifer has a hell loop? How could he have a hell loop when he’s in charge of running everyone else’s hell loops? And what brother? Lucifer stabbed his brother?

She glances at Lucifer. His face has gone ashen. “I did what I had to do,” he says through a clenched jaw.

“That’s what you tell yourself, isn’t it?” Michael sneers. “But it’s a lie. You had a choice. And you made the wrong one, Samael.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Amenadiel can rave about your nobility all he wants, but you and I both know there’s nothing noble about you. You murdered your brother for a human.” He gestures at Chloe. “For her.

The words hang in the air. Chloe feels everyone in the room turn their gaze toward her. Her ears are ringing. She swallows, her mouth suddenly dry, and turns toward Lucifer. He glances at her, an unmistakably guilty look on his face.

“What’s he talking about?” she asks quietly.

“Oh did his I-would-never-lie-to-you schtick not cover this?” Michael asks gleefully. “That’s the funny thing about the truth, Detective. A lie by omission is still a lie. And my brother lies to you constantly.

Chloe ignores him. “Lucifer?” she murmurs.

Lucifer turns toward her. He looks hollowed out and raw, and when he speaks his voice is soft. “He was going to kill you.”

“Who?”

“Uriel. My brother. It was...your car accident. Kimo Vanzandt. All of it was...I tried to tell you. I told you my father was sending me a message.”

Chloe tries to remember. But so much has happened since then, and there are so many other celestial issues she’s had to come to terms with since she found out the truth, that his passing reference to his father being responsible for her car accident a few years ago hasn’t even crossed her mind.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

Lucifer looks pained. “It’s complicated.”

The words feel like a slap to the face. She winces, and he immediately realizes his mistake and reaches for her. 

“No, Detective, I’m not—”

“Let me uncomplicate it for you, Detective,” Michael interrupts. “He made a deal with Dad. Dad protects you from crazy Malcolm, and in return, Lucifer promises to do as he’s told. Except when Dad tried to collect and asked Lucifer to return Mom to Hell, your boyfriend refused.” 

He looks at Lucifer. “What is it that these humans you love so much always say? You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Dad kept his word. He always does. And you, Mr. My-word-is-my-bond, didn’t. Not only that, you murdered our brother when he tried to hold you accountable.”

“That’s not what happened,” Lucifer snarls.

“Where’s the lie?” Michael demands, holding out his arms. “Amenadiel thinks we shouldn’t leave devastation in our wake, but that’s all you do, Samael. In the last few years you’ve wreaked havoc in the Silver City and in Hell and everywhere in between, and for what? For her?

“You’re damn right I did it for her!” Lucifer shouts, slamming his fists on the table and shooting to his feet. “And I’d do it again, no matter the bloody cost! I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Michael gets to his feet too. “Oh I understand better than you think. She told you that she thought I was you, didn’t she? What do you think that means?”

“Now wait a minute—” Chloe starts, but Lucifer talks right over her. 

“It means you tried to take what isn’t yours just like you always do, you unconscionable prick. My glory, my place in the host, now my girlfriend. You’re pathetic.”

Michael smiles wolfishly. “I didn’t take anything from her that wasn’t freely given. She’s a hell of a kisser, by the way.” He glances down at Chloe. “You tell him about how well acquainted we got when you were rooting around in my pocket looking for vending machine money?”

Chloe opens her mouth to tell him he can go to hell, but once again she doesn’t get the chance. 

“Don’t speak to her,” Lucifer snaps, his voice quivering with rage. His eyes are molten red. “Don’t even look at her.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Michael challenges.

“All right,” Amenadiel interrupts, getting to his feet. “Let’s all take a breath.”

“Stay out of this, Amenadiel,” Lucifer snaps. 

“Yes, brother,” Michael says, his eyes alight with fury. “Keep your measured attitude for another time.”

Chloe looks at Lucifer’s father. Her cop instincts are telling her to step in and de-escalate the situation, but this isn’t a normal domestic dispute. The only person who can break this up is the same person who started it.

“Aren’t you going to intervene?” she asks him.

He swallows a mouthful of pie. “No. This is good for them.” And then he smiles at her. 

“Are you kidding me?” Chloe demands before she can think better of it. “How is this good for them? They’re going to kill each other.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t kill anyone, Chloe,” Michael says. “That’s my brother’s thing.”

“Don’t. Speak. Her. Name,” Lucifer snarls. “It isn’t your name to say.”

“It isn’t yours either. Not when you’re so afraid to hear your own name, Samael.”

“Stop calling me that!” Lucifer roars, and before Chloe can react he’s got a pie-covered knife in his hand and he’s flinging it at Michael. It turns end over end, and then stops a centimeter from Michael’s chest when he catches it by the blade between his thumb and index finger.

For a moment, the room is dead silent. 

Michael glances down at the knife, and then up at Lucifer. “Guess you haven’t changed after all, have you? Once a kin killer, always a kin killer.” 

“Enough,” Amenadiel commands, snatching the knife from Michael’s grip. “You provoked him intentionally.” 

“So that means he isn’t responsible for his actions?” 

“We all know it wouldn’t have killed you,” Amenadiel replies. “You spend more time worried about his actions than your own. You’ve aired your grievances, brother. Sit down.”

“Oh I’m just getting started,” Michael replies. “And really, Amenadiel, you should be on my side here. It should concern you that he’s willing to go to such lengths for her. I mean, what happens when she dies? We all know she’s too good to go home with him. And he’s made it clear he can’t bear to be away from her permanently. So what’s he going to do? Storm the gates of the Silver City and demand we let him in to join her?” 

“So that’s your plan, is it?” Lucifer interjects before Amenadiel can respond. “You incited my rebellion in the garden and now you’d like to incite another?”

“Wait, what?” Chloe says. Is that what Lucifer meant when he said his brother had been manipulating him since the dawn of time? 

No one pays her any attention.

“You hear that?” Michael says to Amenadiel, gesturing at Lucifer. “He all but admitted his plan. He’ll destroy the natural order of things for her, and if you don’t stand against him now, you’ll be just as much to blame as he is.”

Amenadiel casts a concerned look at Lucifer, but Lucifer is looking at their father. “Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself, Dad,” he snaps. “Like father, like son. Manipulation runs in the celestial genes, apparently.”

John furrows his eyebrows. “Manipulation? When did I manipulate you?”

“When have you not?

“I told you, Father,” Michael says. “I told you that he hasn’t changed. He’s just as selfish and ungrateful as ever.”

“What have I to be grateful for?” Lucifer shoots back. “The job I never wanted? Millennia surrounded by ash and torment? The eternal banishment from my family?”

Michael smirks and tips his head toward Chloe. “You could at least be grateful for your gift. She’s a newer and better version of Eve, created specifically for you, and you spit in his face every day you refuse to acknowledge his generosity.”

Excuse me?” Chloe says. But no one looks at her except Linda.

“You misunderstand, Michael,” Amenadiel says earnestly. “She’s not the gift. What she can do is the gift. It’s more like a blessing.”

“That’s the same thing,” Michael scoffs. “It all has the same source.”

“No, no, you’re wrong,” Amenadiel says.

Chloe reaches out and grabs Lucifer’s sleeve. She’s tired of being talked about without getting a chance to speak for herself. 

“Lucifer,” she calls.

He turns to look at her, but then John gets to his feet and reaches for Lucifer’s shoulder. “My son, she wasn’t—”

“I am not your son,” Lucifer snaps, recoiling from John’s grasp. “Do not touch me.”

“You can’t run from who you are, Samael,” Michael says, smirking again. “And neither can your girlfriend no matter how hard she tries. You two are together because you were designed to be. It’s not real. If you hate Father so much, then let go of her.”

“You can’t manipulate me into sacrificing her,” Lucifer snarls. “She is mine. Do you hear me? She belongs to me, not you, and I swear to Dad if you so much as look at her the wrong way, I will end you.”

“What did I tell you?” Michael says to Amenadiel. “He’s killed for her before and he’ll do it again. He’d burn heaven itself for her.”

“Oh, not just heaven, brother,” Lucifer snarls.

Maybe it’s the mental image of Lucifer, in all his deviled glory, burning heaven and earth in her name. Maybe it’s Michael’s smirk, or Amenadiel’s concern, or John’s confusion. Maybe it’s just the fact that they’re all standing while she sits, shouting at each other over her head as if she’s a thing without any thoughts or feelings or opinions of her own. 

Whatever it is, something inside Chloe finally snaps. 

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here! ” she shouts, slamming her fist down on the table so hard that the silverware rattles. 

The room goes silent. Everyone turns to look at her, their eyes wide in surprise. Chloe glares back at them, unrepentant. 

“What the hell is wrong with you people?” she demands, getting to her feet. “You’re older than the freaking world and yet here you are, acting like a bunch of kids. My daughter is more mature than you and she still has me check under her bed for monsters!”

Lucifer opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” Chloe snaps, holding up her hand. “It’s my turn to talk.”

Lucifer shuts his mouth. 

“I am not a gift,” she says, glaring across the table at Michael. She looks at Amenadiel, and then at Lucifer and his father. “I’m not a blessing either. I don’t belong to anyone. And I sure as hell am not your way back into your son’s good graces. I am a fucking person. I’m my own person. I don’t exist to be the topic of your dinner conversation and I deserve a hell of a lot more than being treated like a trophy you all want to go to war over.”

The four celestial beings standing around her—even Michael, wonder of all wonders—look at least slightly chastised by her speech. It doesn’t ease her frustration though. If anything, it makes her madder. All that bluster and arrogance and a silly little human can shut them all up?

“You’re all ridiculous,” she says. “You can’t even get through dinner without trying to rip each other’s throats out. And you don’t care who you drag into your mess, either.” She motions to herself. “Exhibit fucking A.”

Her phone rings before she can say anything else. She closes her eyes, annoyed by the interruption, and then she yanks it out of her back pocket and puts it to her ear. 

“Decker,” she snaps.

On the other end of the line, a dispatcher tells her there’s been a murder and that her lieutenant has requested it be assigned to her because it’s high profile.

“Fine,” she says, pressing her fingers to her forehead. “Where?”

The dispatcher replies, and offers to text her the address.

“Yeah. I’m on the way.”

She hangs up. Silence hovers in the air. Everyone is staring at her. She turns toward Linda.

“Linda, thank you so much for dinner. It was great. I’m sorry to eat and run, but there’s been a homicide and I have a job to do.”

“Of course,” Linda says with a kind smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She doesn’t say it, but Chloe hears the words To check and make sure you’re okay loud and clear. 

“Thanks,” she says. And then she heads for the door without speaking to anyone else, stopping long enough only to grab her purse.  

She’s halfway out the front door when she hears Michael say, “Lucifer, where are you going? You can’t just leave.

“Watch me,” Lucifer shoots back. 

Chloe doesn’t stop to wait for him. She’s a few steps off the front porch when he catches up with her. 

“Detective,” he calls. “Detective, wait.” 

His fingers curl around her bicep. He tugs with just enough pressure to bring her to a stop. She turns to face him with her jaw clenched. Irritation is still whipping through her veins.

He doesn’t seem to notice. “Well played with the phone call,” he says admiringly. “Although, I wouldn’t have minded in the least if you’d had them call earlier. I would’ve sacrificed dessert.” He steps closer to her with a sly smile, and his eyes dip toward her chest. “We could have had our own dessert. Still can, I suppose.”

“I didn’t tell Dispatch to call me, Lucifer,” Chloe says through gritted teeth. 

He lifts his gaze to hers. “Really? Well, lucky us then. What poor sap do we have to thank for our good fortune? Where are we headed?”

We’re not headed anywhere. I’m going to a crime scene. You’re staying here.”

He blinks at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m doing you a favor, really,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “Now you guys can go back to talking about me, which seems to be your favorite thing to do.”

Lucifer blinks again, obviously confused. “I don’t understand. Are you angry with me?”

“No, of course not,” she says, throwing up her hands. “What could I possibly be angry about? I love when men fight over me like I’m a shiny toy. Especially when I’m in the room and they pretend like I’m not.”

Lucifer’s brow is furrowed like he’s trying to solve a very complicated math equation and it isn’t going well. “I see,” he says slowly. “I can...well, I can understand how that’d be rather vexing for someone like you.”

“Vexing?” Chloe repeats. And then she buries her face in her hands and mutters a string of curses. She feels Lucifer’s hand slide down her arm. 

“Detective, I didn’t intend—”

“It doesn’t matter what you intended, Lucifer,” she interrupts, dropping her hands and shrugging away from him. “You talked about me like I was your possession. Like you own me.”

“But I—”

“That’s not how this works,” she cuts him off again. “You know that, right? You know you don’t own me, don’t you?”

“Well of course I do, Detective.”

“Right,” Chloe says, remembering his words yesterday in the evidence room. “Of course you do.”

Lucifer searches her eyes, his brow still furrowed. “I was simply trying to defend you. To defend us. I only wanted...” He trails off and shakes his head. “I thought I made it clear that you have complete free will in all this.”

“Do I though?” she challenges. “Because apparently I’m the reason the world is going to end and heaven is going to burn and it really doesn’t seem like I have much of a say in that, Lucifer.”

For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just stare at each other. The three feet or so of space between them feels like miles. 

Eventually, Lucifer clenches his jaw like he’s made a decision and he’s steeling himself to act on it. He closes the distance between them. 

“Detective,” he murmurs, lifting his hands to her face. His touch makes her heart race, and this time it isn’t irritation. He holds her gaze with an earnestness that takes her breath away. “You have my word that—”

“Lucifer?” Amenadiel calls. 

The moment shatters like glass. Chloe lowers her head to stare at the sidewalk, and Lucifer exhales heavily and drops his hands from her face.

“Oh,” Amenadiel says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“And yet you did,” Lucifer says with another sigh. “What is it?”

“Father has requested your presence. He’s ready to share his announcement.”

Chloe looks up. Lucifer’s jaw is clenched, and he’s glaring at Linda’s house as if he’d like nothing more than to smite it from existence. Chloe wonders if he could. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath like he’s searching for patience, and then he looks at her. “What would you have me do, Detective?”

She stares at him in surprise. Is he...is he saying it’s up to her if he goes back in there? “You don’t have a choice,” she murmurs, confusion bleeding into her voice. “That’s what you said.”

“And you?”

It feels like a trick question. She said she’d go where he goes. But she can’t call Dispatch back and say Just kidding, tell the lieutenant I can’t do my job tonight because God has a big announcement and my boyfriend wants me there. 

“It’s a high profile case, Lucifer,” she tells him. “The lieutenant specifically requested me.”

For the briefest of instances, she can see hurt flicker in Lucifer’s gaze. But it’s gone so fast she isn’t sure she really saw it, and his expression is suddenly impassive. 

“Right,” he says, straightening to his full height. “Hazards of being the best, I suppose. Good luck, Detective.”

He turns on his heel and marches back up the walk. Chloe watches him go. She feels like she should call him back so they don’t part on such an uncertain note, but she has no idea what to say. 

Lucifer pauses on the step leading up to the porch. He lingers there for a moment, and then looks over his shoulder at her. 

“Be careful,” he says quietly. 

Chloe’s throat is suddenly tight. All she can do is nod. 

Lucifer flicks his gaze over her one last time, and then he’s gone. 

Chapter 4: Four

Notes:

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all :)

Chapter Text

Chloe takes an Uber to the crime scene.

“Whoa,” her driver says when they get close to the scene and he spots flashing blue and red lights. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“You can stop here,” Chloe tells him. 

He doesn’t seem to hear her. “Dude, this is a murder scene,” he breathes in wonder. “That’s the coroner! Look at the van! Do you think there’s a dead body in there?”

“Please stop the car.”

He turns in his seat to look at her. He still hasn’t stopped, though he’s at least slowed down enough that he’s inching forward and probably won’t hit anything. Probably. 

“Why did you have me bring you to a murder scene?” he asks. And then his eyes widen. “Oh my god, are you one of those nightcrawler people?”

Chloe rips her badge off her belt and shoves it in his face. “LAPD. Stop the damn car and let me out.”

The car slams to a stop, and Chloe has to put her arm up to keep herself from smashing into the back of the passenger seat. The driver puts his hands in the air. “I’m stopped. Please don’t shoot me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. She’s only taken a few steps when the driver calls out after her, “Hey police lady?”

She turns around.

He grins at her. “I can wait here for you if you want. I’ll take you wherever you have to go next. To notify next of kin, right? Or maybe to the crime lab? I watch all the shows so I know stuff.”

“No,” Chloe says flatly.

“No you’re not going to the crime lab?” he says in confusion.

Chloe strides toward him and bends forward so that she’s eye level. “No, I don’t want you to wait. If I find you out here when I come back out, I’ll arrest you. Okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. Okay. Got it.”

Chloe turns on her heel and strides away from him and toward the townhouse with the same address Dispatch sent her. 

“Who peed in your coffee, Decker?” one of the uniformed officers standing by the yellow tape asks her. “You need a hug?”

“Shut up, Nixon,” she says. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.”

She can feel his eyes on her ass as she walks. She knows he wouldn’t look at her like that if Lucifer were here. And somehow, that makes her angrier. 

By the time she gets inside the townhouse, she’s ready to punch someone. She knows better than to enter a scene in this kind of mood. It’ll color her observations and impact her assessments, and whatever victim she’s about to meet doesn’t deserve that. They deserve her best. That’s what she wanted from the cops at her dad’s murder scene, and it’s the least she can do for this victim. 

She stops just inside the door and takes a deep breath as she stares down at her boots. Nothing but this matters now, she tells herself. Do your job and worry about everything else later. She exhales slowly, and then looks up to take in her surroundings. 

It’s a really nice place. High ceilings, freshly painted walls, floors that are obviously brand new. Some kind of luxury laminate if she had to guess. The front door opens into a large living room that holds a leather sectional facing a massive TV and sound system. The walls are covered in expensive art and framed black and white photos. Beyond the living space is an eating area with a table that seats six, but there are only two plates and two wine glasses set out. No food. Glasses are still empty.  

There’s a kitchen in the distance. Judging by the flashing camera lights, that’s where she’s going to find the body. She heads in that direction but pauses at the island. There’s an unopened bottle of expensive wine sitting next to a beautiful bouquet of flowers. The flowers make her think of Lucifer.

She wishes he was here.

She grits her teeth and pushes him from her mind. S he glances around the kitchen and spots a few pots and pans on the stove next to an opened box of pasta. Vegetables for a salad are spread across the island. She makes her way around the edge of the island and finally finds the dead body sprawled on the floor in front of the sink. Ella is crouched next to the victim, snapping pictures. 

“Ella?” Chloe says in surprise.

Ella whips her head up. “Decker?” She gets to her feet. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you get kidnapped, like, yesterday?”

“Me?” Chloe says. “What are you doing here? Your boyfriend—” 

Ella winces, and Chloe stops talking abruptly. An awkward silence expands between them.

“Sorry,” Chloe says when she finds her voice.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ella says, waving her hand. “It’s totally fine. So my boyfriend was a creepy serial killer who had a secret room full of murder flowers and only asked me out because he wanted me to be his next victim. So what? Happens to the best of us, right?”

Chloe tilts her head. “Um?”

“It’s fine,” Ella says cheerfully. “Everything is fine. All good in the hood. Let’s talk about you.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Lucifer been giving you the old Florence Nightingale treatment? Helping you heal up real good?”

Chloe ignores the pang in her chest at the mention of her boyfriend. “Not really.”

Ella frowns. “Really? I would’ve thought...I mean, he was distraught, Decker. Like, level ten, DEFCON 1 distraught. I kept waiting for him to lose it and Hulk smash his car. Or cry. I kind of thought he might cry. I didn’t even know he could cry.”

The pang in Chloe’s chest returns with a vengeance.

Ella is oblivious. She cranes her neck as she looks around the crime scene. “Wait, where is he? You guys didn’t come together?”

“He’s not coming,” Chloe says, still trying to breathe around the pang. “He’s got a family thing.”

“Oh. Like with Amenadiel?”

“Yeah, he’s there too.”

Ella looks confused. “I didn’t think they had family in L.A.”

“They don’t. They’re just…in town visiting.”

“Nice! From where?”

Chloe has no idea how to answer that so she doesn’t. “It’s complicated. Ella, listen, are you sure you’re okay? I mean what you went through—”

“Nope,” Ella interrupts. “No talking about feelings unless they’re yours. This,” she sweeps her arms around her body in a big circle, “is a no feelings zone. I have no feelings. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

“You have feelings, Ella,” Chloe insists gently. “And that’s okay. It’s good, even. And you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.”

“I do.”

“Ella—”

“I have to be here, Chloe,” Ella cuts her off. There’s an edge of desperation in her voice. “I need to be here. I need to do my job and make sure that guys like…” She trails off and swallows. Her eyes are glassy. “I need to make sure the bad guys aren’t on the street.” 

A wave of sympathy crashes over Chloe. “Okay,” she says with a nod. “Look, if anyone understands using work as an escape, it’s me. Just...don’t escape too long, okay? It’s better to deal with stuff than to let it fester. And when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here. Anytime.”

Ella looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She sucks in a breath and nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Chloe smiles. “Sure. Now what’ve we got?”

Ella looks visibly relieved at the change in topic. “Dead guy, meet Decker,” she says, gesturing at the corpse on the floor. “Decker, meet Dead Guy.”

Chloe studies the body and pretends she doesn’t notice Ella using her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “I’m guessing the cause of death is stabbing?”

“What tipped you off?” Ella asks with a snort. “The giant knife sticking out of his back?”

“Just call me Sherlock,” Chloe quips. “Dead Guy got a name?”

“James Erickson. 36. Neurosurgeon at UCLA Medical Center.”

“Explains the fancy digs,” Chloe says. She crouches next to the body. “No defensive wounds?”

“Nope. I’m guessing he was standing over the sink, trying to fill a pot with water for the pasta that’s sitting over there when someone stabbed him in the back. Knife is from the knife block.” 

Chloe glances up at the counter, and sure enough, there’s a knife missing from the block. “Crime of passion then.”

“Faucet was still on when he was found,” Ella continues. “So that’s why I’m thinking he was using it. Would’ve been nice if the killer could’ve turned it off. Don’t they know we’re in a drought?”

“Apparently not.” Chloe gets to her feet. “Who found him?”

“Kendra Harris. Girlfriend.” Ella nods over Chloe’s shoulder. “She’s over there.”

Chloe glances over her shoulder and sees a beautiful blonde woman standing at the foot of the stairs next to a uniformed officer. Her face is streaked with tears. 

“Anything I should know before I talk to her?”

“Nope,” Ella says.

“Okay. Holler at me if you notice anything else I should see.”

“Will do.”

Chloe heads toward Kendra, dodging crime scene techs on the way. 

“Ms. Harris?” she says when she stops in front of the woman. “I’m Detective Decker. I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s all right.”

Kendra sniffs. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Kendra swipes at her cheeks. Her mascara must be some kind of supercharged waterproof edition, because it isn’t coming off despite all her tears. 

“Jamie and I had plans,” she says in a wavering voice. “He asked me to meet him here at eight. He’d just gotten off a double shift at the hospital, and I told him we could reschedule, but he was dead set on me coming over.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I was late. I stopped at the liquor store on the corner to pick up his favorite whiskey because I knew he’d…” A sob escapes. She sucks in a breath and forges on. “He’d had a rough few days. He lost a patient. He always took it hard when he lost patients.”

“He was a surgeon?” Chloe asks.

Kendra nods. “Yeah. He was...he was really good. Kind of a prodigy, but he didn’t like to be called that. It embarrassed him. He just wanted to help people.”

Kendra sobs again. Chloe’s chest feels tight. She’s never gotten used to this. The dead bodies, maybe, and the cruelty that people harbor inside, but the grief...she’s never gotten used to that. It reminds her of being nineteen and finding out that she’d never see her dad again.

“I got here at, like, fifteen after,” Kendra continues when she’s gotten ahold of herself. “And he was...I found him like that. Just...laying there.”

“He was dead when you found him?”

Fresh tears spill from Kendra’s cheeks. “Yeah. He wasn’t uh...he wasn’t breathing.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

“Did you notice anything out of place? Anything suspicious?”

“The um...the faucet was still on? And the back door was open. But I didn’t see anyone back there. I called 911. And then I just...I just waited until the cops got here.”

Chloe reaches out and presses her hand against Kendra’s arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Harris.”

Kendra nods. The tears are coming fast and hard now.

“Is there anyone we can call for you? Anyone who can come get you?”

“My sister is on the way.”

“Good.” Chloe pulls a business card from her pocket. “I’m the detective in charge of this case. Here’s my card. If you need anything, or if you think of anything—anything at all, even if you think it’s small—give me a call. But I’ll be in touch either way.”

Kendra takes the card. “Thank you.”

“Decker,” Ella calls.

Chloe smiles at Kendra. “Excuse me.”

Kendra nods and then buries her face in her hands as her body shudders with another sob. Chloe feels another stab of empathy and grief, but she steels herself against it and heads back into the kitchen.

“What’s up?” she asks.

Ella looks pained. She holds out her hand. “This fell out of his pocket when the coroner’s guys tried to move him.”

Chloe frowns. She snags a glove from Ella’s kit sitting nearby, pulls it on, and holds out her hand. Ella sets a small velvet box in her palm.

Chloe’s heart drops. “No.”

“Yeah,” Ella sighs.

Chloe opens the box gently. Inside is a gorgeous engagement ring. She glances over her shoulder at Kendra, who is still crying, and then back at the ring. 

“Sometimes the world really sucks, you know?” Ella says softly.

“Yeah,” Chloe says around a sudden lump in her throat. “It sure does.”


Chloe has always found comfort in patterns.

Thunk. 

They’re easy to understand. First there’s one thing, and then another, and then it goes back to the first thing. It’s simple.

Thunk thunk.

They’re easy to predict, too. There are no surprises. No sudden shifts in the wind, no unexpected developments. Nothing that can pop up out of nowhere and sucker punch her right in the gut.

Thunk.

Life isn’t full of patterns, though. It’s messy. It’s unpredictable. And sometimes, it hurts like fucking hell. 

Thunk thunk.

Dull pain shoots through her hand. She grits her teeth, flicks a few fallen strands of hair out of her eyes, and then refocuses on the punching bag. Better the punching bag and the pleasantly familiar ache in her knuckles than the sharp pain in her chest that’s making it hard to breathe. She doesn’t know if it’s the mental image of Kendra Harris crying, or the discovery of the engagement ring, or everything that happened before with Lucifer and his family. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except this punching bag and the pattern of her fists.  

Thunk. 

Thunk thunk.  

“Decker?”

Chloe jumps at the sound of her name. She turns, heart racing and fists still up in a boxer’s stance, to find Jimmy Karpowski from Vice standing a few feet away with a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

He must realize that he startled her, because he offers her a disarming smile. “Sorry,” he says, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Chloe blinks at him for a second, taken aback. It’s past eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. The bullpen is practically deserted except for the night shift. She didn’t expect anyone to be working out this late. That’s why she came up here. 

Karpowski tilts his head at her. “You okay?”

Chloe forces a smile to smooth over her lips and lowers her hands. “Yeah. Just working out some frustration.”

“Rough case?” he asks sympathetically.

“Yeah. The roughest.”

“Want a fresh pair of eyes?”

This time, Chloe’s smile is genuine. Karpowski is a good man and a good cop, and she’s good enough at reading people to know that his offer is genuine. She likes that. She likes the simplicity of it. No hidden agendas, no manipulations, no master plan she’s a pawn in. Just a regular mortal man offering to help a colleague with a tough case because she seems like she needs it. It’s kind of him, and she’s always appreciated kindness. 

A sudden, unexpected wave of grief washes over her. Her life used to be filled with moments like this. Normal stuff. Normal people. There was plenty of dysfunction, of course, because she’s not perfect and neither are the people she loves. She’s had her fair share of pain, and she’s met plenty of people with ulterior motives. She’s been played before. 

But it’s different to be the plaything of gods and angels. It’s…

She doesn’t have the words to describe it. That’s why she’s here. It’s why, when Ella left for the night, Chloe lied and said she was leaving too and then came up here. It’s why her phone is locked in a locker where she can’t hear it ring, because she doesn’t want to know if Lucifer calls her. She just...she can’t deal with all the celestial bullshit right now. The human shit is more than enough to make her feel hollowed out. 

“Decker?” Karpowski says with a frown.

Chloe snaps to attention. “No,” she blurts out. She pushes away the memory of Lucifer looking heartbroken in front of Linda’s house and smiles at Karpowski. “I appreciate the offer, Karpowski, but I’m sure you’ve got cases of your own.”

Karpowski smiles. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. Sometimes it helps to have someone outside your circle look at things. And I haven’t forgotten the favor you did for us a few years back. Well, more like favors, plural.”

A memory of a very tight red dress and a very handsy politician surfaces in her mind. She wonders what Lucifer would think if he found out she went undercover as a hooker a few times for Vice. 

“You don’t owe me for that,” she tells Karpowski with a smile. “I was happy to help.” 

“Agree to disagree,” he says. He winks at her. “Night, Decker.”

“Night.”

She watches him go. It isn’t until the door shuts behind him that Chloe realizes she should have asked him why he was here so late, and if he had a case that he needed help with. It was selfish of her to only think of herself and her problems. 

Oh please, Detective, Lucifer’s voice purrs in her mind. You’re selfless to a nauseating degree.  

“Shut up, Lucifer,” she mutters under her breath. 

And then she starts punching again. 

She gets into a steady rhythm, and her thoughts turn to white noise. She’s got training gloves on—the fingerless kind because she didn’t have the patience to get in and out of boxing gloves on her own—but her knuckles are starting to ache. She keeps punching anyway.

Until Lucifer materializes behind the bag and her heart shoots straight out of her chest. 

Shit,” she gasps, stumbling backward with her hand over her heart. “What the hell, Lucifer.”

 He looks amused, and then quickly repentant. “My apologies, Detective. I had no intention of frightening you.”

Chloe glances behind her at the entrance to the gym, and then back to Lucifer. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I was sitting at your desk,” he replies, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Detective Karpowski saw me, and I must have looked rather forlorn without you, because he told me where I could find you.”

Chloe frowns. “You were at my desk?”

“Well you weren’t at home so I came here,” he says. “The desk sergeant saw you come in but you never left. Your keys were in your desk drawer and there was half a cup of still-warm coffee on your desk. I knew you were in the precinct somewhere, I just wasn’t sure where. So I thought it best to stay in one place and wait for your inevitable appearance.”

“Oh,” Chloe says. 

Lucifer glances around the room with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “What on earth is this place?”

“The gym.”

“Of course,” he says, crinkling his nose slightly. “I should have guessed from the smell of dirty socks and human sadness.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and steps toward the punching bag. “If you don’t like it, you can go.”

“But you’re here.”

He says it as if that’s reason enough for him to be anywhere, let alone a place he doesn’t want to be, and that makes her pause, but only for a moment. She presses her lips together and then starts punching the bag again.

Lucifer watches her for a minute or two, his head tilted like a puppy who’s hearing a noise for the first time. A few years ago it might have annoyed her to be studied so closely, but she’s used to it now. And honestly, even if she isn’t ready to talk about the celestial tug of war his family had over her at dinner, she’s glad he’s here. She likes when he’s close.

“What, exactly, are you doing?” he asks eventually.

She casts a brief glance at him and then turns her attention back to the punching bag. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Taking out your frustrations on this poor bag.” 

She doesn’t contradict him.

“I didn’t realize you were into boxing,” he says, apparently unwilling to let silence linger too long.

“I’m a cop, Lucifer. I have to know how to hit stuff.”

“Yes, of course. I just...didn’t realize you enjoyed hitting things in your spare time.”

“Just because you’ve never seen me do something doesn’t mean I don’t do it.”

He grins. “And what else do you do when I’m not watching, Detective?”

Chloe grits her teeth and gives the bag a one-two punch with a little extra oomph instead of answering. Lucifer hums quietly under his breath. Chloe glances at him, and then double takes. He’s looking at her like he does when he’s thinking about her naked.

“Seriously?” she says, dropping her hands. “There is nothing sexy about this. I’m drenched in sweat.”

Lucifer’s grin widens. “I must admit, I’m rather mystified myself. I’ve had hundreds of fantasies about you. This wasn’t one of them.” His eyes flicker over her. “And yet…”

Heat flares in Chloe’s gut. It annoys her. She exhales hard through her nose and lifts her fists again. “Go away, Lucifer.”

He smirks. “Is that really what you desire?”

“Yes.”

The word is out of her mouth before she can stop it, and it sounds far harsher than she intended. 

She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t want him to go. She never wants him to go. But she just said she did, and the word hits the atmosphere between them like a sledgehammer. 

Hurt shivers across Lucifer’s face. “Very well,” he says quietly. He turns on his heel and heads for the door.

For a second, Chloe is frozen as her brain tries to catch up with her mouth. And then it finally sinks in, and she bolts after him. 

She catches him just as he’s swinging the door open. She flattens her hand against it and shoves it closed again, and it slams shut with a bang that echoes through the gym. 

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows and looks down at her. She wonders if this is how he looks at his demons when they displease him. 

“Don’t go,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I believe they call this mixed messages, Detective.”

Guilt wraps around her throat and squeezes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I…” She sighs and drops her hand from the door. “I’m sorry, Lucifer. I’m sorry I left you alone with your family. I’m sorry I was a jerk just now. And I’m sorry that I...I’m sorry I’m not handling the celestial craziness as well as you probably wish I was.”

His gaze softens. “I’m told it’s a lot to handle.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I should treat you like a punching bag.”

“Well, you didn’t punch me,” he points out with a smile. “Although I’m certain you’ve considered it at some point during our partnership.”

“More than once, if I’m being honest.”

He laughs, and it makes her smile. 

“I appreciate your candor,” he says, his eyes sparkling. 

She shrugs. “Well we don’t lie to each other, right?”

“That is correct.” 

They stare at each other for a while after that. A few months ago, a moment like this would have made her wonder what he was thinking, and if he was feeling the same heat and tension as her. Now she knows he is. Or at least she thinks he is. Maybe her temper tantrum at family dinner has him reconsidering things. Maybe he’s realized she’s just not cut out to be part of his world. 

The thought makes her heart hurt.

Lucifer turns more fully toward her. “If you’ve finished punishing that poor bag, there are a few things I should like to discuss,” he says quietly. “I believe I owe you an apology, and I’d rather not make it surrounded by the scent of decade-old body odor. If noses could weep, mine would be crying like Daniel when someone absconds with his pudding.”

Chloe snorts. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Lucifer smiles but doesn’t disagree. He reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair back from her face. “If you’ve still got some frustrations to vent, though, I’m happy to wait. Benefits of being immortal. Nothing but time. Especially for you, my dear Detective.” 

My dear Detective. Chloe’s heart shoots up into her throat. 

“No, I’m good,” she says. “Just let me shower, okay? Since you’re so offended by body odor.”

“You don’t have an odor,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. He leans toward her. “In fact, I rather like it when you sweat. Though I’d much prefer to be the cause.”

“You never turn it off, do you?”

His eyes drop to her mouth. “Not when it comes to you, darling. I’d have thought that was rather obvious by now.”

Chloe presses her gloved hand into his chest to keep him at arm’s length. He’s getting dangerously close to her. It’s much harder to resist him now that they’ve crossed the line, but she needs to. As much as she’d like to climb him like a tree right now, she can’t. There are cameras in this gym, and if she leads him into the locker room where there aren’t cameras, it’s going to be obvious what they’re doing. People talk, especially cops, and she’d rather not give her colleagues more reasons to talk about her than they already have.

“I’ll meet you down at my desk in twenty minutes,” she says. “Dan has Trixie for the night so we can go to my place. If you want.” 

He grins at her. “It’s a date.”


Chloe is unlocking her front door when Lucifer steps into her space. 

She can feel his chest pressing against her shoulder blades, and then he buries his face in her hair and inhales. She pauses, her key still in the lock, and smiles.

“What are you doing?”

“You smell lovely,” he murmurs. “Like flowers.”

“It’s shampoo.”

“It’s delightful. What is it?”

Her smile widens into a grin. “The cheap stuff that’s always on sale.” She turns the key and shoves open her front door. “Not all of us can afford to spend hundreds of dollars on shampoo every month.”

“I’d be happy to cover your shampoo purchases,” Lucifer offers, following her inside and closing the door behind him. “And any other expenses you might need covered.”

“Um, no. I’m good.”

She hangs her purse on the hooks by the door, kicks off her shoes, and then tosses her keys on the counter as she wanders into the kitchen. 

“I think I have wine,” she says, walking around the peninsula. “Although I’m sure it’s not the expensive stuff you’d prefer. And no, I don’t need you to buy me wine either.”

She roots around in the upper cupboard where she keeps her alcohol out of Trixie’s reach, and pulls down a bottle of her favorite red. Lucifer hasn’t answered her, so she turns around with the bottle in hand. He’s staring at her with a funny look on his face. 

“What?” she asks.

“It bothers you that I’m wealthy,” he says slowly as if he’s just had a startling revelation.

She frowns. “What? No it doesn’t.”

“You won’t let me buy you things.”

“That doesn’t mean I hate that you’re rich,” she says, setting the wine bottle down on the island with a dull thunk. “It just means I prefer to buy my own stuff.”

“But why?” he presses. “I have plenty of money. More than I could ever spend. And despite the considerable amount of risk you endure for the sake of your job, the city pays you peanuts.”

“How do you know? Did you go through my laptop again?”

He ignores her. “You have a tiny mouth to feed in addition to your own, and I’ve seen how much she eats. Honestly, I’ve no idea where it all goes. Your spawn is a bottomless pit. And she grows like a weed, so I’m certain you’re forced to purchase new clothes and shoes almost constantly.”

“A weed that’s a bottomless pit,” Chloe repeats dryly as she crosses the kitchen and then reaches up to a shelf for glasses. “That’s a new one. I think I prefer urchin.”

Lucifer forges on without acknowledging her. “Maze no longer shares expenses with you. You’re the sole breadwinner of this household, Detective. Does Daniel pay child support, at least, or is he as douchey about that as he is everything else?”

Chloe sighs as she sets two wine glasses on the counter. “Are we really having this conversation right now?”

“Detective,” Lucifer starts, concern clear on his face. “If you need financial assistance—”

“I don’t.”

He rounds the peninsula and closes the distance between them with a purposeful stride. “I know you’re very proud and so you might not request assistance if—”

“First of all,” Chloe cuts him off, “you calling me proud is the most pot-meet-kettle thing I have ever heard. Second of all, I don’t need your money, okay? Trixie and I are fine. I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

Lucifer looks unconvinced. At first, Chloe is exasperated. But there’s something in his expression that makes her swallow the sarcasm sitting on the tip of her tongue. She studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what it is, and then she realizes. 

He’s worried about her. 

It’s cute, but also dangerous. When Lucifer is worried, he tends to go from 0 to 100 in seconds. He does crazy things that he thinks will fix everything, consequences be damned, and the consequences are always absurd. She has visions of him gifting her with a beachfront palace in Malibu, or buying her entire complex and refusing to let her pay rent, and she turns to face him with her hands on her hips.

“You’re not going to let this go unless I tell you, are you?” 

He frowns. “Tell me what?”

She sighs. “Look, my mom was never A-list, okay? She didn’t get paid tens of millions for her films. But she did pretty well, especially when you add in conventions and residuals and all that. She’s not great with money, but my dad was. And when I was born, they created a trust for me.”

Lucifer blinks at her. “You have a trust fund?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t really use it. I mostly treat it like Trixie’s college fund. But I dip into it when I need to.” 

“How much is in there?”

“Enough. Let’s leave it at that.” She brandishes her index finger in his face. “And don’t you dare tell anyone. It’s bad enough I’ve got Hot Tub High School following me everywhere. I don’t need to hear snide remarks about my trust fund too.”

Lucifer nods. “Right. Of course. I won’t tell a soul, you have my word.”

“Good. Now hand me the corkscrew,” she says, nodding over his shoulder.

Lucifer turns away from her obediently, reaches into the correct drawer without any direction from her, and then hands her the corkscrew. 

She opens the wine bottle and pours two glasses. Lucifer gazes at her while she does. She lets him watch her until the air becomes almost suffocating with his unspoken question.

“What?” she finally asks with a sigh, meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t beat around the bush. “You have a trust fund. You could buy shampoo that’s not on sale if you desired it. Or better wine. Or both. But you don’t.”

“Because that money isn’t for shampoo and wine. It’s Trixie’s college money.”

“I have a feeling you’ve enough funds for both.”

He’s right, but she doesn’t say so. “Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should,” she says, holding out a glass for him. “Now do you want to drink my cheap wine or not?”

He takes the glass from her, and then bends forward and kisses her. Despite all the heated looks he gave her at the gym, there’s no lust in it. He seems to be kissing her just because he can, and she likes that. She likes him.

She loves him. 

He hums as he pulls away. It’s almost a purr, the kind of sound a lazy cat would make if it found a patch of sun to lay in, and his contentment makes her feel warm. He smiles down at her, and then he presents her with the second wine glass and leads her into her living room by the hand. 

He settles her on the couch before he heads to the fireplace to switch the gas on. The fire roars to life. He stares at it for a second, his gaze distant, and then he joins her on the couch. He drapes his arm across the cushions between them so that his hand is close to her shoulder and turns toward her, crossing his legs. 

“Setting the mood?” she teases as she tucks her legs up beneath her body. 

“Oh I don’t have to,” he replies airily. “Look at me. I am the mood.”

“Wow,” she snorts as she lifts her glass to her lips. 

He smiles, but it fades quickly. He lifts his hand and traces his fingers over her shoulder. Sparks shiver down her arm at his touch. 

“I owe you an apology, Detective.”

His voice is soft, and so is the expression on his face. Chloe swallows and lowers her glass. He’s really not beating around the bush tonight. She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. 

“Yeah, you said that,” she says noncommittally. 

He shifts a little on the couch. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my brother gets under my skin.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

He smiles humorlessly. “He brings out the worst in me. And tonight, that was my possessive side. Truth be told, I’ve never really been the possessive type. Not when it comes to people, anyway. I never cared enough to want someone all to myself.” 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. “Never until you.”

Any lingering frustration she had from family dinner evaporates. “Lucifer,” she breathes. 

“But my inexperience with serious relationships doesn’t excuse my ghastly behavior,” he says, lifting his hand like he thought she was going to argue with him. “I can’t begin to imagine what you thought of us all screaming at each other like that. Quite unlike the family dinners you’re accustomed to.”

Chloe tilts her head. “Oh I don’t know. Dan and I had some pretty nasty screaming matches before we got divorced. Some of them were over Trixie. Maybe that’s why…”

Oh. She hadn’t even realized. 

“I don’t think it was all you,” she says, reaching out to put her hand on Lucifer’s knee. “Some of it was my stuff too. Leftover baggage from the divorce, and probably also that whole gift-from-God thing. I’m still trying to come to terms with that one.”

“You are?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing in surprise. 

“Well, yeah,” she says. “I mean, I’ve accepted it. I know what we have is real. But I guess I’m just...I don’t know. Trying to figure out what it all means and what my place is in this big plan your dad seems to have.”

“Which is why you were so fixated on the idea that you would start a war between my brother and I.”

Chloe frowns. “Well I wouldn’t say fixated. But you…” She searches his eyes. “You said you’d burn heaven for me, Lucifer.”

“I would.”

He says it without a trace of hesitation. She pulls her hand back from his knee and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“Because you don’t approve of me embracing my dark side?” 

“Because I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt,” she clarifies. “I’ll be the first to say Michael needs his ass kicked, but a war, Lucifer? I’m not...I can’t be responsible for that.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“Yes I would. If you do it for me, I’m responsible for it.”

“That’s not how it works, Detective.”

“That’s exactly how it works.”

Lucifer studies her for a moment that seems to drag out for an eternity. Eventually, he leans forward and sets his wine glass on the coffee table. He turns toward her and folds his hands in his lap.

“I understand what you’re saying.”

She arches an eyebrow. This is one of those instances when she wants to point out Linda’s influence—the Lucifer she met years ago would not have been this emotionally intelligent about a disagreement—but she refrains. 

“But?” she prompts instead.

“But as I told you that evening you had an axe pressed to my very well-defined chest, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Nothing is more important to me than your health and happiness, Detective. There’s no deal I won’t make for your sake. No price I won’t pay. You have to know that by now.”

“I do. I just...saving my life isn’t the same thing as starting a celestial war for me.”

“I won’t start it,” he tells her, shaking his head. “You have my word that I will instigate nothing. But if someone else were to start something over you, you can rest assured I will finish it.”

“Is that what you did with Uriel?”

The words are out of her mouth before she can think twice about them. Grief shivers over Lucifer’s face, and she immediately feels like an idiot.

“Yes,” he murmurs before she can apologize. “It is.”

Chloe’s chest feels suddenly tight. She grips her wine glass and swallows hard. “What happened?” 

“Are you certain you want to know?”

That catches her off guard. He must be able to read it on her face, because he slides his hand over her knee reassuringly.

“I meant it when I said I would answer any question you have. But I have found that sometimes…” He clears his throat and shifts on the couch. “Sometimes people don’t want the answers they claim to seek.”

Chloe considers her options because that’s who she is, but she knows what she wants.

“Tell me,” she whispers.

And he does. He starts at the beginning. He tells her who Uriel is, and what their relationship was like before his fall. He tells her about Azrael’s blade, and what it does to humans, and what it does to celestials. He tells her what Michael hinted at—the deal he made with his father to save her and Trixie from Malcolm, and how he didn’t want to return his mother to Hell. He tells her about Uriel’s appearance, and about his power over patterns. He tells her about their fight in the church, and Uriel’s promise to kill her, and how he grabbed Azrael’s blade and stabbed his brother so that she’d be safe. 

He doesn’t look at her while he talks. He stares into the fire, and she watches him. He’s beautiful in the firelight. He’s never looked more like an angel to her than he does right now, and it makes her ache. 

At some point, tears start to leak from her eyes. She’s not sure when or why. It’s the grief in his voice, maybe, and the knowledge that he went through so much pain for her and she didn’t even know. 

She didn’t know. 

He’s explaining his hell loop—the one he was only in because he was trying to save her again—when he finally looks over at her. He stops talking abruptly, and a look of horror passes over his face. 

“Detective,” he breathes. 

She shakes her head and wipes her face. “Sorry.”

He takes her glass from her hand and sets it on the coffee table. When he turns back to face her, he brushes her hand away and then wipes his own hands over the trails of tears on her cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” she insists. “I just…”

“You just what?” he presses. He snatches the pocket square from his jacket and offers it to her, but he doesn’t give her a chance to use it because he’s using his thumbs to wipe away her tears with a gentleness that makes her throat tight. 

He’s fussing over her. The Devil is fussing over her. It makes a fresh wave of tears hit her eyes.

“I can’t believe you did all that for me,” she whispers, reaching out to grab a fistful of his jacket.

He goes still. He looks stunned by the awe in her voice, and then almost shy. “Well I couldn’t leave the urchin motherless now, could I?”

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, her voice cracking on the word. 

“I told you,” he says, tilting closer to her. “There’s no price too steep, Detective. I’d do it again. I’d brave that hell loop for all eternity for your sake.”

It’s a huge claim to make, but she believes him. How could she not? How could she feel anything but love for this man who is so infuriating and ridiculous and good? 

He gazes at her, that same I-found-water-in-the-desert look he wore in the evidence room, and she doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve him.

“I’m sorry,” she exhales on a sob.

He looks incredulous. “What on earth for?” 

“You killed him for me. You went to Hell for me and I paid you back by going behind your back with Father Kinley and…”

She can’t even finish. She just trails off with a strangled sob. 

He strokes the tips of his fingers over her cheek and smiles at her. “It’s not as though I haven’t done my fair share of hurting you. Far more than you hurt me, I’d say.”

She shakes her head. “No, this was different. It was…” She squeezes his suit jacket tight in her fist and drops her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Look at me, darling,” he says, putting his hand beneath her chin and tilting her head back up so she has to look at him. “It’s a wound long healed. I had thousands of years to understand why you did what you did, and I see it now for what it was. I don’t blame you. If you’re looking for punishment, you won’t find it here.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes. She tries to keep the tears at bay, but fails. 

He leans back. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she knows he’s realized she’s still crying because he whispers Detective in a broken voice. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his lap, and she goes willingly. She curls into him, her face buried in his chest, and he holds her tightly the same way she holds Trixie when she’s upset. 

Eventually all the grief and remorse and regret finally bleed out of her. When her breathing slows, and she’s sure she’s not going to lose her shit again, she leans back to look at him. She turns to face him and shifts into a more comfortable position, her knees sliding down to either side of his thighs, and then she smooths her hand over his suit jacket where she left a wet spot and probably some mascara stains. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says with a kind smile. “My shoulder is yours to cry on whenever you please, Detective.”

She traces her fingertips over the buttons on his vest. She wants to say something to him—to reassure him that what happened with Father Kinley will never happen again—but she’s not sure how. After a minute or two of searching fruitlessly for the right words, she settles on the truth in the plainest terms possible.

“I don’t want to hurt you again, Lucifer.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

He tilts his head and seems to consider the question. “Well, I suppose I have faith.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “The Devil has faith?”

She expects him to grin and say something obnoxious or suggestive or both. But he doesn’t. 

“Only in you.”

All the breath rushes out of Chloe’s lungs. He’s got that look on his face again and she can barely stand it. She loves him so much she thinks she might drown in it.

“Lucifer,” she whispers.

He sits up straight, bringing them face to face and eye level, and lifts his hand to her cheek. “You’re the only thing I believe in, Chloe,” he whispers, his thumb stroking over the jut of her jaw. “You made the Devil a believer.”

It’s not an I love you, but it sure as hell feels like one.

She leans forward and kisses him. She kisses him like she wanted to kiss him every day he was gone, and like she wants to kiss him every day for the rest of her life. He kisses her back with abandon. Desire roars to life inside her. It feels like the blood in her veins has turned to liquid fire. 

She starts on the buttons of his vest, but gives up after two and just rips it open. She gives his shirt the same treatment. 

“I like this shirt,” he complains. But he’s smiling, and his hands are all over her, and she knows him well enough to know that he couldn’t care less that she just ruined his shirt.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she says anyway, shoving his shirt open to reveal his chest.

“With your trust fund?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, and she kisses it from his lips. With his shirt open there’s new skin for her to touch, to lean forward and kiss, and when he sucks in a breath and his chest lifts beneath her mouth, she feels a flash of pride because she can make the Devil gasp. 

He finds the hem of her t-shirt and lifts it up and over her head. When he tosses it aside and buries his face in her throat to suck on the skin over her pulsepoint, she realizes she’s not the only one who can incite a gasp.

His hand slides to the clasp of her bra, but he doesn’t flick it open. “Here?” he whispers.

“Upstairs,” she whispers back, because she can’t handle the idea of Trixie watching the Disney Channel on a couch where her mother screwed the Devil. 

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. He stands up, folds her legs snugly around his waist, and carries her upstairs. He kisses the hell out of her while he walks, and by the time they collapse onto her bed, she feels drunk on him.

He flicks his fingers over her back, and she feels the tension in her bra finally release. He’s got it off of her in record time, and his mouth on her a moment later. She chokes on her breath and swallows a moan.

“House is empty,” he whispers against her skin. His hands find her belt. “No need to be quiet, Detective.”

She’s not.

Chapter 5: Five

Chapter Text

Chloe wakes the next morning to an empty bed. 

It takes her a second to find coherency. She blinks at the alarm clock. It’s just before eight. She sighs and curses her internal alarm clock for not letting her sleep later on a Sunday. She rolls over, seeking Lucifer’s warmth, and finds nothing but cold sheets and an empty pillow. 

For a brief, terrible moment, she thinks he’s left her again. She closes her eyes and she’s right back on the penthouse balcony, begging him not to leave, and he’s stroking his hand over her cheek and saying goodbye. It hurts like hell. 

And then she remembers last night. She hears the sound of clanging pots and pans, and she opens her eyes. She can smell coffee, and hear the distant sound of…

Is he playing opera in her kitchen right now? 

She rubs her eyes and sighs. Of course he listens to opera in the morning. Of course he does. 

She gets out of bed and pulls on a faded LAPD t-shirt and a pair of shorts from a drawer in her dresser. It feels chilly, so she tugs on a zip-up sweatshirt that was draped over the chair nearby. She heads for the bathroom next. She brushes her teeth, pulls her hair back into a messy bun, and then finally heads for the stairs, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

The music gets louder the closer she gets to the kitchen. It’s definitely opera. She has no idea which one, though. She’s not really an opera person. She doesn’t dislike it. She’s just never really paid attention to it. 

She has a feeling Lucifer is going to try to change that. 

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she stops. Lucifer is wearing his suit pants and the shirt she took off him last night, but he’s only got two buttons fastened. She wonders if those are the only two buttons left because she ripped the others off in her haste last night. His hair is mussed, which is also her fault. Although, maybe not. If he wasn’t so damn good with his mouth, then she wouldn’t feel the need to grab fistfuls of his hair. 

He’s grating cheese over a bowl with a look of intense concentration. He’s also singing—in Italian, she thinks—along with the baritone voice wailing from the speaker on his phone. 

She smiles. She can’t help it. The Devil is in her kitchen, grating cheese and singing opera, and it’s just...it’s really adorable.

He looks up, spots her, and freezes like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Detective,” he says. And then he scrambles for his phone, and the operatic wailing ceases. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks, setting down the cheese grater. “My apologies, I didn’t realize it was that loud.”

“It wasn’t.”

She’s still grinning. He notices. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, lifting her shoulder. “You’re just...kind of adorable.”

He looks appalled. “I beg your pardon,” he says, straightening to his full height. “I am the Lord of Hell, Detective. I am not adorable.”

“Mhmm,” she says as she wanders past him to the coffee maker. “Sure.” She opens the cupboard to grab the coffee and a mug.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

She casts a look at him over her shoulder. “Making coffee.”

“No, no, no,” he says, striding across the kitchen and grabbing her by the shoulders. He guides her to the peninsula and deposits her on a chair. “You sit.”

“Lucifer—” 

“I have espresso,” he cuts her off, lifting his index finger as he walks away. “I will make you a latte.”

“I don’t have…” She trails off when she realizes there’s an espresso machine sitting on the counter next to her microwave. “Why is there an espresso machine in my kitchen?”

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” he says excitedly, turning around to beam at her from next to the shiny new machine. “I had it delivered earlier.”

Chloe frowns. “But...why?”

“Well so I could make you a latte, obviously,” he says, rolling his eyes as if she’s just asked a ridiculous question. “Your offspring specifically requested breakfast Lucifer-style, and I had to make sure you had all the proper equipment. I’d hate to disappoint the little urchin. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

Chloe’s frown deepens. “But I didn’t…” And then she realizes he said equipment. Like, there’s more. “Wait,” she says. “What else did you order?”

“Oh nothing much,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “Panini press, waffle maker, a cast iron skillet. That last one was on backorder, actually, but I wanted a certain brand. I am very particular about my cast irons.”

“Right, of course,” Chloe says. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, her sarcasm flying straight over his head. “Oh, and I ordered this delightful little contraption that poaches eggs perfectly. Honestly, I’ve never seen such sorcery. And I’m friends with several sorcerers, mind you.”

Chloe nods. “Sure. Of course you are.”

Lucifer finally seems to realize that she’s not sharing in his enthusiasm. “You’re displeased.”

“No,” she disagrees. “I’m just uh…” She scratches the back of her head. Her brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. Later, she’ll have to talk to him about this new impulse he has to buy her stuff. But for right now…

“I need some coffee.”

He snaps to attention. “Right. Of course. One moment.”

She watches him bustle through her kitchen, grabbing milk from the fridge and a mug from the cupboard. He’s whistling. She thinks it’s the same song he was singing when she came downstairs. 

“What is that you’re whistling?” she asks.

“La Traviata,” he tells her as he fusses with the espresso machine. “I first saw it in London at Her Majesty’s Theater in 1856. Would have been a terribly boring vacation if not for that show. You know the Church tried to order an injunction against it? Quite the scandal. It was morally questionable, or so they said, so naturally I had to see it for myself. And wouldn’t you know, I quite enjoyed it. And not just because of its scandalous nature. It’s a lovely story, albeit tragic. You would have enjoyed it, I think. Ms. Lopez certainly did.”

Chloe frowns. “Ella? When did Ella go to the opera?”

Lucifer freezes. “Oh,” he says. “Um...a few months ago, I believe.” 

“Huh,” Chloe says, folding her arms on the counter. “I wouldn’t have pegged her as an opera girl.”

“I think she came into the tickets unexpectedly,” he murmurs. He spins to face her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she says, fiddling with the strings of her sweatshirt. “Did you?”

He grins. “Well how could I not, sleeping next to you?”

She smiles. “So no snoring then?”

“Well I didn’t say that,” he says. “There was an incident around two when I was certain you were going to wake the whole neighborhood. But I’m nothing if not a considerate neighbor, so I took it upon myself to hush you.”

Chloe frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Why I woke you up, darling,” he says. “For round two.” He flicks his gaze over her with a smirk. “Well, round two for me. Round four for you, wasn’t it?”

Chloe can feel her face flushing. “Yeah,” she says. “Something like that.”

He shoots her a wicked grin, and then turns back to the espresso machine. It whirs to life, and she watches as he bends forward and steams the milk with practiced precision. He’s whistling again. She can’t take her eyes off him. She likes the way he looks in her kitchen.

“I didn’t realize you were a morning person,” she says after a while.

“Depends on how much alcohol I enjoyed the previous night,” he says, sending her a roguish wink over his shoulder. “You are though, aren’t you? You’ve always seemed to be.”

“I am,” she confirms. “Having a kid makes you one whether you want to be or not. But I’m usually not really awake until I’ve had some…”

She trails off as he sets a mug in front of her. It’s a latte. And there’s a perfect heart in the middle of the foam. Her heart flutters in her chest. Who knew the Devil was so sweet?

She looks up at him. “Cute.”

“Thank you,” he says, preening.

“I meant the latte heart.”

“Oh.”

She presses her lips together so she won’t laugh at his disappointment. Then she reaches across the counter, grabs a fistful of his shirt, and tugs him toward her so she can kiss him. It’s short, chaste and sweet, and when she pulls back she smiles.

“But you’re cute too,” she murmurs.

He smiles as though she’s just told him he’s won the lottery. “I am rather fetching, aren’t I?”

She rolls her eyes and lets go of his shirt. She lifts the mug to her mouth, sips, and then sighs. It tastes awesome.

“Good?” he asks.

“Very good,” she confirms. “But I’m sure you knew it would be.”

“Of course I did, I made it.” He claps his hands together. “Now then. Breakfast.”

“I can help.”

“You most certainly will not,” he says. “You will sit there and sip your latte and look pretty.” He winks at her. “Shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

She grins at him. He turns away from her and heads back to the island, where he has food strewn across the counter. She’s opening her mouth to ask him what he’s making when she remembers something.

“Shit,” she says, setting her mug down.

He frowns at her. “What is it?”

“I never even asked,” she says, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Lucifer. How’d the rest of family dinner go?”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Was it that bad?”

“Well it wasn’t good,” he says, reaching for a knife. “But I suppose it could have been worse. Everyone was rather sheepish after you left. It put a damper on any further arguments. I think my father even felt guilty. It was quite a new emotion for him, I’m sure.”

Chloe blinks. She made God feel guilty?  

Wow.

“So did he make his big announcement?” she asks, lifting her mug to her lips. 

Lucifer pauses with the knife over a bunch of fresh herbs. His hand hovers in the air for a second or two, but he doesn’t reply. 

Chloe frowns. “Lucifer?”

He sets the knife down and looks at her. “He’s retiring.”

Chloe stares at him. He stares back at her patiently, like he recognizes what an absurd thing he’s just said. 

“What?” she says eventually.

Lucifer sighs. “Precisely what I said.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t understand. How can he... why would he…?”

Lucifer nods. “Yes, yes, exactly. It’s not as if he does any work. Retiring from Hell is one thing. I have an actual job to do. Monitor the loops, change things up every once in a while just to make sure the punishments stay fresh. And managing the demons, of course. Which, honestly...I mean, you’ve met Mazikeen. Imagine millions of her. It’s never ending. I’ve really got my hands full.”

“Sure,” Chloe says. Her ears are ringing. She’s never really asked him what he does down there. Now that she’s finding out, she has so many questions.

Lucifer seems oblivious to her confusion. “But Dad? ” he says. “He doesn’t do anything. Just sits up there and treats you lot like his own personal game of The Sims, and it’s not like that’s bloody difficult. You’re all more than capable of feeding yourselves and relieving yourselves without his interference.”

Chloe frowns over the rim of her mug. She’s not sure if she should be offended by the suggestion that she’s a Sim. 

“And even when he wants something done, he doesn’t have to do any of the work himself. He sends one of his little minions to do it.”

“You mean your brothers and sisters?” Chloe asks. “Did you just call your siblings minions?

“Well not the fat little yellow ones, obviously,” he says. “Although it’d be an upgrade for some of them,” he mutters as an afterthought. 

Chloe shakes her head to dismiss the stubborn image of Amenadiel and Michael dressed like minions. “I don’t understand,” she says. “If he’s retiring, then who’s going to be...you know, God?

“Oh that’s the best part,” Lucifer sneers. “He wants one of us to do it.”

“One of...who?”

“Amenadiel, Michael, and myself. He wants to pass along his infernal creation to one of his sons . As if the world were a bloody auto mechanic shop and we’re his greasy offspring who are eager to assume the family business.”

“That’s...quite a vision,” Chloe says. Suddenly all she can think about is Lucifer in coveralls with black streaks on his face. It’s not the worst thing she’s ever imagined.  

“You should have heard him,” Lucifer rages, his hands still flying. “I’d like to entrust humans to one of my sons who know them best,” he says, dipping his voice into a passable impression of his father. “Someone who understands them for who they are.

Chloe frowns. “Doesn’t Michael’s rant about how awful humans are kind of disqualify him?”

“You would bloody well think so, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer snaps. “But noooo, Michael deserves mercy because he was speaking from a place of concern. He has everyone’s best interests at heart, apparently. Utter bollocks.”

Lucifer’s breathing has picked up a little, and the hand that’s not holding a knife is curled into a tight fist. He’s clearly trying not to lose his temper, and it’s clearly not working.

“What about you?” Chloe asks, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else. 

He looks at her. “What about me?”

“Well do you...I mean, do you want to be in charge of earth?”

“Are you joking?” he says. “I would rather make bracelets with Daniel for the rest of eternity. I would rather don one of those ridiculous getups Ms. Lopez loves and follow her into a sea of similarly clad nerd virgins who think the epitome of sexiness is knowing a fake language. I would rather listen to Amenadiel read the dictionary while he—”

“Okay, okay,” Chloe cuts him off. “I get it.”

Lucifer stops, blinks, and then sighs. “My apologies, Detective. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just…” He sighs again.

“He’s not really retiring though, right?” Chloe says. “I mean this is, like, one of his manipulations? Or a test?”

“Well that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Lucifer says. He flips the knife in his hand casually the way a professional chef might, and then he starts slicing the herbs on the cutting board extremely fast without actually looking down at them. 

“I’m inclined to assume that the whole thing is an utter sham. It’s precisely the kind of—OW! Damn it.”

The knife clatters onto the cutting board, and Lucifer hunches over his hand with a pained hiss. 

“Lucifer?” Chloe says, getting to her feet. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, but she doesn’t wait for an answer. She rounds the corner of the peninsula and reaches for him. He flinches at her touch. She pulls her hand back.

“Sorry, I…”

She trails off when he turns to face her and she sees that the hand he’s cradling to his chest is bleeding. There’s a brilliant red stain on his white shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” she says in shock. 

He’s staring down at his hand like he’s equally stunned. 

“I thought…?” she says.

“As did I,” he breathes, looking up at her. 

They stare at each other for a moment, speechless. And then Chloe’s cop instincts kick in, and she wraps her fingers around his forearm and tugs him toward the sink. She flips the faucet on cold, and shoves his finger beneath the water. 

“Hold it there,” she orders.

He obeys as she bends down to grab the first aid kit she keeps beneath the sink. She flicks it open and sets it on the counter. She grabs an antiseptic wipe, and then a few band-aids, and then rips a paper towel off the roll nearby. She turns the faucet off, and then bends forward so she can study the index finger of his left hand. 

It’s a long gash, but not deep enough to need stitches. It’ll scar, but he’ll be okay. 

She dabs at the wound with the paper towel, and then rips the antiseptic wipe packet open with her teeth. She cleans the cut carefully, and then wraps his finger with bandages tightly enough to apply some pressure. 

When she glances up at him, she finds him watching her intently. 

“You okay?” she asks.

He nods wordlessly. His gaze is flickering over her face like he’s trying to understand something, but she doesn’t know what.

“Lucifer?” she prompts. 

He swallows. “You’re quite good at that,” he says quietly.

She frowns. “At cleaning cuts? I guess. Trixie’s pretty active. I’ve dealt with my fair share of skinned elbows and knees.”

“Of course,” he says, finally looking away from her. 

“Hey,” she says, reaching out to touch his arm. He looks up at her. She tilts her head. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just...well, I’m not accustomed to being…”

He doesn’t finish, but she thinks she knows what he was going to say. Her heart squeezes in her chest. 

“Taken care of,” she finishes for him softly.

He nods. “Indeed.”

For a second, all she can think about is how lonely he must have been down in Hell for thousands of years. It makes her heart ache. She lifts her hand to his face. His stubble is rough against her skin. 

“Well get used to it,” she murmurs.

He smiles. She’s seen him smile a million times, but there’s so much joy shining in his eyes that this one feels different. It’s contagious. She can feel it in her chest, a warmth that’s starting to feel familiar in the very best way. And while she hates to be the reason he stops smiling, she can’t help but wonder…

“Why are you vulnerable again?” she asks.

As she expected, his smile fades. “Your guess is as good as mine, Detective,” he sighs. “Perhaps it has to do with my father.”

“You mean being emotionally vulnerable with me about what happened at dinner made you physically vulnerable too?”

He looks up at her with a frown. “Actually, I was thinking his presence on earth makes me feel vulnerable.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. That makes way more sense.”

“You were hoping it was because of you?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

He lifts his eyebrows. 

“Maybe,” she amends. Her face is heating up. She feels...needy. She hates feeling needy.

“It’s certainly possible it was you,” he says. “I was choosing to tell you how I felt. I wanted to be vulnerable with you.”

He doesn’t lie, but she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to placate her.

“It’s fine,” she tells him. “What you said before is probably right.”

He searches her eyes. “Perhaps we should finish our discussion from the other day. I don’t wish to make you feel—”

“No,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. “I don’t...I mean, I told you we could wait. And family dinner is over, but the family drama isn’t, so let’s just...wait. I can wait. It’s no big deal.”

He studies her for a minute, and then nods. “All right.” And then his gaze shifts over her shoulder, and he winces. “I’m afraid I’ve bled all over breakfast.”

Chloe turns and sees that there’s blood on the herbs. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah.” She turns back to face him. “Do you really need those?”

“I’m afraid they’re vital, yes.”

“What were you making?”

He looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I thought I’d try my hand at your father’s sandwich.”

She stares at him. 

“It’s your favorite,” he explains, sounding almost defensive. “And I know the child is also very fond of them, and I thought that if I was going to spend my mornings here then it might behoove me to...well, master the craft, so to speak.”

For a second, all Chloe can do is keep staring at him. Just when she thinks she’s got him all figured out, he goes and does something like this. 

“You know,” she finally says, leaning closer to him, “for someone who’s never been in a serious relationship, you’re pretty good at it.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, unable to stop a grin. “Who knew the Devil was such a romantic?”

He frowns. “I wasn’t aware egg sandwiches were romantic.”

“They’re not,” she laughs. “It’s the thought behind it, Lucifer. You were doing something for me because you knew I would like it. You wanted me to feel special.”

“Well you are special,” he says, his brow furrowed. 

She smiles and drapes her arms around his neck. “I think you’re special too.”

“Well of course you do, Detective. Everyone does. I’m me.”

Chloe sighs. “No one ruins a moment like you, that’s for sure.”

Her phone blares on the counter behind her. She disentangles herself from Lucifer and grabs it to check the caller ID.

“Except maybe Ella,” she amends. She lifts the phone to her ear. “Good morning, Ella.”

“Deckerrrr,” Ella says on the other end of the line. “Girl, I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize how early it was. I just got caught up in the moment and called to tell you the good news, and the phone was already ringing by the time I realized it’s, like, the crack of dawn on the weekend. Seriously, I am so sorry. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chloe assures her, reaching for her latte. “I was already awake. What’s the good news?”

“I found sweat.

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Um. What?”

“Sorry, sorry, let me back up. I was running tests on the knife. No usable fingerprints on the handle, unfortunately. Smudged mess. I think the killer tried to wipe it clean. But he or she didn’t do a very good job, because I found some sweat.” 

“Can you pull DNA from it?”

“Yep, running the test now. But that’s not even the best part.”

“What’s the best part?

“I found trace amounts of acrylo-nitrile and butadiene.”

“I...have no idea what that means.”

“Gloves, Decker. It’s what they use to make surgical gloves. Well, specifically nitrile gloves. An alternative to latex.”

Chloe frowns. “Wait. How did you find sweat if the killer was wearing gloves?”

“Because the killer wasn’t wearing gloves when he stabbed Dr. Erickson. The glove traces were on his skin from previous contact. When he touched the knife with his bare hand, he left behind sweat and glove residue.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Our victim was a surgeon. He worked with people who regularly wear surgical gloves. So it’s possible his murderer was one of his colleagues.”

“Yep,” Ella says cheerfully.

Chloe turns around to face Lucifer. “Hey,” she calls. He looks up from the cutting board he was cleaning. “I need to go to UCLA Medical Center for the case. You want to come?”

Lucifer looks offended that she’d even ask. “Well of course I do. We’re partners, aren’t we?” He sets the cutting board down and smirks at her. “I’ll have to stop at home first though. It seems I only have two working buttons on my shirt thanks to your eagerness last night.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to point out that she’s not the only one who was eager, but before she can get the words out, Ella cackles in her ear.

“Ooh, get it, Decker. You ride that British cowboy.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“Going to rip off the other two buttons?” Ella asks gleefully. 

“Goodbye, Ella.” 

Chloe hangs up the phone and looks at Lucifer. He’s grinning at her. 

“Shut up,” she tells him.

He leers at her. “That’s not what you said last night.”

He’s right, but Chloe doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. She heads for the stairs. “Keep talking and you won’t be allowed to join me in the shower.”

Lucifer’s grin turns devilish. “I’m sure I can find a way to keep my mouth otherwise occupied.”


As it turns out, Chloe was right: James Erickson was murdered by a colleague. 

It takes them a little more than twenty-fours to prove it. Chloe thinks it’s probably a record for them. Their solve rate is impressive, but she’s detail-oriented enough that she doesn’t rush if she doesn’t have to. She’s more interested in solving cases properly than solving them quickly. This case, though—this is the closest to open-and-shut she’s gotten in years. 

Things don’t look great for them at first. UCLA Medical Center has a lot of staff, and they’re all very protective of the hospital’s reputation. That means she gets a lot of Dr. Erickson was a great guy and an even better surgeon, we want to help however we can followed by Sorry, we can’t tell you that. 

Lucifer, of course, doesn’t put up with being stonewalled. Every time Chloe hits a brick wall, her partner steps in with a smile and a Tell me, what is it you desire? purr that turns everyone except her into a pile of babbling mush. 

By Monday morning, they’ve made a series of very interesting discoveries. First, they find out that their victim’s almost-fiancee, Kendra Harris, is the Director of Media Relations for the entire UCLA Health system. Next, they find out that James and Kendra were something of a power couple. Kendra is known as “the media whisperer” and James was a surgical prodigy. Between the two of them, they catapulted the hospital to the top of the national rankings and fundraised millions of dollars. Hell of a team, one of the hospital administrators tells Chloe.

But it’s the third discovery that’s the real kicker. Apparently Kendra wasn’t single when she first met James. Her ex-boyfriend, Dr. Christopher Cohen, is the second best neurosurgeon at UCLA. And the best? Well that would be the recently deceased James Erickson. 

Lucifer, naturally, finds a way to make the revelation all about himself. Or, rather, them. 

“Detective,” he says, wrapping his fingers around her elbow as they walk away from the nurse who just spilled the beans about the love triangle. “Do you know what this means?”

“That hospitals are more like Grey’s Anatomy than I thought?” she replies.

“No,” he scoffs. “Although, I once had a threesome with two orthopedic residents who were very—”

“Lucifer, I really don’t want to hear about your threesomes.”

“Right,” he says. “Apologies. What I was trying to say was that our dearly departed Dr. Erickson and his pretty media mogul girlfriend are just like us.”

Chloe frowns. “How?”

“Think about it. Ms. Harris is smart and beautiful and good at her job, but her life is missing something. She isn’t quite sure what, though deep down she knows that her mediocre surgeon boyfriend isn’t fulfilling her deepest desires. And then in walks the dashing Dr. Erickson.”

“Are you Dr. Erickson in this analogy?” Chloe asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, of course,” he says impatiently. “He sweeps her off her feet with his unparalleled skill and devastating charm, and she is immediately smitten. Love at first sight. Head over heels. You know, all the bloody cliches. She ditches her douchey ex, and she and James fall madly in love, which drives her pitiful ex to murder the man he views as responsible for his pathetic existence.”

Chloe stops walking and folds her arms. “So you’re saying Dr. Cohen is Dan.”

“Precisely,” Lucifer says with a grin. “Except unfortunately for Daniel, I’m bulletproof. Well, most of the time. Regardless, the analogy doesn’t exactly fit, but it’s very close.”

“Yeah, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t fall in love with you the first time I saw you. In fact, I thought you were—”

“Yes, yes, repulsive on a chemical level,” he says, waving her off. “I remember.” He smirks at her and sidles closer. “But there’s no need to pretend anymore, Detective. We’re together now. You can admit that you were drawn to me, even if you didn’t like it.”

Chloe stares up at him. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

His smirk deepens. “You might be immune to my mojo, darling, but I’ve spent centuries studying women. I know desire when I see it. You wanted me.”

“Riiight,” she says. She pats him on his chest. “You keep telling yourself that.”

She turns on her heel and walks away from him. She can hear him sputtering behind her, and she presses her lips together to stop a smile.

It doesn’t take him long to catch up to her again. He’s fast when he wants to be. 

“Detective.”

“Hm?”

“I think it’s been established that we always tell each other the truth.”

“Yeah.”

“So you should tell me the truth.”

“Pretty sure I just did.”

He makes a strangled huffing noise and she has to press her lips together again. 

“At least admit you found me interesting,” he says with a bit of a whine.

She lifts a shoulder. “Sure. I found you interesting.”

“In a sexy way?”

“In a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-this-dude way.”

Detective.

He sounds genuinely horrified, and Chloe takes pity on him. She stops walking and turns to face him. 

“Lucifer, that was a long time ago. Like you said, we’re together now. So who cares what I thought back then?”

“Well I do. You’re saying you despised me.”

She tilts her head. “Despised seems a little strong.”

“What would you call it then?”

“Annoyed? Exasperated? And anyway, why are you so surprised? I could not have made it clearer that you annoyed the hell out of me back then. I was rude. I rolled my eyes so much I got headaches. I slapped you.”

He adjusts his suit the way he does when he’s offended. “Well I thought it was your version of foreplay.”

“I told you that hell would freeze over before I slept with you. How is that foreplay?”

“Well you slept with me eventually, didn’t you?”

Chloe’s phone rings. She glances at the caller ID, sees Ella’s name, and sends it to voicemail. She’ll call her back. 

“Why is this so important to you?” she asks Lucifer.

He lifts his chin. “It’s not.”

“You just said we tell each other the truth.”

He adjusts his suit again. “I was merely making a comparison.”

“Lucifer.”

“It’s not my fault if—”

Lucifer.

“Well you heard them all!” he practically explodes, gesturing in the direction they just came from. “The man with the terrible off-the-rack suit said they were a hell of a team. The custodian said they were adorable. The nurse said they were soulmates. They’re just like us, Detective, and I thought since we’re soulmates as well you might enjoy the comparison and say I was a good boyfriend for noticing.”

Chloe blinks at him, completely taken aback. She’s not sure what she’s more stunned by—Lucifer blurting out that he thinks they’re soulmates, or Lucifer wanting her to tell him that he’s a good boyfriend. 

Lucifer is frowning at her, frustration clear in his eyes. And then all the color drains from his face, like he suddenly realized what he just said, and he looks mortified.

“Nevermind,” he mutters, starting to brush past her. 

“Not so fast,” Chloe says, catching his arm. 

He stops. She looks up at him and waits until he meets her gaze to speak. It takes a few seconds, but eventually he does.

“You think we’re soulmates?” she asks softly. 

“Well obviously,” he huffs. And then he furrows his eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

“Well yeah,” she says, letting go of his arm. “I just...didn’t know you did.”

He looks bewildered. He opens his mouth, but Chloe’s phone rings again. She startles at the sound, and then glances down at the screen. 

“It’s Ella,” she says, looking up at Lucifer. “She only double calls when it’s important.”

Lucifer gestures for her to answer. “By all means.”

Chloe hesitates, but puts the phone to her ear. “What’s up, Ella?”

Ella doesn’t even greet her. “Thanks to a bone marrow drive the hospital did last year, I got you a match on the sweat DNA,” she says breathlessly. “I know who our killer is. Any guesses?”

“Dr. Christopher Cohen.”

“Daaaang, Decker. Look at you go. You don’t even need me.”

Chloe smiles. “We both know that’s not true. You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“All right. We’ll go pull him out of surgery and arrest him then. See you back at the precinct.”

She ends the call, and looks up at Lucifer. “Ella matched the sweat she found on the knife handle to Dr. Cohen.”

“Yes, I heard. Seems you’ll get to use your handcuffs for the only thing you ever use them for.”

She snorts, but doesn’t rise to the bait. Someday, maybe, she’ll handcuff him to his bed just to shut him up. But she won’t tell him that. It’ll be more fun to see the look of surprise on his face when she does it. 

Lucifer turns back toward the stairs they recently descended and slides his hands into his pockets. “Turned out to be a rather boring case, didn’t it?”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Chloe says. “We got to see the medical version of us. Murder aside, that is.”

Lucifer looks up at her in surprise. Chloe smiles but doesn’t look at him. 

He grins. “Indeed.”


Chloe’s interrogated a lot of assholes during her career. 

Dr. Christopher Cohen might be the worst.

He’s arrogant. He’s snide. He’s got a lie and an excuse ready for every question she throws at him. He’s even got an explanation for how his sweat showed up on the knife.

“Jamie invited me over to ask for my blessing,” he says. “He knew he stole Kendra from me, and he wanted to make amends before he asked her to marry him. I told him it was all water under the bridge. I even helped him chop some vegetables for a salad. He was alive when I left.”

It’s an utterly ridiculous lie. But Chloe knows the justice system well enough to know that he’s planting a seed that a skilled defense attorney can exploit. If they don’t get the right prosecutor, or if even one person on the jury finds Cohen’s story somewhat believable, they’re screwed. 

She glances at Lucifer, who is sitting next to her with his legs crossed and a disgusted look on his face. He meets her gaze, and then uncrosses his legs and leans forward. 

“Tell me, Christopher,” he says, folding his hands on the table. “What—”

“It’s Dr. Cohen.”

Lucifer smiles. “Tell me, Christopher,” he repeats pointedly. “What is it you truly desire?”

Cohen sneers, but Lucifer’s staring him down. Chloe waits, glancing between them, and then the doctor’s face goes slack. “Kendra,” he murmurs. “I want her back.”

“Of course you do,” Lucifer purrs. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

“He didn’t deserve her,” Cohen says, leaning toward Lucifer like he’s being drawn forward by magnets. “He wasn’t good enough for her. I was.”

“And if you couldn’t have her, no one could, hm?”

“She was mine,” Cohen hisses. “She was mine, and he took her, so I made sure he paid for it. I—” He stops talking abruptly, and then his eyes widen. “Wait. Did I just say that out loud?”

“Sure did,” Chloe says, shutting the folder in front of her. “Sounded like a confession to me. What do you think, Lucifer?”

But Lucifer doesn’t answer. He gets to his feet, plants his palms on the stainless steel table, and bends toward the doctor. 

“She is her own person,” he snarls, his voice quivering with rage. “She made her choice, and you didn’t honor it.”

“She’s a whore,” Cohen spits.

Lucifer’s eyes flare red, and before Chloe can stop him, he shoots his hand out and wraps his fingers around Cohen’s throat. “You maggot.

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, jumping to her feet. 

Lucifer ignores her. “She didn’t belong to you,” he growls, hauling Cohen up into the air so that his feet are dangling helplessly. His chair clatters backward onto the floor behind him. “That’s not how it works. She wasn’t yours to claim.”

Cohen’s fingers claw at Lucifer’s hand, and he makes a horrible choking sound.

“Lucifer, stop!” Chloe says, grabbing his arm. “Put him down.

“As you wish, Detective,” Lucifer says coolly. He opens his hand, and Cohen drops to the floor and ends up in a heap of tangled arms and legs. 

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks Cohen, who is coughing and gasping for air.

“I’m going to sue the shit out of you,” Cohen rasps. He glares at her. “I’ll have your badge.”

Lucifer bends forward. “Oh will you?”

Cohen screams and then scrambles backward. “Get away from me!” he shouts, cowering against the far wall. “Don’t hurt me!”

“So you won’t have the Detective’s badge then,” Lucifer says, straightening.

“No!” Cohen wails. “No, I swear! I won’t do anything! Just don’t hurt me! I did it! I killed him! Take me to jail and get him away from me! Please!”

Lucifer straightens his jacket and turns toward Chloe. “Confession indeed,” he says. 

And then he disappears from the room. 


Chloe finds Lucifer at her desk. 

He’s sitting in her chair, spinning aimlessly as he plays a game on his phone. He hasn’t bothered to turn the sound off. It’s loud, but the cops around her desk don’t seem annoyed. She’s guessing they’re used to his shenanigans by now.

“Hey,” she says, stopping next to her desk.

“Detective,” he greets without looking up. 

She waits, but he doesn’t look at her. 

“We need to talk,” she says when it becomes obvious he’s not going to put his phone down and look at her without being told to.  

“About what?” he asks, his finger flicking over the screen of his phone. “The game I’m currently engaged in? It’s called Among Us. All the rage with the sticky-fingered youth of today, or so your offspring says. I’m playing with her right now.”

“I didn’t mean...wait, you’re playing a game with Trixie right now?”

“Indeed.”

Chloe frowns. “But she’s in school.”

“Well apparently her classes leave something to be desired because at the moment she’s otherwise occupied. She’s rather ruthless, by the way. I’m impressed. Maze must have rubbed off on her during your brief period of cohabitation.”

Chloe snatches the phone out of his hand. “She’s in school, Lucifer.”

Lucifer looks offended. “Well take that up with the child, not me.”

“What I’d like to take up with you is what you just did in there,” Chloe says, gesturing at the interrogation room. “You can’t just manhandle murder suspects.”

“Can’t I?”

“No. You can’t.”

“He won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point then? Is there one? Or can I return to my game?”

Chloe frowns at him. “What is wrong with you? Why are you…” 

And then it hits her. What Cohen said just before Lucifer lost his temper, and what Lucifer said to him in response. 

“Well go on then,” Lucifer says, gesturing at her. “Read me the riot act, Detective. It’s clear that’s what you’d like to do. And I deserve it, obviously.”

Chloe sighs. She sets his phone down, and then sits on the edge of her desk, facing him. 

“You’re not him, Lucifer.”

Lucifer shifts in her chair. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.”

He blinks at her, and then drops his gaze down to his hands and starts to turn his ring absently around his finger. Chloe watches him for a moment, trying to ignore the urge to lean forward and wrap her arms around him. She’d like to keep at least some semblance of professionalism around their work interactions. When other people are around to see them, anyway. 

She bumps his knee with hers. “Hey.”

He looks up at her.

She smiles. “I know my partner. And that guy in there? You’re nothing like him.”

Lucifer gazes at her for a moment, and then he gives her that half smile she loves. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

His smile deepens. “Very well.”

They stare at each other. Probably too long, given that she’s trying to maintain some professionalism. But just as Lucifer leans forward—most likely to say something inappropriate, if the glint in his eye is any indication—the lieutenant appears and drops a file on Chloe’s desk with a smack.

“Got another one for you, Decker.”

Chloe snaps to attention. “Another murder?”

Lieutenant Keller smirks. “Unless you joined Vice and didn’t tell me.”

“We’ve only just put the last assignment to bed,” Lucifer says, a whine creeping into his voice. “The Detective hasn’t even started the paperwork yet.”

“Sorry, Mr. Morningstar,” the lieutenant says. She’s wearing the same fond smile she always wears whenever she talks to Lucifer. “Murderers don’t care about paperwork.”

“Well they would if they had to do it,” Lucifer grumbles. 

You don’t do it,” Chloe points out.

Lucifer straightens in her chair. “Well that doesn’t stop me from empathizing with you, Detective.”

“Very kind of you.”

“I thought so.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“Uh, Detective Decker?” an unfamiliar voice says. “There’s someone here for you.”

Chloe turns around. “Who—”

She stops abruptly when she sees who’s standing next to the uniformed officer behind her. 

Lucifer wheels her chair out from behind her desk. “Who is it? You have my word that I didn’t send another strip—” He stops abruptly too. 

For a moment that seems to last forever, neither of them say a word. And then Lucifer gets slowly out of the chair, steps up next to Chloe, and says, “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

John smiles. “Hello son.”

Lucifer makes a strangled noise in reply. 

“Who’s this?” Lieutenant Keller asks. 

“Um,” Chloe starts. 

“No one,” Lucifer snaps. 

“I’m Lucifer’s father,” John says, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Keller frowns for a split second, glances at Lucifer, and then reaches out and shakes John’s offered hand. “Lieutenant Keller,” she says. And then Chloe watches as her boss’s pupils dilate, and her smile deepens, and her whole body seems to relax. “But you can call me Amanda.”

Chloe glances between them. She thinks she knows what’s happening. Keller is feeling the same warmth Chloe felt when she shook John’s hand at family dinner. Except apparently, given the adoring smile on Keller’s face, she’s feeling a little warmer than Chloe did. 

A lot warmer. 

“Does your dad have mojo?” she whispers to Lucifer. 

Lucifer curls his lip. “He has glory.

Chloe frowns up at him. “Glory?”

“Glory,” Lucifer repeats darkly.

“As I said, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” John is saying to Keller. “And thank you so much for all you do to uphold justice and peace.”

Keller grins. “Well someone has to do it. Might as well be me. And believe me, the pleasure is all mine. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Morningstar.”

Lucifer goes rigid. 

“It’s Smith,” Chloe blurts out, hoping to avoid an outburst. “They uh...they have different last names.”

“Oh, my apologies then, Mr. Smith,” Keller says. She’s still grinning broadly and she’s still holding John’s hand. “Are you from out of town?”

“Yes. I live quite far from here.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure yet,” John says, finally releasing Keller’s hand. “There are some factors outside my control that will determine when I return home.”

Lucifer snorts derisively. John flicks his gaze in Lucifer’s direction, but the lieutenant doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, she seems oblivious to everything and everyone except John. Chloe can’t believe it. Keller isn’t the toughest boss she’s ever had, but she’s up there. She doesn't mess around. And she sure as hell doesn’t fawn all over men she’s just met. Yet here she is, gazing at John like he’s the greatest thing she’s ever seen, and Chloe has a bad feeling about this. 

“Does the glory thing not turn off?” she mutters to Lucifer.

Lucifer clenches his jaw. “Only when he wants it to.”

“It’s so nice of you to come all this way to visit,” Keller says to John, almost on a sigh. 

“It’s been a while since I had the privilege of spending time with my son,” John replies. He folds his hands behind his back and studies his surroundings. “I was eager to see where he spends so much of his time.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like,” Keller says. “If there’s anything I can do to make your visit enjoyable, please let me know.”

John smiles. “I’m so glad you asked. There is one thing.”

Warning bells start to blare in the back of Chloe’s mind. “Um, Lieutenant? Can you give me some details on that case you just assigned to me?”

“In a minute, Decker,” Keller says, waving her off. “What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

“I was hoping you’d permit me to spend some time with my son and his partner. I’d be interested to see firsthand what it is they do every day and how they work together.”

No,” Lucifer breathes in horror.

“You mean like a ride along?” Keller says.

“Ma’am,” Chloe says, stepping forward. “I’m already responsible for one civilian consultant. I don’t think—”

“Not now, Decker,” Keller says, waving her off again. 

Lucifer makes another noise that sounds like a horrified squeak. 

“I’m not sure what a ride along is,” John admits.

“It’s like shadowing,” Keller explains. “You’d go with Detective Decker and Mr. Morningstar to their next crime scene and shadow them throughout the duration of the case. In fact, I—”

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer cuts her off, stepping forward. “You heard the Detective. She’s already responsible for me. She can’t possibly be expected to manage a second civilian.”

Keller lifts her eyebrows. “Well if you’re worried Detective Decker isn’t capable—”

“How dare you,” Lucifer cuts her off. “She is the most capable detective in this precinct. Likely the entire force, given what I’ve seen. I’m merely pointing out that it’s...well, it’s against protocol.”

He glances at Chloe for help, but she just winces at him and lifts a shoulder. As far as she knows, it’s not against the rules if her supervisor approves it. 

Keller smirks. “I had no idea you were such a stickler for the rules, Mr. Morningstar.”

Lucifer sputters. “How dare you,” he says for the second time in as many minutes. 

“Lieutenant,” Chloe says. “Are you sure that—”

“You’re not questioning my decision making, are you, Decker?”

Chloe swallows. “No ma’am. Not at all.”

“Wonderful,” Keller says brightly. “You two can take Mr. Smith to the crime scene of the case I just assigned you.”

Chloe and Lucifer share a look.

Keller smiles at John. “Welcome to the LAPD, Mr. Smith.”

Chapter 6: Six

Chapter Text

Solving a murder with God is awkward.

It’s so awkward.

The elevator ride down to the main floor is painful. Like, literally painful. The silence is hurting Chloe’s ears. 

“Marvelous invention,” John says, glancing around the elevator with a smile. “Mankind is so innovative.”

Lucifer turns to Chloe. “Are we still doing our give and take thing?”

Chloe frowns. “Yeah. Why?”

He holds out his hand. “You should give me your gun.” 

“No,” she says, putting her hand on her hip and turning away from him. “Also, that’s not how give and take works and you know it.”

“Spoilsport,” he mutters. 

And then there’s more silence. 

When they get out of the precinct and onto the street, the sounds of the city are a welcome reprieve from the tense silence. Chloe breathes a sigh of relief. Maybe being with other people will make things less awkward. 

Or maybe not.

John doesn’t seem to fully grasp all the intricacies of being human in a busy city. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and cranes his neck to stare up at the buildings. He stops to greet every person he passes until Lucifer grabs him by the sweater and snarls, “Just bloody walk, would you?” He also has no concept of danger. Chloe has to grab him twice to stop him from walking straight into oncoming traffic. 

“Bloody hell, Detective,” Lucifer says the second time. “Just let him get hit. He’ll learn.”

Chloe frowns at him, still holding the fistful of sweater she grabbed to yank John back onto the sidewalk. “I can’t let him get hit by a car, Lucifer.”

“Why not?” Lucifer demands. “He’ll be fine.”

“Maybe, but do you want to explain to all these people why he doesn’t have a scratch on him?”

Lucifer purses his lips but doesn’t answer. 

Chloe looks at John. “Look both ways before you cross,” she tells him, letting go of his sweater. “They don’t stop.”

John dips his head. “Of course. I’m sorry, Chloe. Thank you for looking out for my well being.”

“Call her Detective when we’re working,” Lucifer snaps.

John smiles at Chloe. “My apologies, Detective.”

Chloe smiles back. “It’s fine. No problem.”

Lucifer exhales sharply through his nose and strides away from them, muttering darkly under his breath. 

They get to the car without any further incidents. Lucifer slams his door closed with far more force than necessary, and his furious, fuming silence from the passenger seat is suffocating. Chloe glances at John in the rearview mirror and tells him to put his seatbelt on. She doesn’t bother to tell Lucifer, but she never does. He hates seatbelts. They wrinkle his suits. 

She throws the gear shift into reverse and starts to back out of her parking spot.

“Lucifer?” John says as she does. “Aren’t you going to put your seatbelt on?”

Lucifer clenches his jaw so hard Chloe wonders if he’s going to crack his teeth.

“He doesn’t like seatbelts,” she answers for him. 

John frowns. “But surely he’d wear one if you asked.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer as she shifts to drive. He’s glaring at the dashboard like he wants to burn a hole in it with his eyes. He reaches behind him, yanks his seatbelt forward, and buckles it with a forceful click. Chloe wonders if he did it for her or if he did it to shut his dad up. She decides it’s best not to ask, and focuses on guiding the car out of the parking deck. 

There’s more silence after that. 

It’s so painful.

“You want to pick the station?” she asks Lucifer when they’re finally out on the street. 

“It’s Monday,” he says without looking at her. “Mondays are your day.”

“I can make an exception.” 

Lucifer turns to look at her with a frown. “Mondays are non-negotiable. You were quite insistent about that when we made our deal. Why would today be any different?”

Chloe isn’t sure if he’s honestly oblivious that she’s trying to make him feel better, or if he’s daring her to say it in front of his dad. She doesn’t think she wants to find out. 

“Fine,” she sighs. “90s it is.”

The last half of Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls is playing, and it makes Chloe feel a little better. She loves this song. She mouths the words and bobs her head and tries to pretend she’s not trapped in a car with God and the Devil. It almost works. 

And then the song ends and the DJ comes on and says, “Up next, we’ve got *NSYNC’s God Must Have Spent a Little More Time on You coming your way.” 

Chloe slams her finger on the seek button so fast the car swerves a little. The local pop station comes on, and the car is suddenly filled with Ariana Grande singing about how she wanted something and got it. Chloe turns the volume down because it suddenly feels extremely loud and she can’t remember if there’s any curse words coming up. 

She chances a glance at Lucifer. He looks like he‘s plotting something terrible. In the backseat, John looks thoughtful. 

“I’ve always liked music,” he muses.

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “No one asked. Likely because no one cares.”

John ignores him. “It makes communicating our feelings a little easier, don’t you think?”

Lucifer scowls at the window. “I don’t have feelings, so I wouldn’t know.”

It’s the kind of statement that Chloe would normally argue with him about—he definitely has feelings and that’s definitely a good thing—but she knows better than to say that in front of his father. John seems to know better too. He gazes at the back of his son’s head but doesn’t say anything. 

Time seems to inch by at a snail’s pace. The tension in the car grows increasingly stifling. Chloe has never hated L.A. traffic more than she does right now. Lucifer is doing that thing where he’s sitting perfectly still and staring straight ahead like he’s turned to stone. John is doing it too, but his stomach is growling. Loudly. 

By the time they’re sitting at their fourth red light in three minutes, Chloe can no longer ignore the fact that John’s stomach is growling so loudly that she can hear it over the radio. 

She turns in her seat to look at him. “Have you eaten today?” 

Lucifer whips his head around to look at her. Chloe ignores him. She can’t help what her mom instincts make her do, and talking about food is better than sitting in painful silence while Shawn Mendes croons about senoritas.

“I haven’t,” John says, smiling at her. “I forgot dinner last night as well, I’m afraid.”

Chloe stares at him. “You haven’t eaten in twenty four hours?”

He smiles. “I’m still growing accustomed to my human form, Ch—Detective. In my typical form, food is for pleasure, not necessity.”

Chloe blinks. Well there’s a statement she never thought she’d hear. She has about a million questions about what the words typical form mean, but she doesn’t dare ask.

She turns around in her seat just as the light turns green. She hits the gas and the car guns forward. 

“Let’s get you some food then,” she says, flicking on her blinker and darting into the right lane so she can turn into the McDonald’s parking lot up ahead.

Lucifer looks horrified. “Detective.

“I wanted an iced coffee anyway,” she says with a shrug. It’s a lie, and judging by the way Lucifer narrows his eyes at her, he knows it. She pretends she doesn’t notice. God is in her backseat and he hasn’t eaten in twenty-four hours. What’s she supposed to do, let him starve?

Unsurprisingly, going to McDonald’s with God is just as much of an experience as everything else. John seems mystified by the menu. While they wait in a line of cars, Chloe patiently explains what McNuggets are, why McDonald’s apple pies aren’t like the pie Linda served the other night, and what the difference is between BBQ and ranch and honey mustard. Her kindness seems to annoy Lucifer almost as much as his father marveling over french fries in the backseat five minutes later. 

“Yes, yes, they’re delicious,” Lucifer growls, his hands curled into fists. “No one needs to hear you compose sonnets about bloody fried potatoes, Dad.”

Chloe shoots him a look. 

Lucifer glares at her. “What?

Chloe sips her iced coffee instead of answering him. 

By the time they finally pull into the parking lot of a football stadium at a local high school, John has finished his entire Diet Coke and he needs to go to the bathroom. Lucifer throws his hands up and sighs exasperatedly. Chloe kind of feels like sighing too—she’s having flashbacks of trying to take Trixie places when she was younger—but John is so apologetic she can’t be too upset. She has a uniformed officer escort him to the stadium bathrooms nearby. 

As soon as he’s out of earshot, she turns to face Lucifer. “Are you going to be like this the whole case?”

Lucifer straightens his suit jacket with a frown. “Like what?” 

“Like this,” she says, gesturing at him. 

“Well are you going to be like this? ” he counters. 

Chloe puts her hands on her hips. “Like what?”

“You’re being so…” He gestures at her, and then at the retreating figure of his father, and then back at her and says, “Ugh.

“Polite?” she offers. 

He huffs at her. 

“You’re mad I’m being polite.”

He narrows his eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m being ridiculous.”

You are, she wants to say. She doesn’t. 

“It’s customary to be polite to ride alongs, Lucifer.”

“He’s not a ride along,” Lucifer practically snarls. “He’s my deadbeat dad who weaseled his way into our lives and now he’s plotting something. I can feel it. Why on earth would you be polite to him?”

“Um, because I’m a polite person? And because I don’t want to get struck by lightning for being rude to God?” 

“He doesn’t use lightning, Detective. He’s not bloody Zeus. Honestly, you humans. You just mix and match your gods as you see fit. It’s appalling.” 

Chloe takes a deep breath in an attempt to control her temper. “He’s a direct assignment from my boss, Lucifer. I’m just doing my job.”

“Well it wasn’t your job to buy him lunch.”

“He was hungry.”

“I don’t care.

Chloe sighs. 

“He’s manipulating you,” Lucifer says, lifting his chin so he’s looking down his nose at her. “And you’re letting him. You’re like putty in his hands.”

“How is he manipulating me?” Chloe asks incredulously. “How does walking into traffic and needing to pee fit into his master plan?”

“Well I don’t know,” Lucifer says, fussing with his jacket again. “But it does. You don’t know him like I do, Detective. You have no idea how he works. You don’t know.

Chloe is opening her mouth to argue with him, but she thinks better of it at the last second. The truth is, he’s right. She doesn’t know his dad the way he does. John might look like a librarian with a fondness for puzzles, but he’s not. He’s God, and Lucifer has plenty of justifiable reasons to be angry with him. Their relationship has millennia of baggage and pain that Chloe can’t even begin to understand. It’s not fair for her to expect Lucifer to pretend like everything is fine just so she doesn’t feel awkward. 

“Okay,” she tells him. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Lucifer blinks at her. “I...what?”

“You’re right,” she repeats. “I don’t know him. Maybe he is manipulating me—”

Thank you.”

“—but even if he is, I need to keep being polite.”

Lucifer frowns. “But why? I thought you were on my side.”

“I am on your side, Lucifer. But I also have a job to do. You might be able to act however you want, but I can’t. If I’m rude to him people will notice, and they’ll tell Keller, and I’ll be screwed. Or suspended. Or both.”

“Fine, we’ll meet in the middle. We can leave him at the Rite Aid on the corner and drive away and never look back.”

Chloe smiles. “That’s tempting, but I don’t think that would keep your dad away. I have a feeling he’d just pop right back up.”

Lucifer curls his lip. “Like a bad penny,” he mutters. “Or a demonic whack-a-mole.”

Chloe laughs. “Yeah.”

Lucifer sighs and looks out over the football field. Despite the California sun, there are shadows in his eyes. Chloe thinks about the way he looked yesterday morning when he told her that he wasn’t used to someone taking care of him, and her heart aches. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, stepping into his space. 

He looks down at her. She reaches out to brush her fingertips briefly over his knuckles because she wants to touch him and that’s the only way she can think of that won’t catch the attention of a nosy colleague. 

“I’m on your side, okay? I’m always on your side. Being polite to your dad doesn’t change that. Nothing can change that. Ever. I promise.”

He gazes down at her, and then a hint of a smile tugs on his lips. “You give me your word?”

“Yeah. And my word is my bond, you know.”

His lips break into a real smile. “I think you’re mocking me, Detective.”

“Oh I would never,” she says in mock seriousness.

He leans a little closer to her. “How do we feel about PDA at crime scenes?”

“Probably not a good idea.”

His eyes flick down toward her mouth. “Pity.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to agree when Dan appears.

“So are you guys going to do some work today, or are you too busy making heart eyes at each other to solve murders?”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and takes a step back from Lucifer so they’re a more respectable distance apart.

“Well if it isn’t Detective Cockblock,” Lucifer says. “You’re looking particularly boy band-ish today, Daniel. Planning to audition for The Voice later?”

Chloe snorts. 

Dan shoots her a look. “Nice.”

“Come now, Daniel, you can’t be upset at the Detective for finding me amusing,” Lucifer says with a grin. “We all know my rapier wit is one of my sexier qualities.”

“Gross, man,” Dan says. He looks at Chloe. “I’ve got some info for you, but you probably want to talk to Ella first.”

Chloe nods. “Okay. Can you…” She trails off when she glances past him and sees that a crowd is starting to form around John on the far end of the football field. “Um. Lucifer?”

“Yes, Detective?” 

She nods at John. “Your dad is…drawing a crowd.” 

Lucifer frowns and turns around to follow her gaze. “Bloody hell,” he sighs when he sees what’s happening. “Excuse me, Detective. No need to wait, I’ll catch up.” He strides in his father’s direction, muttering under his breath about how this is just like Pompeii. 

Dan leans toward Chloe. “Did you just say dad? ” 

“Yep.”

“As in…?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“No kidding.”

A beat passes, and then Dan says, “Should I be worried?”

Chloe frowns at him. “Why would you be worried?”

“Well for a while Charlotte was…and we kind of...”

“Oh. Right.” And then Chloe grins. “Yeah, maybe don’t tell God you slept with his wife.”

Dan nods. “Yeah. Good plan.”


Things go from awkward to weird real quick after that, and it’s not just because John says, “You’re one of the humans who slept with my wife” ten seconds after Lucifer introduces him to Dan. It’s not because Ella and John are best friends within two minutes. (“You give the best hugs ever! ” Ella announces, and Lucifer looks like he can’t decide whether he’s jealous or disgusted or both.) It’s not because the football coach recognizes Chloe from Hot Tub High School and can’t stop staring at her chest, either. 

It’s the singing. 

For the record, Chloe doesn’t actually know she’s singing. She doesn’t remember doing it either. She has a weird ringing in her ears all of a sudden, and an odd sort of warmth in her chest, but she assumes it’s just from the stress of the last few days and shrugs it off.

Later, when they’re leaving and Lucifer pulls her aside and demands to know why she isn’t freaking out about how unprofessional it was that they all just broke into song and dance around a dead body—which also did some dancing, apparently—she thinks he’s lost his mind. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Singing,” he repeats. “Dancing. All of you. Ms. Lopez. Detective Douche. The band, the cheerleaders, the football players. It was like a bloody High School Musical number. Well, except for your shenanigans, which I’m certain the Disney Channel would frown upon.”

“My what? ” 

“Why, you bent over, Detective,” he says. “Right in front of me. You put your rear end right up against my—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off. And then she sees what he’s doing with his hand and his crotch and she smacks his arm. “Quit touching yourself at work.”

“I was only demonstrating what you just did with your ass,” he insists.

A crime scene tech walks by and gives them a weird look. Chloe can feel her face heating up. She grabs Lucifer by the arm and yanks him underneath the bleachers and out of sight. 

“Oh my, Detective,” he purrs at her while she does. “Eager to finish what you started on the fifty yard line? Very naughty. I approve.” 

“No,” she says, turning to face him with a stern look. “I’m trying to figure out what the hell my partner is ranting about. What do you mean we were singing?”

“I mean you were singing. And dancing. Honestly, I don’t know how else to explain it. There are no smaller words.”

“I don’t need smaller words, you jackass.”

He grins. “You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“Why would I...for Dad’s sake, Detective, no. I’m not messing with you. Everyone broke into spontaneous song and dance and then returned to their regularly scheduled programming as if nothing happened. It was bizarre. And I say that as someone who typically enjoys the bizarre.”

Chloe feels like her brain is short circuiting. “Why would we do that?”

“Well you tell me. You were the ones doing it. I only joined in because, you know, when in Rome.” 

“Right,” Chloe says. “Is this...I mean, could Michael have done this?” 

“Well I don’t know why he would. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor, and as far as I know he’s not particularly interested in…” He trails off, and his eyes widen. “Wait a minute.”

“What?” 

“I know what this is.”

“You do?”

“Yes, of course.” He holds out his arms. “It’s my father, Detective.”

Chloe frowns. “Um...what?”

“This is his next move,” Lucifer says, more to himself than to her. He strokes his chin, and then he cackles so loud it echoes off the metal bleachers. “Oh, very clever, Dad. Throwing me off my game with some Queen and a little exhibitionism from the Detective. Well, two can play at that game.”

“Queen?” Chloe repeats.

“Yes. Another One Bites The Dust, specifically.”

Chloe tilts her head. “You’re telling me we all stood over a dead body and sang Another One Bites The Dust?

“Indeed,” Lucifer confirms. “It’s very on the nose, but that’s Dad for you.”

“This is crazy,” Chloe says, lifting her hands to press her fingers to her temples. “I can’t even...god, I need a drink.”

She expects Lucifer to offer her his flask or say something about how his dad frowns upon drinking on the job, but he doesn’t. He grabs her shoulders and grins instead. 

“He has no idea we figured it out, Detective. This is excellent. We can use it to our advantage. Really mess with his mind. Oh, Maze would be so jealous if she were here. And if I were still speaking to her. Which, obviously, I am not.”

Chloe frowns. “What are you talking about?” 

“Why, beating my dad at his own game, of course!” Lucifer says, his eyes glinting with excitement. “If he wants to sing, then we’ll sing. We’ll have a bloody celestial karaoke jam!”

He laughs again, and then releases her shoulders and strides out from under the bleachers with a maniacal grin on his face. 

Chloe stares after him, completely dumbfounded. 

“Celestial karaoke jam,” she mutters. “Great.”


It takes Chloe the next four days to crack the case.

Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t bother her. Four days isn’t that long for a cop as detailed oriented as she is. She’s had cases that took far longer to crack. Hell, it took forever to get to the truth about Palmetto. But Palmetto, as awful as it was, didn’t involve randomly breaking into song and dance at the drop of a hat. 

She thinks it’s the not knowing that’s driving her nuts. If she knew she was singing and couldn’t help it, that’d be one thing. But she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She just has this feeling when she’s done. If Lucifer is there, she can look at him with her eyebrows raised and he’ll nod at her to confirm that she was, indeed, singing her heart out only seconds before. But when he’s not around, she has no idea if she pulled an Idina Menzel or if she’s just paranoid. 

Speaking of Lucifer, he’s been zero help with the case. He’s far too busy glaring at his dad, or grinning at his dad, or sneaking in the titles and lyrics of songs into everything he says—and she’s using the term sneaking loosely, because he’s about as subtle as blunt force trauma caused by a sledge hammer. She’s had Trixie all four days, and Lucifer has been busy with Lux, so they haven’t even really seen much of each other except at work. Maybe that’s why she’s so frustrated.

Whatever it is, she’s starting to feel like the frayed ends of a rope. 

By four o’clock on Friday, she’s fighting off a headache. She’s perched on the edge of the conference room table, staring at two white boards full of notes and drinking lukewarm coffee. John is with Ella. Chloe has no idea where Lucifer is. She also has no idea how she’s going to solve this case. 

She’s considering whether Lucifer is onto something when he spikes his coffee when Dan appears.

“Hey Chlo,” he greets, striding purposefully into the room. “Got something for you.”

“Please tell me it’s a lead.” 

He smiles. “It is.” He holds out a folder. “You remember how you said you got a weird vibe from the victim’s kid?”

“Yeah, the son. Lucas.” Chloe sets her mug down on the table and takes the folder from Dan. “He seemed skittish. But teenagers are like that sometimes.”

Dan frowns and slides his hands into his pockets. “You ever think about what Trix is going to be like as a teenager?”

“No,” Chloe says, opening the folder. “She’s going to be ten forever and she’ll never grow out of bedtime stories or board games or hugs.”

Dan sits next to her on the table. “You think she’ll rebel?”

“Trixie?” Chloe says incredulously. “My Trixie?”

Dan grins. “You know she’s half mine, right?”

Chloe smiles and then looks down at the folder. “What am I looking at?”

“New gang called the Fantasmas have taken over parts of South L.A.” He points out a few spots on the map inside the folder. “These blocks here, and these too. And they’re expanding fast.”

Chloe frowns. “I thought this was Bloods territory.”

“It was. Fantasmas drove them out.”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “That’s not easy to do.”

“No,” Dan agrees. “But the Fantasmas are backed by a pretty dangerous cartel out of South America that sent in some muscle to make it happen. Bloods decided to cut their losses rather than escalate with a cartel that was eager to fight.”

“If there’s a cartel there’s drugs.”

“Yep. I called my buddy in Narcotics, and he said the Fantasma operation is pretty sophisticated. They diversify how they distribute their product, which is part of the reason why they’re expanding so fast that the LAPD can’t keep up. But I was able to get confirmation that they use teenagers to distribute in schools and community centers.”

Chloe looks up at him. “You’re about to tell me my vic’s kid was dealing for the Fantasmas, aren’t you?”

“Well we don’t know for sure,” Dan says. “He’s never been arrested or linked to anyone in the gang. But…” He flips through the file in Chloe’s hands and pulls out a few photos. “These three kids have. And they’re all over Lucas’s social media accounts.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Ella said the poison on our victim’s whistle was native to South America. I thought that was weird, but if the cartel is involved it makes sense. But what’s the theory?”

“I don’t know,” Dan says with a shrug. “Maybe Lucas was dealing, his dad found out and threatened to turn him in, and Lucas killed him before he could. Or maybe the gang did it for him.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” She shuts the folder and gets to her feet. “I’m going to pay Lucas a visit and see what he’s got to say. Can you do some digging and see if the cartel has a history of using the poison Ella identified on the whistle?”

“You bet.”

“Thanks, Dan.”

She’s halfway to the door when Dan calls out after her. “Hey Chlo?”

She turns around. “Yeah?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You seem...tired.”

As if on cue, her headache throbs hard between her eyes. She sighs. “Celestial karaoke jam,” she mutters, leaning against the doorframe.

Dan frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You sure? Cause I can take Trixie the next few nights if you want. Give you some time to relax and blow off some steam. Or hang out with Lucifer and...you know. Do whatever it is you guys do.”

Chloe smirks. “Whatever it is we do?”

“Hey, I do not want to know,” Dan says, holding up his hands. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”

Chloe smiles. “I’m fine. But if you want Trix for a few days, that’s fine with me.”

Dan smiles. “Okay. I’ll get her from the sitter.”

“Thanks.” 

Chloe turns around, and runs right into Lucifer’s chest. She’s immediately assaulted by the smell of his cologne, and then his hands wrap around her arms and she feels heat jolt through her body. 

“Detective,” he says. “Hello there.”

She tips her head back. “Hey. Where have you been?”

“I...had something to take care of,” he says, dropping his hands from her arms. She knows he’s strategically telling her the truth, but she’s too tired to call him on it. 

“Right,” she says instead. “Okay then.” She brushes past him and heads for her desk to get her keys. “I’m going to talk to Lucas. You don’t need to come if you’ve got stuff to do.”

“No, no, it’s all taken care of, I assure you,” he says, following her. “Let’s hit the road, Jack.”

She looks up at him. “What?”

“Ray Charles, Detective. Don’t tell me you don’t know the song?”

She blinks at him for a second, and then sighs. “Celestial karaoke jam,” she says. “Of course. Because that’s all we talk about now.” 

She pulls her desk drawer open with a little more force than she needs to. She roots around, trying to find her keys, and finally does. She slams it closed, and then turns and runs into Lucifer’s chest again. Her temper flares.

“Do you have something against personal space today?” she asks, stepping back and looking up at him.

He grins. “I have something against personal space every day, darling.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Walked right into that one,” she mutters.

Lucifer frowns. “Are you all right, Detective? You seem rather...”

“I’m fine,” she says before he can finish. “I’m just tired. Are you coming with me or not?”

Lucifer opens his mouth, but John beats him to it.

“Where are we headed?” he asks, stopping next to them.

“Oh good,” Lucifer says, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “You’re still here.”

John smiles. “I was discussing the multiverse with Ms. Lopez. She has some truly fascinating theories about travel between dimensions.”

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “I’m fairly certain fascinating isn’t the word I’d use to describe that conversation.”

“Can we not do this right now?” Chloe interrupts before they can start arguing or—please no—someone starts singing. “I have a job to do. Are the two of you coming or not?”

Lucifer frowns at her. 

John bows politely. “Yes, of course, Detective. Lead the way.”

Chloe heads for the stairs without another word.


Lucas isn’t the killer. 

But he runs like he is. 

Chloe is halfway up the path leading to his front door, Lucifer and John in tow, when Lucas walks out the front door with a skateboard under his arm. He freezes when he sees them. 

“Hi Lucas,” Chloe greets. She gives him what she hopes is a disarming smile. “Can we talk about your dad?”

His eyes widen, and then he bolts. 

Chloe swears and takes off after him. She’s really not in the mood to chase teenagers through the streets, especially teenagers who are track stars, but she gets lucky. There’s a tricycle sitting in the middle of the yard next door. Lucas glances over his shoulder at her and doesn’t even see it. He trips and goes flying, and by the time he rolls over in the grass, Chloe is standing over him with her gun drawn. 

“Put your hands up,” she orders.

He puts his hands up. 

Fifteen minutes later, they’re sitting in Lucas’s living room while the sun sets outside the large picture window in the front of the house. 

Lucas is in tears. Turns out Dan was at least partially right. Lucas’s dad did find out he was dealing for the Fantasmas, and he did confront his son. But instead of killing his dad, Lucas begged him for help. He and his friends had just wanted some extra cash, and they ended up in over their heads. They wanted out and weren’t sure how to make it happen. Lucas’s dad said he would help.

And then he ended up dead. 

“It’s my fault,” Lucas sobs with tears streaming down his face. “He’s dead because of me.” 

Chloe is opening her mouth to comfort him, but she doesn’t get a chance.

“It’s not your fault, son,” John says, leaning forward to put his hand on Lucas’s shoulder. 

Lucas shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have dragged him into it. I shouldn’t have told him the truth. I should’ve just taken care of it myself.”

“No, Lucas,” John says gently. “You did the right thing. You needed help, and you were scared, so you went to your father. That’s what you’re supposed to do. I’m certain if he were here, he’d say that’s what he wanted you to do.”

“How do you know?” Lucas asks, wiping his face with his sleeve.

John smiles. “Because I’m a father. And fathers always want what’s best for our children.”

“Oh is that so,” Lucifer interrupts.

Chloe snaps her head in his direction. He’s leaning against the window frame, and despite the fact that his posture screams bored, there’s fury written clearly on his face. 

“Yes,” John says evenly. “It is.”

Lucifer’s eyes flash red. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, getting to her feet. “Maybe you guys can do this later? You know, not in front of our witness?”

Lucifer ignores her. He pushes off the window frame and straightens to his full height, still glaring at his father. “Is this the part where you tell me that kicking me out was what was best for me?”

John smiles sadly. “I know you don’t see it that way. But you have to understand—”

“Oh I understand perfectly,” Lucifer cuts him off. “What’s best for me is whatever’s best for you, right?”

“No, son.”

“You sent me to Hell.

“You needed to be away—”

Away? Do you even understand what that means? Do you have any idea what it’s like—”

“Lucifer,” Chloe interrupts, stepping between them. She grabs his arm. “Stop it, okay? Look at me.”

Lucifer shrugs out of her grasp and doesn’t look at her. “Not now, Detective.” 

Car doors slam outside. Chloe’s training draws her eyes toward the window even though she wants to keep her focus on Lucifer. There are three muscle cars sitting in the street near her cruiser. A group of at least seven men is gathering near her bumper. Lucifer is shouting in her ear at his father, but she isn’t listening. Something is wrong. She can feel it.

And then she sees the AK-47s. 

“Lucifer,” she says, reaching for her gun as she yanks him back from the window.

“I said not now, Detective.”

“Yes, now. We’ve got company.”

“What?” 

She nods at the window. He leans to the left and follows her gaze out the window. “Who on earth are they?”

“They’ve got to be Fantasmas.”

“Oh god,” Lucas groans. “They’re here for me. They’re going to kill me like they killed my dad. I don’t want to die.”

Chloe looks over her shoulder at John. “Take Lucas out the back door and run. Don’t stop.”

“No,” Lucifer says.

Chloe looks up at him, ready to snap that now is not the time to argue with her, but he looks down at her with a grim expression. 

“They appear to be sending two around the back.” 

She peers out the window through the sheer curtains and, sure enough, two of the men seem to be headed to the back of the house.

“Where’s the back door?” she asks Lucas.

He looks at her with wide, terrified eyes. “In the kitchen.”

“Get him upstairs,” she tells John. “Barricade yourselves in a room. Now.” 

John puts his hand on Lucas’s shoulder and ushers him hurriedly toward the stairs. 

Chloe pulls her phone out and dials Dispatch as she peers out the window again. “You need to go with them, Lucifer.”

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer says. “I’m not leaving you to face seven thugs on your own.” 

“I’m armed,” Chloe points out as she lifts her phone to her ear. “You’re not.”

“Yes, but I’m bulletproof.”

“You sure about that?” 

He frowns at her and then leans over to look out the window.

“Dispatch,” a voice says in Chloe’s ear.

“This is Detective Decker, Unit 831, requesting—”

“Detective!” Lucifer shouts. 

He lunges at her. He wraps his body around hers just as the picture window next to them shatters, and the house is filled with a barrage of bullets.

Chapter 7: Seven

Notes:

Y'all, thanks so much for your comments on the last chapter. Things are a bit busy with the holidays and all that, so I didn't get a chance to respond to any of them, but thank you :)

Chapter Text

The sound of half a dozen AK-47s shooting simultaneously is deafening. 

Lucifer’s body hits Chloe hard when he lunges to shield her, and her phone slips through her fingers and bounces out of reach. She doesn’t even see where it lands. She drops to a crouch and Lucifer goes with her, his body like a blanket over hers. 

Chloe squeezes her eyes closed as she hears more breaking glass from somewhere in the house. One of Lucifer’s hands is on the back of her head, and the other is holding her waist because his arm is wrapped tightly around her. She can feel him breathing by her ear. Her gun is a familiar weight in her hands, and her adrenaline spikes.

They can’t stay like this. She has to return fire. 

“Let me go,” she says, twisting in Lucifer’s arms. 

“Detective,” he protests. 

She elbows him in the chest and then crawls out from beneath him and along the floor under the window. 

“Detective, no,” he shouts, reaching for her foot. 

She ignores him and peers over the edge of the window sill. The men outside all stop to reload, and she immediately returns fire. The men scatter and duck behind cars. 

“LAPD!” she shouts. “Stand down!”

“Like fucking hell, puta!” one of them screams back. 

Chloe grits her teeth around the urge to yell a few expletives back. She keeps her gun trained out the window and glances at Lucifer. “You okay?”

“I’d be better if my girlfriend didn’t have a death wish,” he mutters.

“Are you vulnerable right now?”

“Well I don’t know,” he huffs. “It’s not like being hungry or tired, I can’t just—”

“Can you find out?”

“Can you spare a bullet?”

“I’m not going to shoot you, Lucifer.”

He grins. “I’ve heard that before.”

Movement catches her eye, and she looks back out the window. One of the gang members is rising from behind her cruiser. She squeezes her trigger. Her shot hits him in the shoulder, and he collapses with a yell.

“We can’t stay here,” she says, her eyes scanning the street outside. “We’re sitting ducks for the guys coming in the back.”

Lucifer hisses in pain. Chloe glances over at him, and sees him with a shard of glass in his hand. He looks up at her and shows her his bloodied palm. 

“Does this answer your question?”

“Damn it,” she mutters, looking out the window again. She was hoping the danger had made him become invulnerable again.

“Detective, I may be vulnerable, but that doesn’t mean I’m not strong.”

Chloe frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that if you can keep those miscreants out front in one place for a few moments, I can go take care of the two in the back. Prevent us from being sitting ducks.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No way. You’re not wearing a vest, and you’re not armed.”

His eyes flash. “I won’t need either of those things.”

He gets to his feet and strides toward the back of the house without another word, sticking close to the wall so that he’s not visible to the guys outside.

“Lucifer!” she hisses. “Get back here!”

He ignores her. She wants to follow him, but the guys outside are moving. Three of them rise from behind her cruiser in unison, and she only has time to shoot one before she has to duck to avoid a barrage of bullets.

They’re not firing as fast now, which means they won’t need to reload as soon. She has a feeling they’re doing that on purpose—they’re using their fire as cover while they creep closer to the front door, which is...not good. Lucifer, at least, isn’t in the line of fire. She can’t see him, though, and that makes her nervous. He must be in the kitchen, waiting for the other two guys. 

“Lucifer?” she shouts over the sound of gunfire. 

No response.

Her heart shoots up into her throat. She wants to go after him, but she can’t. She has to deal with the guys out front. She waits for the brief moment of silence when they’re all reloading, and then rises up and returns fire. She’s surprised to find that instead of being halfway up the front yard, they’re all still back in the street. She misses one guy by inches, and the other two dive behind her cruiser. 

The fact that they’re still in the street tells her two things. One, they’re amateurs with no tactical training. They could’ve kept her pinned and rushed the door and she’d have been screwed. But they didn’t. Which brings her to number two: They’re banking on the guys coming in the back to take her out while she’s distracted.  

“Lucifer!” she shouts again.

She’s answered by a crash and a yell. She turns—still crouched beneath the windowsill but with her gun pointed toward the back of the house now—and is just in time to see one of the gang members fly through the kitchen doorway and land on the dining table with so much force that the table cracks down the middle and collapses inward. 

“One down,” Lucifer calls cheerfully.

Chloe eyes the guy on the demolished dining table. He’s not moving. She turns back to the window, and fires a pair of shots at one of the guys who’s trying to dart between her cruiser and one of the muscle cars. He shouts more expletives at her. 

“Yeah, you too, asshole,” she mutters. 

She flicks her thumb over the release button on her gun so that her now empty magazine hits the floor, and then shoves her spare magazine in place with the heel of her hand. She’ll be out after this. Maybe Lucifer can bring her an AK-47. 

If he’d fucking answer her, that is.

“Oh, hello ghost number two,” Lucifer says brightly from the kitchen. Chloe can hear the grin in his voice. “So sorry, but I’m going to need to break this arm so you can’t shoot at my girlfriend. I like her best when she’s not riddled with bullets.”

An ear splitting yell echoes from the kitchen and then cuts off abruptly with a horrible strangled groan. Sirens wail in the distance and get louder. Chloe’s certain it’s backup headed her way, and she wants to be relieved, but she can’t be until she knows Lucifer isn’t the one who just screamed.

She crawls out from underneath the window and rises up to stand with her back against the wall.

“Lucifer, I swear to god if you don’t answer me—” 

“Two down, darling,” he calls back. “No need to bring Dad into it. As I said, I...oh, what’s this? I think—”

He doesn’t finish. There’s a crash from inside the kitchen and a pained grunt. 

“Lucifer?” Chloe shouts. “What’s going on?”

No response. Chloe peeks out the window. None of the guys in the street are visible and they’re not shooting. She turns back toward the living room just as Lucifer and another man tumble through the doorway and land on the dining table in a heap of tangled arms and legs.

Lucifer struggles to the top, and immediately rears back to punch the man beneath him. Chloe steps forward, then remembers the window. She turns her body so she can see the fight to her left and the street to her right. The gang members outside still aren’t visible. 

She glances back at Lucifer just as the man beneath him grabs a ceramic bowl filled with apples from the wreckage of the table and smashes it against the side of Lucifer’s head. Lucifer falls sideways with an angry yell. The man scrambles, climbs on top of Lucifer, and reaches toward the sidearm on his hip. 

Chloe shoots him in the head before he can get it out of the holster. 

He collapses onto Lucifer, dead. Lucifer shoves him off with a disgusted huff, and then sits up. 

“Oh nice shot, Detective. Right between the eyes.” He looks up at her, grinning, and then he glances past her and his eyes widen. “Detective!”

Chloe turns, gun raised, and sees one of the men creeping through the front yard next door. He spots her, straightens, and aims for her. 

They shoot at the same time. 

Chloe can hear the rapid report of his gun. A second later, he clutches his chest and collapses onto the grass as blood blossoms on his shirt. 

The other two men dart out from behind her cruiser. Chloe shifts her aim. The sound of another gun explodes behind her in the same instant she pulls her trigger. Seconds later, the last two men outside are dead on the sidewalk.

Chloe doesn’t lower her gun. Adrenaline is roaring through her veins. Her ears are ringing. No one outside is moving, and then all of a sudden four cop cars skid into view and uniformed officers pour out onto the street with their guns ready.

It’s over. 

Chloe turns to look at Lucifer. 

He’s got the dead man’s sidearm in his hands and an enraged look on his face. His eyes aren’t just red, they appear to be on fire. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him this angry, and she’s suddenly afraid he might shoot one of the officers outside because he thinks they’re a threat to her. 

“Lucifer,” she calls gently.

He shifts his gaze toward her but doesn’t lower the gun. 

She holsters her gun and walks toward him slowly. “It’s over. You can put the gun down.”

“LAPD!” one of the cops outside bellows. “Hands up and identify yourself!”

Chloe steps between Lucifer and the cop and holds her hands up as she turns to face him. He’s standing outside the broken window, his gun raised.

“I’m Detective Decker,” she says. “I made the call to Dispatch. See the badge on my hip?”

The cop’s eyes dart down to her hip, and then he glances past her at Lucifer. “What about him?”

“He’s with me. He’s my partner.”

The cop hesitates, and then lowers his gun. “You guys okay? Medics are on the way.”

“We’re fine,” Chloe says, lowering her hands. “You should clear the back of the house. And there are civilians upstairs.”

The cop nods obediently and turns to shout orders at his colleagues. Chloe turns back to Lucifer. 

He’s staring at her. His eyes aren’t flames anymore but his whole body is tense, like a predator ready to pounce. He’s still holding the gun tightly. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. She reaches out and covers his hands with hers. “Give me the gun.”

He swallows and then lets go of the gun. She takes it from him and slips it into her waistband, and then looks up at him. He’s still staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She’s never seen him like this. They’ve been in shootouts before, but he’s never seemed shell shocked afterward.  

“Are you okay?” she asks, sliding her hands over his chest. She moves them up to his neck, and then rises to her toes to study a bleeding cut on his forehead by his hairline. “Is this from the bowl?”

He doesn’t answer her. She shifts her gaze to meet his. For the first time, she can read his expression. He looks terrified.

“He shot at you,” he whispers in a broken voice. “He shot at you and I couldn’t get there in time.”

She feels a lump rise in her throat. “I’m fine.” 

His fingers curl around her waist. She strokes her hand over his cheek, and then leans forward to press her forehead against his. 

“Detective,” he breathes.

She closes her eyes. “We’re fine.”


Chloe doesn’t realize there are bullet holes in her shirt until the paramedic notices them while he’s checking her out as part of department protocol. 

“Holy shit, are you…?” he says, his eyes wide as he stares at her chest. 

For a second, Chloe thinks he’s about to ask if she’s that Chloe Decker, the one who got out of a hot tub naked. But then she glances down at her blouse and sees what he’s staring at—not her chest, but three circular holes in the fabric over the left half of her abdomen that are the same size and shape as…

Bullets. 

She feels suddenly light-headed. She knows the guy in the yard next door fired his gun at the same time she fired hers. She remembers hearing the report. But nothing actually hit her. She would have felt it, right? She would have…

Holy shit, did she get shot?

She whips her shirt upward to check, but there’s nothing to see. No holes in her stomach, no blood, no bruises. Just smooth, unblemished skin that could probably use a day at the beach. She checks her shirt again, and then her skin, and then her brain short circuits and suddenly all she can hear is Lucifer’s voice. 

He shot at you. 

It’s the paramedic who pulls her back to reality. “Detective?” he says. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” she says, dropping her shirt back into place. She can’t talk to a random dude about this. She needs to find Lucifer. Lucifer will know what to do. 

The paramedic frowns. “There are bullet holes in your shirt.”

She forces a laugh. “They’re obviously not bullet holes if I have no bullet wounds, right?”

His frown deepens. “Right. But…”

“I must have torn my shirt somehow.” She hops off the edge of the ambulance. “Good news is I’m fine, and I need to get back in there, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“But Detective—”

“Do I have any injuries you need to treat?” she challenges.

He looks like he wants to say yes, but they both know he can’t. He shakes his head. “No ma’am.”

“Cool. See you later then. And thanks.”

She walks away before he can stop her. Her heart is racing. She scans the crowd of crime scene techs and cops, searching for Lucifer, and finds him leaning against the hood of her cruiser. Just the sight of him makes her feel more steady. 

She strides toward him. He gets to his feet when he sees her. 

“Clean bill of health?” he asks, smiling as he thumbs his cufflink. His smile fades when she stops much closer to him than she typically does at crime scenes. “Detective? Are you—”

“I got shot.”

He blinks at her in surprise, and then concern explodes across his expression. “ What? ” he demands. He grabs her shoulders and scans her body. “Where? Why did you leave the bloody ambulance?”

“Because I’m fine. I—”

“We have to get to a hospital.”

“Lucifer.”

He straightens. “I can fly you. Just put your arms around my neck—”

Lucifer,” she says firmly before he can whip his wings out for everyone to see. “Just wait a minute, okay?”

He goes still. 

She glances around to make sure no one is listening to them, and then grabs her blouse and pulls it taut so the holes are obvious. “I got shot. But nothing hit me.”

Lucifer stares down at her shirt. He frowns. He runs his index finger over one of the holes, and then he slips his hand under her shirt and rubs his thumb over her abdomen. His skin is warm. She tries to stifle a shudder because now is not the time, but her body shivers at his touch without her permission.

He looks up at her. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I was hoping you could tell me.” 

He stares at her for a moment, and then turns away from her abruptly. He opens the driver’s side door of her cruiser, and bends down to pop the trunk. 

“What are you doing?” she asks.

He strides toward the trunk without answering. He disappears for a few seconds, and then slams the trunk and returns. When he stops in front of her, he holds out the knife she keeps in her trunk. 

She realizes what he’s after—he wants to test to see if she’s invulnerable—and she yanks her sleeve up and offers him her arm.

“No,” he breathes. 

She glances up at him. 

He looks like he’s going to be sick. He shakes his head. “I can’t…” He swallows and holds the knife out farther. “I can’t do that, Detective.”

Chloe’s throat tightens. She takes the knife from him, and then slides the blade gently along her forearm. The pain is immediate and sharp and then fades to a dull throb. Blood blossoms along the line of the cut in her skin.

Lucifer stares at the blood on her arm, and then he tugs at her shirt and stares at the bullet holes again. “Impossible,” he whispers. 

Chloe frowns. “Maybe they’re not bullet holes.” 

“They’re bullet holes,” Lucifer says. “I just don’t...”

A thought strikes Chloe suddenly. She looks up at Lucifer and reaches out to grab his arm. “Could your dad have done this?”

The confusion on Lucifer’s face smooths into surprise, and then something that looks a lot like rage. He pulls out of her grasp and strides away from her. 

“Lucifer,” she calls after him. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t turn around. She glances past him and sees that he’s headed for his dad, who is standing with Lucas and his mom by a squad car. She starts after him, but gets intercepted. 

“Detective Decker,” a man says, stepping in her path. “Are you ready to give your statement?”

Chloe glances past him at Lucifer. No I’ve got celestial shit to do, she wants to say. But she can’t.

She smiles. “Yeah. Ready if you are.”


When Chloe is finally done giving her statement, Lucifer is nowhere to be found. 

She makes her way through the cars and techs and cops, squinting against the glare of flashing red and blue lights in the darkness. She asks around, but no one has seen him. A familiar feeling of abandonment is welling up in her chest, and she can barely breathe around it. 

She finds his dad standing by her cruiser. “Detective,” he greets. 

“Where’s Lucifer?”

John blinks at her. “He left a while ago. Did he not tell you?”

Chloe’s stomach drops. No, he didn’t tell her. He just...left her. 

Again.

“Right,” she says, trying to school her expression into something unbothered. She forces a smile. “Ready to go?”

“I can find my own way home if you’d like to go in search of Lucifer,” John offers. 

Chloe shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I can catch up with him later. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

He heads for her backseat. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head at him over the roof of the car. “Lucifer isn’t…” He’s gone, the voice in the back of her head whispers. She swallows. “You can ride in the front.”

John smiles and gets in the passenger seat. 

They drive to Linda and Amenadiel’s house in silence. Chloe doesn’t have the energy to make conversation, and she’s past caring if she’s being rude. She just wants to go home and drink a beer in the shower and then crawl into bed and sleep for a week. 

When they finally get there and she parks the car by the curb, John turns to look at her. “Thank you.”

Chloe smiles. “Sure.”

He studies her for a moment, and then he turns more fully toward her. “If you have a question, I’d be happy to answer it.”

Chloe stares at him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lucifer’s voice is whispering It’s a trap. But she has a million questions, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get this chance again. God is sitting in her front seat. She could ask him anything. The meaning of life. If aliens exist. Who shot JFK. If her dad can hear her when she talks to him. 

“Did you save my life today?” she asks.

John frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Chloe pulls her shirt out so he can see. “These are bullet holes. But I don’t have any bullet wounds. Is that because of you?”

Understanding dawns on John’s face, and then he tilts his head. “That’s a complicated answer.”

Chloe sighs. “I am so sick of hearing the word complicated.” 

John nods sympathetically. “I understand. And I would very much like to answer your question, Chloe. Believe me, I would.”

“But?” 

“But I don’t think you’re ready to hear the answer. And I don’t wish to interfere with what’s already been put into motion.”

Chloe stares at him. “Seriously?”

A hint of a smile appears on John’s lips. “That’s what my son said as well.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No offense, John, but your son’s not entirely wrong about how infuriating you can be.”

John’s smile deepens. “I understand.”

They sit in silence for a minute or two. Chloe stares down at the holes in her shirt and thinks about how out of sorts Lucifer has been the last few days, and the agony that flashes briefly in his eyes whenever the topic of his fall comes up. 

“Lucifer is a good man,” she says quietly, looking over at John. “Or a good angel, I guess. A good…” She trails off and sighs and looks back down at her hands until she finds the right words. “He’s not perfect. But deep down, at the very core of who he is, he’s nothing but good.”

“You bring that out of him.”

“No,” she says, looking up at John again. “I don’t. That’s the thing. This gift you gave him, this blessing, whatever it is I am or have...I’m not blind like everyone else. I see him for who he is. For who he truly is. Which means if I see good, then that’s what he is. I don’t bring it out. It’s already there.”

John nods. “You’re right.”

Chloe opens her mouth, ready to argue, and then she realizes what he just said. “I am?”

John reaches out and puts his hand on her arm, and she feels the same warmth course through her veins that she felt the first time she met him. 

“Thank you for loving my son so well,” he murmurs. He pulls his hand back, but his warmth lingers. He smiles. “Good night, Chloe.”

He gets out of the car before she can say anything else, walks up the front path, and disappears into the house without looking back.


It’s early enough that Lux isn’t open yet, but there’s a line at the front entrance anyway. 

Chloe parks her cruiser behind Lucifer’s car in the alleyway. As she’s getting out, a young guy she’s never seen before trots around the corner. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says. “You can’t park there. Only the owner and his guests park there.”  

Chloe shuts her car door with a smile. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

He looks confused. “Yeah, it’s my first night. Why?”

She smiles instead of answering and heads for the front entrance. 

“Lady, seriously,” he says, following her. “You can’t park there. I’m so sorry. I can find a parking deck close by if you want.” 

“That won’t be necessary. What’s your name?”

“Jake. Please don’t make me call to get your car towed. Please. I don’t want to cause a scene and get fired on my first night.”

“You’re not going to get fired, Jake.” 

They round the corner and the entrance comes into view. Rick, Lucifer’s favorite bouncer, is at the front door. He smiles as soon as he sees her.

“Good evening, Detective.”

“Hey Rick.”

“Detective?” Jake squeaks. “You’re a cop?

“I am,” Chloe confirms. She gestures at her hip. “Badge is right there.”

Jake looks down at her hip and then his eyes widen. “I didn’t see it.”

“Obviously.” 

Rick frowns. “Is he bothering you, Detective?”

“No,” Chloe says. “He was just doing his job and making sure I knew I couldn’t park in the alley.”

Rick turns toward Jake with a stern look. “Don’t you know who this is?” 

Jake sputters. “Uh...no?”

“Detective Decker,” Chloe says, offering Jake her hand. “You can call me Chloe, though.” 

Jake reaches out to shake Chloe’s hand, but Rick smacks his hand away. 

“No he can’t,” Rick says. “Detective Decker is Mr. Morningstar’s partner. Don’t touch her. Don’t tell her what she can and can’t do. She can park wherever the hell she wants and do whatever the hell she wants. If she asks you for something, you give it to her. Even if she asks you to stand on your head and sing I’m A Little Teapot.

“I won’t do that,” Chloe says, shaking her head.

Jake looks dumbfounded. “Partner?” he repeats.

“Girlfriend also applies,” Chloe says with a shrug. 

Jake’s eyes get even wider. “Oh...oh god. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Chloe says sincerely. “You were just doing your job.” She turns her attention to Rick and tips her head toward the crowd of people. “Little early for a line, isn’t it?”

Rick smiles. “Haven’t you heard? We were named the hottest club in L.A. by some hotshot party website. It’s been nuts since Monday.”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. That explains why Lucifer has had his hands full the last few days. “I hadn’t heard. Congrats.”

Rick shoots a look at Jake. “Won’t last if our new staff keeps screwing up.”

Jake seems to shrink under his gaze.

Chloe pats Rick’s shoulder as she starts past him toward the door. “Be nice to him, Rick. He was just doing his job.”

“Mhmm,” Rick says.

“Hey!” someone in the line shouts. “How come she gets to go in?”

“Because she’s Mr. Morningstar’s girlfriend!” Jake shouts back. 

“Jesus, kid,” Rick sighs. “That’s not something you just shout at people. Are you an idiot?”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and opens the front door of the club. 

It’s dark and quiet inside. She checks the main room to see if Lucifer is in there, but it’s just bartenders and other staff milling around and getting ready for the night. She heads for the elevator. While it carries her up to the penthouse, she fires off a text to Dan to remind him to check in with Trixie about whether she finished her social studies project. She slides her phone into her back pocket just as the doors open to reveal the penthouse. 

She steps off the elevator and immediately goes still. 

Lucifer is sitting at his piano with his back to her. He’s wearing the same suit he was earlier, but he’s ditched the jacket and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. His head is bent forward, and his fingers are dancing over the keys as he plays. Chloe knows this song. He’s playing Hallelujah.  

He’s not singing. He’s just playing, and the mournful melody makes her ache. The penthouse is dim. The city lights beyond the balcony are bright and brilliant against the night sky, and their glow frames Lucifer’s body like a halo. 

The song builds toward its crescendo, and the sound that fills the penthouse leaves Chloe completely, utterly breathless. It is, hands down, the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard, and the sight of him sitting there, his head tilted slightly and his body edged in light, is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

He plays the final chorus slowly and with a tenderness that makes her eyes warm and her throat feel tight. When he finishes, the last note hangs in the air. The only word she can think to describe it is melancholy. 

It fades, and then there’s silence. Chloe stands, frozen in place and unwilling to break the spell, but then Lucifer turns his head—not far enough to look at her, but enough so that she knows he realizes she’s there. 

“Detective,” he says softly. 

The word pulls her toward him like a magnet. She crosses the room and stops next to him. He doesn’t look up at her. She reaches out and brushes her fingers through the hair that’s cut short on the side of his head. He closes his eyes at her touch.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she murmurs. 

He sits as still as a statue for a moment, and then he sets his hands back on the keys and starts to play again. Chloe recognizes this song too. It’s Something by The Beatles. 

He only plays the first few lines, but it’s enough to make warmth unfurl in her chest. The final note he plays hangs in the air just like before, and then he lifts his gaze to hers. 

“You know I believe and how,” he whispers.

It’s the first time in four days she isn’t frustrated by song lyrics coming out of his mouth. It’s the hundredth time in four days she wants to tell him she loves him. 

You’re the only thing I believe in, Chloe.

She bends forward and kisses him. His fingers wrap around her hips, and then he pulls her gently down onto the bench next to him without breaking the kiss. She holds his face in her hands, and he wraps his arms around her and holds her like she’s priceless. 

When he finally pulls back, she’s breathless. He seems a little breathless too. 

“Hi,” she whispers, unable to stop a smile. 

He smiles too. “Hello darling.” 

He calls plenty of people darling. But the word sounds different when he says it to her. It makes her heart skip. 

He presses another brief kiss to her lips and then lets go of her waist and turns to face the piano again. She misses his touch the moment she no longer feels it, but they’re close enough that she can press her shoulder to his and feel his warmth, and she knows she could kiss him again if she wanted to. She watches as he reaches for the whiskey glass sitting on top of the piano. 

“You didn’t tell me that Lux was making headlines.” 

He frowns at her over the rim of his glass. 

“Rick said you got named hottest club in L.A.”

“Ah. Yes. I think he’s prouder of that than I am. Truth be told, I wish we hadn’t. It’s quite a lot of work to be the best.” He smiles at her. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

She smiles but lets the compliment slide. He’s trying to shift her focus away from him. He might be proud and self-absorbed more often than not, but he’s pretty good at deflecting attention away from himself when he wants to. Usually he does it when he’s trying to keep a secret, but she doesn’t think that’s the reason this time.

She puts her hand on his knee. “You should have told me so we could celebrate.” 

He shakes his head. “You were focused on the case. Seemed trivial.”

Chloe frowns. “What happens in your life isn’t trivial, Lucifer. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve devoted a considerable amount of your time and energy to me and my drama as of late, and much as I like your attention, I don’t fancy becoming a black hole.”

Chloe frowns. “What?” 

“Black hole,” he repeats. “Devours everything in its path until it all ceases to exist.” 

Chloe blinks. “Oh. That’s not...that isn’t what you do, Lucifer.” 

“Well not if I can help it. And speaking of holes.” He casts a sidelong glance at the holes in her shirt. “I spoke to my father about your...situation.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs. “So did I.”

Lucifer looks over at her in surprise. “What did he tell you?”

“Same thing he told you. It’s complicated and I’m not ready for the answer.” She bumps her shoulder against his. “Welcome to the bloody club, right?” 

He smiles. “I’d say I hate for you to be part of it, but that would be a lie.”

Chloe smiles too. “Well at least he won’t be shadowing us anymore.”

“Oh?”

“The guy whose arm you gleefully broke flipped on the Fantasmas.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Dan paid him a visit in the hospital and told him that you’d be stopping by every day to see him until he told us what we needed to know. Apparently the idea of seeing you again was so terrifying that he spilled his guts. We didn’t just get our killer, we got the whole gang.”

“Oh, well, nicely played, Daniel,” Lucifer muses before downing the rest of his whiskey. 

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Please don’t.”

Chloe laughs. Lucifer leans over and brushes a kiss on her temple. “Stay here.”

He gets up from the bench, and she watches as he walks behind the bar and pours himself more whiskey. He leaves his refilled glass on the bar and turns his back to her. She hears the clinking of bottles, but she can’t see what he’s doing.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Patience, Detective.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“I heard that.”

She laughs.

He turns around and walks out from behind the bar with a glass in each hand. He sits next to her, and then offers her a glass.

“What is it?”

He grins. “Do you trust me?”

“When you’re smiling at me like that? No.”

He chuckles and holds it closer to her. “I think you’ll like it.”

She purses her lips and studies him for a moment, and then takes the glass and takes a sip. It tastes divine.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s...wow.”

He looks pleased. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“What’s in it?”

“Oh a magician never reveals his secrets, Detective.”

Chloe rolls her eyes again and takes another sip. Lucifer watches her mouth around the glass. She feels a familiar twinge of anticipation deep in her body, but she ignores it. She wants to talk to him first.  

“So now that he’s no longer our shadow, do you think your dad will make his decision soon?”

Lucifer exhales a heavy breath. “Hard to say. Depends on how long he spends with Mum, I suppose.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Oh did I not tell you that? Yes, it appears that in his infinite wisdom, Dad has decided unilateral decisions are not, in fact, good practice for a marriage. So he’s going to take a hop, skip, and a jump over to Mum’s universe and chat with her about which of her boys should follow in his footsteps.”

“What do you think she’ll say?”

“I’ve no bloody idea.” Lucifer sips his whiskey. “I suppose if either of them have any sense, they’ll choose Amenadiel. He’s the only real choice, seeing as I don’t want it and Michael is...well, Michael.”

“Did you tell your dad you don’t want it?”

“Yes. Not that it matters. He’s never cared what I want before, there’s no reason for him to care now.” 

“So what are you going to do if he chooses you?”

“Same thing I always do, darling. Rebel.”

Chloe nods and stares down into her drink. Fear is suddenly gnawing at her. All this celestial craziness is...it’s so much bigger than her. So much bigger than them. What if, even though they want to be together, they can’t be? What if John chooses Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and he’s forced to go back to Hell? What if John chooses Amenadiel, and Lucifer is forced to help his brother, and he has no more time for Lux or police work or her? What if John chooses Michael, and Lucifer has to start a war to protect her? There are so many what if’s she could drown in them, but they all end the same.

He leaves her.

Again.

“You’re thinking very loudly over there,” Lucifer murmurs. “Care to share with the class?”

Chloe presses her lips together. She doesn’t want to play the what if game with him. But she does want to know why he left her earlier.  

“Why did you leave me at the scene?” she asks, looking up at him.

He blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You stormed away to talk to your dad,” she clarifies. “And I couldn’t follow you because I had to give my statement. And then when I was done, you were gone.” 

She thinks she sees a flash of guilt on his face, but it doesn’t linger long enough for her to be sure. 

“Ah,” he says quietly. “Well, I uh...I needed some air. So to speak. My apologies. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He just swallows a gulp of whiskey and then bends forward to rest his forearms on the upper edge of the piano. 

“Did you get some?” she asks. 

He turns his glass slowly. “Get some what?”

“Air.”

He doesn’t answer.

Chloe shifts on the piano bench and leans away from him so he’s got some space. Ever since he got back from Hell, he’s been pretty good about talking to her instead of shutting her out. He didn’t have Linda in Hell with him for thousands of years, but Chloe can’t shake the feeling that all those centuries down there gave him the opportunity to really absorb all that he learned. She’ll never say that their separation was good—she missed him too much to say that—but she also can’t ignore that he’s far more emotionally available now than he was before. 

He’s still Lucifer, though, and he has his limits. He’s had a rough go of it recently with all the family drama, and the last thing she wants to do is be something else he has to cope with. She doesn’t want to be a burden. 

She sets her glass down on the piano. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“Talk about what?” he asks, a tinge of bitterness in his voice as he straightens. “The fact that you would have died if not for my father’s meddling? Or the fact that for the first time in my life I’m so bloody grateful that the bastard meddled that I…”

He presses his lips together and doesn’t finish. 

She leans toward him so that their shoulders are touching again. “You what, Lucifer?”

He closes his eyes. “You think I’m only vulnerable when I’m bleeding,” he murmurs. “You think that when I don’t bleed, I’m invulnerable. But that isn’t true, Detective. Every breath you take makes me vulnerable, regardless of what can or can’t hurt me.”

Chloe frowns. “I don’t understand.”

He opens his eyes and finally looks at her. “What happens the next time I can’t protect you? What happens if you…?” 

She understands, all of a sudden, why he looks so agonized. The grief in his voice makes her chest ache. 

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispers, his voice breaking a little on the last word. “What am I to tell the urchin? Or your mother?”

“You tell them the truth. You tell them that I loved them very, very much, and that I died trying to make the world safer for them.” 

He flinches when she says died. She can’t not touch him anymore. She turns toward him and lifts her hand to stroke her fingers through his hair like she did before. 

“This isn’t about Trixie and my mom, is it?” 

She watches as he stares down into his whiskey glass and rotates it in a slow circle. 

“My brother was right,” he says eventually. “If I lose you, you’ll go somewhere I can’t follow.” His hand tightens on his glass. His knuckles are white. “I can’t bear that. So I told him I’d follow you.”

Chloe frowns. “Told who?”

“My father,” Lucifer rasps. He looks at her. His eyes are glassy. “I told him that if he doesn’t want a bloody celestial war then he’d better make you bulletproof permanently, because if he doesn’t, I’ll follow you. I’ll storm the gates of the Silver City with all of Hell at my back because I can’t bear the thought of it. Of never seeing you again. Of separation for all eternity.”

“Lucifer,” she breathes.

“Don’t ask me to,” he says, shaking his head. “Now that I have you, I can’t let you go. I can’t, Detective. Don’t ask me—”

The glass shatters in his hand. Chloe startles in surprise as tiny pieces of glass spill through his fingers and cascade down her jean clad thigh. They hit the floor and scatter, glinting in the dimness like diamonds. 

“Damn it,” Lucifer says. He brushes his palm over her thigh. “I’m so sorry, Detective.”

“You’ll cut yourself,” she says, reaching out to grab his arm. 

He ignores her. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I could have—”

“Lucifer, stop.”

He goes still. He won’t look at her. Chloe’s heart is pounding in her chest. The what if’s are back, and they’re overwhelming. She can’t stop thinking about Lucifer with a horde of demons at his back, rushing at a pair of pearly gates, and his father waving his hand in retaliation and sending Lucifer to the same place Uriel went. 

She tightens her hold on his arm. “What did your dad say?”

Lucifer looks up at her with a frown. “What?”

“When you told him what you’d do,” she says. “What did he say? Is he angry? Is he going to…?”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. He shakes his head. “No. Actually, he...he said he was proud of me.”

Chloe stares at him. “What?”

A humorless smile curves Lucifer’s lips. “That’s what I said.”

For a minute, they just stare at each other. Chloe struggles to keep her head above the sudden flood of questions and worries and fears, but she can’t. Her brain is short-circuiting, and her ears are ringing, and it should really be a familiar feeling by now, but it’s not. 

She reaches for her glass. She takes a huge swallow, and then another. The drink still tastes good, but it burns all the way down. She takes a breath around the burn, and then downs the rest of the glass and presses the back of her hand to her mouth. 

“Would you like another?” Lucifer asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She lowers her hand and shakes her head. “No.” She frowns. “Maybe.” She turns to look at him. “He’s proud of you?”

“So he says,” Lucifer replies. “It shouldn’t surprise you to hear that I don’t believe him.”

Chloe thinks about her conversation in the car with John. 

“Maybe you should.”

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Chloe turns toward him. “I told him you’re a good man.”

Lucifer looks stunned. “You...what?”

“In the car,” she clarifies. “When I dropped him off at Linda and Amenadiel’s before I came here. I told him you’re a good man. He said that I bring it out of you, but I told him that he’s wrong. I told him that I see you like no one else does, so I know you better than anyone else, and I know that you’re good.” She exhales a shaky breath. “And he said I was right.”

Lucifer stares at her, his mouth open. She assumes he’s stunned by his father’s response, seeing as he’s always believed that his father thinks he’s the opposite of good, but then he says quietly, “You told my dad that I’m good?”

Chloe frowns. “Well yeah. It’s true.”

 Lucifer doesn’t respond. He just stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, and then he lifts his hand to her face and brushes his thumb over her lips. 

Chloe covers his hand with hers. “He said something was in motion and that he didn’t want to stop it. Do you know what he meant?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’ve no idea. And I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She drops her hand. “But what if—”

“The only thing I care about,” he cuts her off gently, “is sitting next to me. The rest is merely noise.”

Warmth unfurls in Chloe’s chest. “Did you spend all your time in Hell writing down romantic lines you thought would make me swoon?”

He smiles. “Are you swooning?”

“No. I’m immune to your charms, remember?”

“But you do admit they’re charms.”

She tilts her head. “Did I? I don’t think that’s what I said.”

“You’re a bad liar, Detective.”

“How dare you,” she says in mock offense. “Lying is acting, and I’ll have you know I’m an excellent actress.”

“Oh I’m aware. I’ve seen your body of work several times.”

“Pun intended?”

“Well of course.”

She laughs, and then slides her hand over his knee. “You know what I was thinking?”

He’s staring at her mouth again. “Tell me.”

“We haven’t actually been on a date. Like, officially. As a couple.”

He lifts his gaze to hers with a frown, like that wasn’t what he expected her to say. And then recognition dawns on his face. “You know, you’re right. What a terrible boyfriend I am.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh but it’s true. I need to wine and dine you, Detective. Take you out on the town. Show you off.”

“Well Dan has Trixie for the next few nights,” she says. “And I’ve got a few days off work. So maybe tomorrow?”

His face falls. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Chloe frowns. “So?”

“So Lux is having a bit of a shindig to celebrate our new acclaim. I have to host. And I have to attend my father’s retirement party before that.”

“His what now?”

Lucifer smiles. “It seems my brother and the doctor have planned a retirement party for him. Absurd, I know, but you know how those two are. Horribly sentimental. I was hoping we’d have a good murder as an excuse, but if you’re off work then I’m afraid I haven’t a choice. My presence has been demanded.” 

“I could go with you,” Chloe offers. “If you want.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “You would do that?”

“Sure,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “What time is the party?”

“One o’clock.”

She opens her mouth to say she’s free, and then she remembers she’s not. “Oh.”

“You have plans?”

“No. Well, sort of. Trixie has a soccer game at four, and I have to take her because Dan has a work thing. So I’d have to bring her with me. But if you don’t mind that she comes, I’ll be there.”

Lucifer frowns. “Won’t she be bored?”

“Are you kidding? She’ll get to meet God.”

His frown deepens. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Well I’m kind of dating the Devil,” she points out with a smile. “So I think we’re past that.”

Lucifer doesn’t smile. He doesn’t make a joke either. He gazes at her, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he says softly, “And you’re okay with dating the Devil?”

For a moment, Chloe isn’t sure how to respond to that. Her first impulse is to be offended—after everything they’ve been through, and how upfront she’s been about her feelings for him, he still thinks she’s harboring some type of hesitation? But then she thinks about everything he’s been through, and how often people have abandoned him or manipulated him or tried to make him be something he’s not, and her offense fades. 

She doesn’t know how to explain it to him. She could tell him she loves him, but she already has. She could show him she loves him, but she’s already done that too. She stares down at the piano and wracks her brain for an idea, and then she remembers something. 

She lifts her hands and sets them on the piano keys. The ivory is cold and smooth beneath her fingertips. “Do you remember when we played piano together?”

If he’s confused by her change in topic, he doesn’t show it. “I do,” he says. “Heart and Soul, if memory serves.”

She looks up at him. “Have you ever looked up the lyrics?”

His eyes flicker down to her mouth, and then up to her eyes. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Well I have.”

She licks her lips and looks back down at the keys. She hesitates for a brief second—she really, really hates singing in front of people—but she’s done it in front of him a dozen times in the past few days, so what’s once more?

“Heart and soul,” she sings softly, her fingers pressing the keys down in slow unison with her voice. “I fell in love with you, heart and soul, the way a fool would do, madly, because you held me tight and stole a kiss in the night.”

She glances up at him. He’s wearing that look on his face, the water-in-the-desert look, and she swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. She was going to sing the next part, but the tune dies on her lips.

“Heart and soul, Lucifer,” she whispers.

He lifts his hand to her face and strokes his thumb over the jut of her jaw. “Detective,” he breathes. 

And then he’s kissing her, and she’s kissing him, and nothing else matters.


“So? What do you say?”

The Dreamer doesn’t answer. 

Michael doesn’t push him. He sips his gin and waits. He’s waited millenia. He can wait five more minutes. 

The man sitting across the table from him is still. He has the hood of his black cape up, and with his face turned out toward the ocean, Michael can only see the profile of his face: His bone-white skin, his pointed nose and strongly angled chin, and the jet black hair falling in straight strands over his forehead. 

Finally, he turns his head. In place of his eyes there are stars, silver with a flickering of blue, and if Michael was human he might find them unsettling. 

“How does this benefit you?” the Dreamer asks in a low voice.

Michael grins. “Does it matter? I’m offering you what you want and a chance to punish my brother. Two for one special. You won’t get another chance like this.”

The Dreamer is silent for another long moment. He looks out at the ocean again. “You only wish for it to impact those who know her?”

Michael nods. “Yes.”

“Why not all of mankind?”

“Because that will provoke her into doing the opposite of what I want. It would be them against the world.”

The Dreamer lifts an eyebrow. “Won’t that be the case if you turn her world against her?”

“No. She needs to see that the stakes are different for her than for him. He could walk away from this unscathed, but she can’t. She thinks that she’ll never lose faith in him. And he thinks he can’t be manipulated into sacrificing her.” Michael grins. “I’m looking forward to seeing who breaks first.” 

The Dreamer considers the words, and then shakes his head. “I think you underestimate him. And perhaps her, if she was extraordinary enough to catch his eye.”

Michael sighs. “I know what I’m doing, old friend. All I need is for you to do your part, and I’ll do the rest. You do what I’m asking, and you get what you want. Simple as that. Now do we have a deal, or not?”

There’s another long silence. And then the Dreamer nods.

“We have a deal.”

Chapter 8: Eight

Notes:

Hey guys :) A few things before we dive in:

1. Thank you again to all of you who leave comments. I really do love reading them. Y’all are so insightful, and I so badly wanted to respond to some of you this week, but life is bonkers right now and I didn’t get a chance.
2. Speaking of bonkers, I’m going to take a brief holiday break next week. So no new chapter next Tuesday on the 29th, but I’ll see you back here on January 5th.
3. There is some adult content in this chapter. Just a heads up in case that is not your thing.

Happy Holidays y’all :)

Chapter Text

“Come on, Trix,” Chloe hollers from the kitchen. “We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming!” Trixie calls from upstairs. “Just looking for my socks!”

Chloe freezes. Looking for socks means she’s probably upending all the laundry Chloe just finished folding. She sighs. She should have just left the clothes in the dryer. She’ll have to put them back in to get rid of the wrinkles now.

She screws the top onto Trixie’s water jug, and then freezes again. Shit. Is it her week to bring post-game snacks? She yanks the schedule off the fridge, scans the calendar, and then breathes a sigh of relief. She’s not up until next week. She should go to the store tomorrow so that she’s got it done and doesn’t have to scramble later. Maybe Lucifer will go with her if she promises to buy him some cool ranch puffs. 

Trixie’s feet pound on the stairs, and a moment later she skids into the kitchen in her soccer uniform. “Ready!”

“Did you pack your bag?” Chloe asks, turning to look at her.

Trixie nods. “Yes.”

“Shin guards and socks?”

“Yes.”

“Cleats?”

“Yes.”

“Alternate jersey?”

Trixie winces. 

Chloe opens her mouth, but she’s cut off by a sharp knock on the front door. 

“Can I get it?” Trixie asks.

“No, go get your jersey.” 

Trixie pouts. 

“Come on, move, go Monkey go,” Chloe says, tickling her daughter’s sides as she chases her from the kitchen and toward her bedroom. Trixie cackles with laughter, and Chloe can’t help but smile. Nobody’s got a better laugh than her kid. 

She strides back toward the front door and swings it open. She’s not sure who she was expecting to see on the other side, but it sure as hell wasn’t Maze.

Maze smiles. “Hey Decker.”

“Nope,” Chloe says, flicking her wrist to shut the door again. 

Maze stops the door from slamming in her face with the toe of her thigh-high boot. “Wait.”

“Move, Maze.”

“No. I need to talk to you.”

“Trixie is here,” Chloe says, stepping forward to fill the open space in the doorway. “I’m sure Michael sent you to harass me or beat me up or whatever’s next in his stupid epic plan, but you’re not doing it in front of my kid. You owe Trixie that, at least, even if you won’t do it for me.”

Maze’s perfectly trimmed eyebrows furrow. “Michael?”

“Yes, Michael. I know you betrayed Lucifer to help him. Which, by the way, wow. I know you and Lucifer don’t always agree, but Michael? Seriously, Maze?”

Something shivers across Maze’s expression, but Chloe can’t tell if it’s guilt or shame or surprise. “Look, can I just come in for a minute? I have something to say and your neighbors are probably eavesdropping.”

“No.”

The front door swings out of Chloe’s grasp unexpectedly, and then Trixie shoves her way past Chloe’s hip and shrieks, “Maze!”

She throws herself into Maze’s arms, and Chloe watches as Maze bends forward to catch her. She hugs Trixie tightly, a genuine grin spread over her lips, and then she sets Trixie back down and tugs lightly on one of her pigtails. 

“Hey little human.”

“Are you coming to my soccer game later?”

“When is it?” Maze asks at the same time Chloe says, “No, Maze has other plans.”

The grin slips off Maze’s face. An awkward silence follows. 

Trixie turns toward Chloe and puts on her best puppy dog face. “Can Maze come to my game, Mommy? Please?”

“The last time Maze came to one of your soccer games she threatened to strangle the referee with his whistle,” Chloe points out. 

“Well if he would’ve called a fair game then I wouldn’t have had to,” Maze says defensively. “He clearly had it out for Trix. He’s lucky I didn’t meet him in the parking lot.”

Chloe gives her a look. “You did.”

“But I didn’t touch him.” 

“Sure. He just cried because he felt like it.”

Maze grins.

Trixie smiles up at Maze with a look of pure adoration, and then turns back to Chloe. “Please, Mommy?”

Chloe sighs. “Babe…”

“Hey, Trix, can you give me and your mom a minute?” Maze asks before Chloe can think of a good excuse to say no. “Go draw me a picture.”

“Okay!” Trixie says. She scurries back into the house like a tornado with pigtails. 

“Can I come in now?” Maze asks. “I’m not here for Michael.”

Chloe purses her lips and considers her options. 

Maze rolls her eyes and sighs the way she does before she has to do something she hates. “Please?” she asks.

Chloe sighs but steps out of the doorway and gestures into the house. 

Maze grins triumphantly and steps past her and into the house. Chloe shuts the door behind her and then heads for the kitchen. 

“What’s with the espresso machine?” Maze asks, following her.

“Lucifer,” Chloe replies, because that’s answer enough. She grabs a box of crackers from the cupboard—Trixie will want a snack on the way to the game and Chloe has no idea whether there will be food at the retirement party—and then heads for the fridge. She pulls out a kid-sized bottle of Gatorade, and then turns back to Maze.

“So?” she prompts. “What do you want?” 

Maze fidgets with her leather jacket, and then takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. “I want to apologize.”

Chloe stares at her. That’s...not what she thought this was about. “You want to apologize?” she repeats.

Maze narrows her eyes. “Yeah. You know, in that awkward demon way I suck at.”

Chloe presses her lips together. She probably deserved that dig. She sets the Gatorade on the counter. “Why are you apologizing to me? I’m not the one you betrayed.”

Maze sighs. “Well I was trying to apologize to Lucifer, but he told me he wouldn’t accept it unless I apologized to you first.”

Chloe frowns. “Why?”

“Who knows,” Maze says, rolling her eyes. “He went on some rant about celestial craziness and leaving devastation in my wake. There was also something about an evidence closet? It was insane, even for him.”

Chloe folds her arms over her chest. “But you’re here anyway.”

“Yeah, well, Linda said I had to make amends with Amenadiel and Lucifer if I wanted to hang out with her and the tiny human, and Lucifer won’t let me make amends until I apologize to you, so here I am.”

“Are you still working with Michael?”

“No.”

“Did he give you a soul?”

Maze blinks in surprise. “Lucifer told you that?” 

Chloe opens her mouth to answer, but Maze lifts her hand before Chloe can reply. 

“You know what, don’t answer that. Of course he did.” She looks down at the floor with an expression of disgust. “Freaking soulmates,” she mutters.  

Chloe isn’t sure what she’s supposed to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything. 

Maze stares at her boots for a while before she meets Chloe’s gaze again. “Michael lied. He can’t give me a soul. No one can. I’m a demon. This is as good as it’s going to get. The end.”

Chloe frowns. “Are you sure that’s true?”

“I’m definitely a demon, Decker. Want to see my face?”

“No, I...wait, you have a face? Is it like Lucifer’s?”

“You tell me.” 

Maze’s face morphs, and then all of a sudden Chloe is staring at…

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

“Don’t think holy’s the right word,” Maze snorts. Her demon face flickers and then disappears, and Maze is just Maze again. 

Chloe gapes at her, her mouth open in shock. 

“Your kid was way cooler about it,” Maze says, looking down at her nails like she’s bored.

Chloe nearly swallows her tongue. “You showed that to Trixie?

Maze shrugs. She doesn’t look even remotely apologetic, and Chloe can’t decide whether she wants to scream in frustration or throw the Gatorade bottle at Maze’s head.

“Okay,” she says instead, “we’re going to talk about you showing that to my daughter later. But what I was trying to say was that John—Lucifer’s dad—he could give you a soul. Couldn’t he?”

Maze frowns. “God?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” Maze says, lifting a shoulder. “He’s God. But why would he?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Uh, because I’m me? I know you’re a celestial rookie, Decker, but God and demons don’t exactly get along.”

“Right,” Chloe says. She hadn’t thought of that. But surely John knows how close Lucifer and Maze are—well, usually are—right? And Maze might have her issues, but she has good in her. Trixie wouldn’t love her if she didn’t. 

The bigger question, though, is why Maze even wants a soul. Chloe wants to ask, but she knows she won’t get a straight answer. She’s not sure she needs one. Today is the second time she’s heard Maze mutter the phrase freaking soulmates about her and Lucifer with a considerable amount of bitterness, and Chloe still remembers how torn up Maze was about Eve. Maybe she thinks that’s why Eve left her?

“You know you don’t need a soul for people to love you, right?” Chloe says. 

Maze gives her a look. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Decker.”

A year ago, Chloe might have stopped talking under such a withering glare. But not anymore. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she admits. “But I still think you’re selling yourself short. You might not have a soul, but you’re clearly capable of love. And anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot.”

Maze makes a disgusted face. “Capable of love? ” she repeats.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, Maze. You’re here because Linda asked you to be. Because you love her and Charlie, and you want to see them. And you obviously love Trixie.”

Maze scoffs. “I don’t…” 

Chloe arches an eyebrow.

Maze folds her arms over her chest. “It’s not the same.”

“Not the same as what?”

“You and Lucifer. It’s not the same.”

“Maybe not,” Chloe concedes. “But what Lucifer and I have started out with the same basic feeling that you have for Linda and Trixie and Charlie. And if you can feel that, then why not more? I mean, it’s like...it’s like speaking another language, right? It’s easier to learn French if you already know Spanish because they have the same roots.”

Maze frowns. “You think I need to learn Spanish?”

“No, I…” Chloe sighs. “Look, Maze, love is love. You’re either capable of it or you’re not. And I might not always understand you, but I know you’re capable of it. And I think deep down, if you really looked, you’d know that too.”

For a long moment, Maze doesn’t say anything. Chloe knows Maze well enough to know that what she said hit home. But that doesn’t mean Maze is going to acknowledge it.

“Yeah, whatever,” Maze says. She unfolds her arms and straightens. “Do you accept my apology or not?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “I accept.”

“Cool. Tell the little human I said bye.”

Maze turns on her high heel and strides toward the front door. 

“Maze,” Chloe calls, heading out of the kitchen after her.

Maze turns around. “Yeah?”

“I think I owe you an apology too. For how we left things. I didn’t...I wasn’t trying to abandon you. Or reject you. It wasn’t about you. It was me. But I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Maze folds her arms over her chest and looks down at the floor. She looks extremely uncomfortable, but Chloe presses on anyway. 

“Look, the truth is you kind of became my best friend while we were partners. And I’ve missed you. I know Trixie has. And it’d be nice if you started coming around again. We love you, you know?”

Maze snaps her gaze up at the word love. She looks stunned. Chloe smiles, because she meant what she said and she’s not going to take it back.

“Yeah,” Maze says eventually. “Whatever, Decker.”

She turns around, pulls open the door, and disappears without another word. 


Chloe doesn’t expect there to be many people at John’s retirement party. He’s only been on earth for a week. How many people could he possibly know well enough to invite to a party on such short notice?

A lot, apparently. 

When she first pulls into the park that Lucifer sent her the address for, she’s convinced that there must be another party happening simultaneously. But then she and Trixie get within fifty yards of the picnic shelter, and she sees a Happy Retirement! banner and dozens of cops from the precinct in the crowd. 

“Wow,” Trixie says. “Lucifer’s dad has a lot of friends, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, looking around in wonder. “I guess so.”

“Hey Decker,” Cacuzza says as she stops next to Chloe. She smiles at Trixie. “Hey Trix.”

“Hi!” Trixie says brightly.

Chloe frowns. “Are you here for…?”

“John’s retirement party,” Cacuzza says. “Of course. Wait until you see what the squad all chipped in to get him. He’s going to love it.”

Chloe frowns. “You...what?”

“Oh, shoot, I forgot to sign the card,” Cacuzza says. “I’ll catch you later, Decker.”

She strides away, and Chloe stares after her in bewilderment.

“Mom, since it’s a party do you think there’s cake?” Trixie asks.

“I don’t know, baby,” Chloe says. “But you’ve got a soccer game soon so you probably shouldn’t—”

“Lucifer!” Trixie shrieks. 

She takes off, and Chloe turns her head just in time to see Trixie collide with Lucifer like a small, pigtailed freight train. He stumbles back a step and winces, but when he glances down at the top of her head there’s no mistaking the affectionate smile that tugs on his lips for the briefest of moments before he schools his expression back into exasperation. 

“Yes, hello, offspring,” he says, patting her on the head.

“Sorry we’re late,” Trixie says, tipping her head back to look at him. She’s still got her arms wrapped around him tightly. “Mom and Maze were fighting.”

Lucifer looks up at Chloe with a frown.

“Not physically,” Chloe clarifies. 

Lucifer’s frown deepens. He sets his hands on Trixie’s shoulders and peels her off his leg. He turns her toward the picnic shelter, and bends down to put his mouth by her ear. “You see Dr. Linda over there?”

“Uh huh,” Trixie says. 

“She’s guarding the cake. Tell her I said you can have as much as you like.”

“Okay!” Trixie shouts as she takes off at a sprint. 

“Only one piece, Trix!” Chloe hollers after her. 

Trixie doesn’t acknowledge her. 

Chloe sighs. “She can’t have that much sugar before a game, Lucifer.” 

“The doctor won’t let her have more than one piece,” Lucifer replies, sidling up next to her. “She’s in good hands, Detective.”

He’s probably right, but Chloe gazes after Trixie anyway. She watches as Linda intercepts Trixie at the cake table, and then steers her toward the stroller where Charlie is. The only thing Trixie loves more than cake is Charlie, and Chloe can’t help but smile at the grin on her daughter’s face.

When she finally turns to look at Lucifer, she finds him staring down at her with a mixture of amusement and affection. 

“Hey,” she greets.

“Hello, Detective,” he says with a smile. 

He glances down at her mouth. Chloe considers her options. There are people she works with around. But Lucifer is looking at her lips the same way Dan looks at pudding, and she hasn’t kissed him in, like, five hours. An eternity, really.

She rises up on her toes and kisses him briefly before she can talk herself out of it. When she drops back down to her feet, he looks stunned. 

“I thought PDA was strictly forbidden,” he murmurs.

“At crime scenes,” she says, smiling at him. “But this isn’t a crime scene.”

Lucifer looks pleased, but then his expression darkens. “It might be if I have to listen to one more person sing the praises of dear old John.

Chloe squeezes his arm in sympathy. “Sorry.” She looks out over the crowded party. “Why are there so many people here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lucifer says bitterly. “They all got a taste of his glory.

Chloe spots John fifty yards away. He’s got a crowd around him, and they’re all looking at him the same way Lieutenant Keller did at the precinct. 

“I see that,” she hums.

“Bloody fools,” Lucifer mutters. 

Chloe looks up at him. “You know, this is usually what it’s like to be with you in a crowd.”

Lucifer frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re like a magnet,” Chloe says. “People see you and the rest of us don’t even exist anymore. So I know how you feel.”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “Well you always exist for me, Detective. No matter the size of the crowd or who is in it. I could pick you out of LAX during the holiday rush.”

Chloe blinks at him. She wasn’t fishing for a compliment, but…

“Really?”

“Well of course,” he says. “All I need to do is announce over the public address system that *NSYNC is reuniting and then listen for your deafening scream of joy.”

Chloe sighs. “No one ruins a moment better than you, Lucifer.”

He grins. “Why thank you, darling.”

Chloe rolls her eyes.


When it’s time to leave the party, Chloe can’t find her daughter. 

Trixie isn’t by the cake. She’s not by Charlie, either. Linda has’t seen her, and neither has Amenadiel, and Chloe is starting to worry a little when she finally spots her daughter standing on the edge of a pond beneath a massive tree with John at her side. 

Chloe heads in their direction. She has no intention of eavesdropping, but when she gets within earshot, she slows down at the sound of Trixie’s voice.

“...think it would be pretty cool, you know?”

“I agree,” John says, smiling down at Trixie. “Failing to give dogs the ability to breathe fire was really an oversight on my part. I should have consulted you when creating them.”

Trixie nods solemnly. “It’s okay. Mommy says that everyone makes mistakes, and what matters is what we do after we make the mistake. So next time, just text me.”

Chloe covers her mouth with her hand so she won’t laugh.

John grins. “Your mother is very wise,” he observes.

“Yeah,” Trixie agrees, looking out over the pond. “She’s a good mom. Some of my friends at school are jealous cause she’s way cooler than their moms.”

“She is very cool,” John agrees.

Chloe smiles. She should announce her presence, she knows. But something makes her stay silent. 

John is staring down at Trixie while she stares out across the water. “Is there anything else you’d like to ask me, Trixie?” he asks quietly. “I sense that there’s something you’re holding back.”

Trixie looks down at her feet. “It’s not really a question.”

“What is it then?”

“Maze says that Lucifer gives people favors. Do you do that too?”

“Sometimes. What is it you want?”

Trixie looks up at John. “My mom was really sad when Lucifer was gone. She tried to pretend like she was happy whenever I was around, but I knew she wasn’t. One time I saw her crying when she thought I was asleep. So I tried to sleep with her a lot after that so she wouldn’t be lonely.”

Chloe’s heart shoots up into her throat. Trixie did sleep in her bed quite a bit after Lucifer first left. She said she was having nightmares. It never occurred to Chloe that she might be doing it for her.

“That was very kind of you,” John says with a smile.

Trixie shrugs. “She always makes me feel better when I’m sad. I wanted to make her feel better too.”

“But she’s not sad anymore, is she? She must be very happy now that Lucifer has returned.”

Trixie nods. “Yeah. He’s happy too. Daddy says they’re in love.”

“Do you agree?”

“Oh yeah. Mom smiles a lot. Lucifer stares at her all the time. And I caught them kissing the other day. Mom’s face was so red.”

Chloe’s pretty sure her face is red now, too. 

“And you don’t mind that they’re kissing?” John asks. 

“No way,” Trixie says. “I like Lucifer. He’s great.”

“Yes, he is,” John agrees. 

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. It’s a good thing Lucifer isn’t here. He wouldn’t be able to stay silent after that.

Trixie turns toward John. “So can you let him stay with us?”

John stares down at her. “Is that the favor you’d like to ask?”

“Yeah,” Trixie confirms. “I want him to stay forever so Mommy won’t be sad again.”

“Forever?”

“Yep. I want him to move in with us, and then they can get married and have a big wedding with a big cake and then I can have a little brother like Charlie.”

Chloe chokes and coughs and then clears her throat, and John and Trixie turn in unison to look at her.

“Hi Mommy,” Trixie greets. 

“Hey Monkey,” Chloe says. She walks toward them. “Hi John.”

John smiles at her knowingly, and Chloe knows that he knows she was eavesdropping. “Hello Chloe,” he greets. 

“We’ve got to go, Trix,” she says, looking at her daughter. “Say goodbye to John.”

Trixie lunges at John to hug him. “Bye John. Good job on your retirement.”

John hugs her back. “Thank you, Trixie. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Trixie tilts her head back to look at him. “Will you think about what I said?”

John smiles. “Of course. You have my word.”

Trixie grins. “Cool.” She lets him go, and runs past Chloe. “I’m going to say bye to Charlie!”

Chloe watches her go, and then turns back to John. “I hope she didn’t interrogate you too hard.”

“No, not at all.” He smiles. “I’ve never been asked to put giraffes on Mars before.”

Chloe laughs. “Yeah, she has a thing about Mars. We watched a documentary a few years ago and it really stuck, I guess.”

John’s smile deepens. “She’s wonderful, Chloe. You should be very proud.”

Pride flickers in Chloe’s chest right on cue. “Thanks,” she says. “I am.” She gestures at the parking lot nearby. “She’s got a soccer game, so we’re going to go. But congratulations on your retirement.”

“Thank you. And thanks for coming.”

“Sure. Are you...I mean, Lucifer said you were going to visit his mom. Are you leaving soon?”

John nods. “This evening.”

“Okay. Well if I don’t see you again, it was nice to meet you. Travel safe.” Chloe frowns. “If that’s even a thing for you.”

John smiles. “Thank you, Chloe. It was an honor to meet you as well.”

Chloe smiles and turns away from him. She gets about three feet before she stops. She’s not sure if she’s ever going to see him again. Trixie’s words are echoing in her mind—I want him to stay forever—and all of a sudden there are words of her own welling up in her throat.

When she turns around, John doesn’t look surprised. In fact, he looks like he fully expected her to stop and turn around and say something else. So she does.

“I want it too.”

John tilts his head. “Want what?”

“Lucifer. I want him to stay.” She swallows the fear in her throat, and then shakes her head. “Please don’t take him from me again.”

John studies her. Chloe feels like she’s standing on the edge of an abyss, waiting to see if she’ll be pushed over the edge or pulled back. She never gets to find out. 

“Mom,” Trixie says, sliding her hand into Chloe’s. “Lucifer’s looking for you. He wants to say goodbye.”

Chloe smiles down at her daughter. “Okay. Let’s go.”


Maze is at Trixie’s soccer game.

Chloe doesn’t see her right away. They’re running late, as per usual, so Chloe drops Trixie off and then goes in search of a parking spot. As she walks up to the field, she scans the small bodies running through the grass for her daughter. She spots Trixie’s pigtails pretty quickly and smiles. Maybe she’s biased, but nobody looks cuter in pigtails than her kid. 

She turns her attention to the sideline, hoping that the mom clique won’t spot her and descend like a pack of legging-clad piranhas whose sole mission in life is to find out why she missed the most recent team fundraiser. Maybe if she told them the truth they’d leave her alone. I was hunting a serial killer who cuts vocal cords. But you’re right, Becky, I totally should have let him stay on the streets a little longer so I could talk shit about how Hannah’s mom always forgets to bring gluten-free brownies. 

She finds the clique without much trouble—they’re really into neon athleisure these days—but they don’t see her. They’re huddled together and clearly staring at someone else, and Chloe follows their gaze to see a woman in leather pants and thigh high boots standing alone on the sideline.

Maze.

Chloe makes her way through the grass and stops next to the demon. “Hey Maze.”

“Hey Decker.” She doesn’t take her eyes off Trixie, but she holds out a cardboard cup. “Brought you some coffee.”

Chloe looks down at the cup in surprise. It’s not unheard of for Maze to bring her coffee. She used to do it when they were partners. But Chloe didn’t expect her to do it today. Hell, she didn’t expect Maze to even be here given how abruptly she left.  

“Thanks,” Chloe says, taking the cup. She hesitates. If history is any indication, there’s a pretty good chance there’s more alcohol than coffee in this cup. But it’s Saturday, she’s off work, and she might have to deal with the piranha moms, so maybe a little alcohol isn’t the worst thing in the world. 

She lifts the cup to her lips, and a familiar mix of espresso and caramel hits her tongue. No alcohol. She glances at Maze. Maze continues to ignore her. Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and looks back at the field. She’s pretty sure Maze just said I love you too.

They stand in silence for a moment until Maze says, “What do you know about the other team’s coach?”

Chloe glances across the field at the tall, well-built guy on the opposing team’s sideline. He’s got a sleeve of tattoos on his arm. “Nothing. I’ve never seen him before. Why?”

“He looks sus.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “Sus?”

“Yeah,” Maze says. Her eyes are trailing up the man’s body slowly. “I think I’m going to have to screw him to find out.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Gross.”

Maze finally cracks a smile.


Chloe is drinking tea and reading a book when her phone buzzes. 

She fumbles through the folds of the blanket draped over her legs in search of her phone without taking her eyes off the page. She finally finds it, and glances at the screen. It’s a text from Lucifer.

Are you sleeping?

Chloe snorts. She almost asks him if he’s booty calling her, but she knows he’ll have a field day with that so she doesn’t. She glances up at the clock and then types, It’s only eight on a Saturday. 

And what are you up to so early on a Saturday evening, Detective? he replies almost instantly. 

Chloe smiles. She angles her phone just right and takes a picture of the book in her lap and the mug of tea on her coffee table and then sends it to him. 

Sexy, he replies. 

Don’t make fun.

I wasn’t. The ellipsis stays on the screen, and then another message comes through. Come to Lux. 

Chloe presses her lips together and stares at her phone, her thumbs hovering over the screen. She hasn’t been to Lux since Lucifer got back. Not during prime party time, that is. 

Don’t you have a shindig? she types back. 

His response is so fast she blinks in surprise. I want to see you. The ellipsis appears again, and then there’s a second text almost immediately. Please. 

Chloe blinks at her screen. She can’t remember the last time Lucifer said please. She stares at her phone for a minute or so, agonizing over her answer, and then fires off a response. 

I’ll be there soon.  

Lucifer replies with a series of emojis that probably mean something to him, but are gibberish to her. All she knows is that there are plenty of hearts. She smiles.

And then she realizes that she just said she’d meet her very attractive boyfriend at the hottest club in L.A. and she’s currently wearing a Lakers sweatshirt with ice cream stains. 

Forty minutes later, after she showers, curls her hair just enough to put a wave in it, and applies some makeup, she’s standing in her closet with her hands on her hips and a curse on her tongue. She has nothing to wear. She rifles through her clothes again, wondering whether she should call Maze and ask to borrow something, and then she finds the dress Trixie picked out before family dinner. 

Lucifer’s voice floats across her mind. The only man you’re wearing that dress for is me.

She stares at it for a moment, wondering if she’s that brave, and then yanks it off the hanger. She digs through her piles of boots until she finds a pair of strappy black high heels that she’s pretty sure belong to Maze, and then she gets dressed before she can overthink it.

The whole drive to Lux, she second guesses herself. She’s a homicide detective and a mom who likes to read books and drink tea on Saturday nights. What the hell is she doing in this dress and these shoes, driving to the club? Is she crazy? 

She’s definitely crazy.

I want to see you. Please. 

She parks her car in her usual spot behind Lucifer’s and strides toward the front entrance with a confidence she doesn’t feel. When she gets there, Jake and Rick are guarding the door. The longest line she’s ever seen is stretched down the sidewalk. 

Jake sees her first. His mouth falls open comically wide. 

“Detective Decker,” he chokes. His eyes travel her legs, linger at her chest, and then lift to meet hers. “You look—”

Rick smacks him on the back of the head. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Jake yelps and rubs his head with a frown. 

“Detective,” Rick greets, bowing a little.

Chloe smiles. “Hey Rick.”

“The boss is expecting you.” He winks at her as he moves the velvet rope aside for her. “You look spectacular.”

Jake rounds on him with an indignant look. “Hey, how come you—”

Rick shoots him a look, and Jake immediately goes silent. 

“Have fun,” Rick tells Chloe.

“Be nice,” Chloe replies.

He grins. “I’ll think about it.”

Chloe laughs and heads into the club. She passes half a dozen other staff members she knows on the way toward the main room. They all greet her with smiles. None of them call her by her first name. She wonders if Rick threatened them the way he threatened Jake. 

When she finally gets to the main part of the club, she takes the first flight of stairs down and then stops on the landing above the DJ booth. She rests her hands on the railing and looks out over the crowd of people. The dance floor is filled to capacity, and people are writhing against each other in time with a song Chloe doesn’t recognize. She scans the dance floor, but doesn’t see Lucifer. She shifts her gaze to the bar, and that’s when she sees him. 

He’s leaning against the bar with a glass in his hand. He’s wearing a gray three piece suit that’s tailored extremely well over his chest and broad shoulders. His shirt is a deep navy, and his perfectly arranged pocket square is a stylish pattern of navy and black. 

He’s handsome as hell. 

There are half a dozen women around him. They’re young and beautiful and showing plenty of skin. Lucifer is talking animatedly, and they’re all laughing. One of the girls reaches out to touch Lucifer’s arm as she laughs. Jealousy flickers in Chloe’s chest, but only for a moment—Lucifer gently pulls his arm free, and then shifts away from the woman so that he’s out of her reach. It’s so smooth that no one notices.

But Chloe does. She smiles.

Lucifer glances up at the stairs as if he can sense her smiling at him. He freezes with his glass halfway to his lips when he sees her. His gaze travels slowly over her body. When their eyes finally meet again, the look on his face sparks a sharp ache deep in her body. 

He raises his eyebrows and tilts his head at her, and she knows him so well that she can hear his voice in her mind. You wore my dress, Detective. She lifts her shoulder and smirks in response. He grins. 

He sets his glass down on the bar and pushes through the group of women. They stare after him in confusion, but he doesn’t spare a backward glance. Chloe watches him stride through the crowd, sidestepping at least five people who accost him on the way, all without taking his eyes off her. He gets to the stairs and takes them two at a time, and she lets go of the railing and meets him at the top. 

“Hi,” she greets as he gets to the final step. 

He doesn’t reply. He slides a hand along her waist and grabs her face with the other and yanks her forward. She collides with his chest, and then his mouth is on hers and he’s kissing the hell out of her. 

Desire explodes inside her instantly. She’s one step above him and in heels, so for once she’s a little taller than him. She takes advantage and drapes her arms around his neck, and then threads her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. His hand on her waist slides to the bare skin of her back, and he strokes his fingertips along her spine. His skin is warm, but she shivers and arches and presses even closer to him. He smiles against her lips.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there, making out like teenagers in the middle of his club. She doesn’t really care. It’s hard to care when his tongue is in her mouth and his hand is slipping toward her ass and she can feel him against her. 

Eventually, someone bumps into them on the way down the stairs, and they have to break apart. Lucifer huffs in annoyance and turns to glare over his shoulder. Chloe suddenly remembers where they are and how many people are around, and she leans back. She licks her lips—she can taste his whiskey—and lets out a shaky breath. 

Lucifer turns back to look at her when she lets her arms fall from around his neck. The annoyance on his face evaporates, and he catches her hands and tilts toward her. 

“Detective,” he starts. He doesn’t finish. They stare at each other for a moment. His thumbs stroke over the backs of her hands, and the tension between them spikes again. 

“Hell of a party,” Chloe murmurs, trying to find something to talk about that isn’t how badly she wants him to take this dress off her. “I can see why it’s the hottest club in L.A.”

Lucifer doesn’t reply. His eyes flicker over her face, and then he brushes past her and pulls her after him by the hand.

“Lucifer,” she says in surprise, stumbling after him. “Where are we going?”

He either doesn’t hear her or chooses not to answer. He pulls her up the other set of stairs, and ignores at least three separate people who say hello to him on the way. When they get to the top of the steps, she grabs his arm with the hand that isn’t locked in his. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Upstairs.”

Chloe frowns as he tugs her down the hallway with the elevator that leads to his penthouse. “But what about your party?”

Lucifer slams his index finger on the elevator’s call button repeatedly instead of answering. “Slow as bloody molasses,” he mutters when the doors don’t immediately open.

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, squeezing his hand. “You don’t need to—”

He spins to face her and kisses her before she can finish. Her arms wrap around him without any intentional thought on her part. It’s just a reflex—he’s kissing her like it’s his damn job, and there’s nothing else she can do except kiss him back. When he palms the small of her back and slips his tongue into her mouth, her brain goes fuzzy. She can’t remember what she was going to say.

His other hand strokes down her throat and then cups her chest. There’s no one else in the hallway, but they’re in the middle of a busy nightclub on a Saturday night and anyone could walk by and see them. Chloe’s not usually the type to let herself get felt up in public. Tonight, though, she can’t bring herself to care. 

Desire drills down her spine and she arches into his palm. She grabs at his face, and he kisses her deeper, and then he’s pushing her backward. Her shoulder blades collide with the wall across from the elevator doors a second later, and Lucifer pins her in place with his body. 

He kisses along her jaw and then down to her throat. She tips her head back, and he sucks on her pulsepoint. Chloe expels a sharp breath at the juxtaposition between pleasure and pain. He’s going to leave a mark. She doesn’t care about that either.

Lucifer lifts his mouth to her ear. “If you think,” he whispers, his hands trailing downward along the curved outline of her body, “I’m going to stay at this bloody party while you’re wearing this dress...” 

His fingers curl around her left thigh and he yanks her leg up and around his hip and then thrusts. There are still plenty of clothing layers between them, but she chokes on her breath anyway. 

“You’re mistaken,” he finishes.

His hand slides up her thigh and beneath her dress. His mouth is hot on her neck. The ache between her legs turns into a throb. His hips roll against hers again, and his teeth scrape none too gently over her throat, and his desperation for her is...well, hot. Really hot. 

“Fuck,” she whispers.

He grins into her skin. “That’s the plan, darling.”

She groans at him. 

“Ride’s here,” he murmurs in her ear. He drops her leg, and then curls his fingers around her waist and drags her onto the elevator. 

The doors aren’t even shut before she climbs him like a tree, her nails digging into his shoulders. He pins her against the wall and kisses her like he‘ll never get the chance again. It hasn’t even been a full twenty-four hours since they last did this, but it feels like forever. How did she manage to get through today without ripping his clothes off? How did she go weeks, months, years without kissing him senseless and letting him touch her anywhere and everywhere the way he is right now?

When the elevator finally arrives in the penthouse, her dress is hiked up around her waist and her legs are locked around his hips, the pointed ends of her heels pressing against the backs of his thighs. He carries her into the penthouse. She expects him to head for his bedroom, but he deposits her on top of the piano instead. 

She pulls back from his mouth with a frown. “What are…?”

He grins at her. “Time to fulfill a fantasy of mine.”

She wants him so bad she can’t even think straight, so she doesn’t understand what he means until his hand slides between her legs and his fingers shove aside the lace of her underwear to stroke her. 

“Lucifer,” she gasps. Her hips jerk upward, and she grabs onto his shoulder with one hand and then sets the other behind her to hold herself up. The piano is cool beneath her palm. In the corner of her eye, the L.A. skyline glitters through the darkness. She can’t hear the music of the club. All she can hear is her ragged breathing as his fingers move. 

“Scoot closer to the edge, darling,” he murmurs. She obeys, and when her ass is perched on the very edge of the piano, he slides a finger inside her and curls it just right. 

Her head falls back and she chokes on an embarrassingly desperate sound. She has never—never—wanted someone this bad. She feels like she’s going to combust. 

“Oh it’s even better than I imagined,” he whispers. There’s awe in his voice. His fingers are moving expertly between her legs, and she digs her nails into his shoulder. 

“When?” she gasps. 

“When what, darling?” 

“When did you imagine it?”

“Look at me.” 

She lifts her head to look at him. Her chest is heaving because she’s nearly panting from want. His eyes are dark with desire, and his hair is mussed. He looks like sex personified. 

“The first time we met,” he says. “And every time I saw you after that.”

His thumb rubs a circle over her. Her hips jerk and she whimpers in the back of her throat but she doesn’t look away from him. His eyes darken, and she thinks he’s finally going to give her what she wants, but then he pulls his hand away. She can’t stifle a disappointed moan. 

“Patience, Detective,” he murmurs. 

He latches onto the edges of her underwear on either side of her hips and tugs. She plants both her palms behind her on the piano so she can lift her hips and let him slide them off. Her dress is still gathered high on her waist, so when she drops her hips again, the piano is cool beneath her bare skin. 

Lucifer bends forward, sliding the lace slowly down her legs. When he gets to her high heels, his face lights up. 

“Oh, my,” he murmurs, tossing the lace over his shoulder. He strokes his fingers over the straps that circle her ankles. He lifts his gaze to meet hers and gives her a smile that could only be described as devilish. “I think the heels are staying on, Detective.” 

She’s going to combust. His voice is a purr and there’s a predatory glint in his eyes and holy shit she’s going to combust. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers. There’s a request in her voice, but she doesn’t put it into words. She just opens her legs for him. 

He doesn’t need a second invitation. He licks his lips, and then leans forward to nuzzle the inside of her knee. His tongue flicks out to taste her skin, and a sharp heat starts to coil inside her. She watches as his mouth slowly travels upward along the inside of her thigh. 

“You’re incredible,” he breathes against her skin. 

And then he leans the rest of the way forward, and his tongue strokes slowly between her legs, and Chloe tips her head back and closes her eyes and lets herself get lost in the white-hot climb to oblivion. 


Michael sends a summons as soon as his father is gone.

Do it. 

A reply arrives moments later. 

It’s done.


Dan is drinking a beer and watching the Lakers thrash the Warriors when a memory of Chloe floats unexpectedly across his mind. 

Her wedding dress. The sparkling diamond on her fourth finger, newly joined by a thin platinum band. Her hair pulled back in an elegant updo, her eyes so bright and her smile so beautiful that he forgot to breathe when he saw her at the end of the aisle. He held her so tight during their first dance at the reception that she teased him about it. 

Can you believe we’re married now? she whispers in his memory, her arms draped around his neck as they sway. I’m your wife.

Dan’s IPA suddenly tastes like ash. She’s not his wife anymore. He messed it up. She’s with Lucifer now. 

Lucifer. 

The Devil.

The actual Devil. 

Dan sits up on the couch, the basketball game forgotten. Lucifer is the Devil. He rules Hell and tortures people, and ever since he came into their lives, all he’s done is wreak havoc. He’ll hurt Chloe. He might be on his best behavior now, but once a devil, always a devil. He’ll break her heart, or he’ll get her killed with all his celestial bullshit, and Trixie will grow up without her mother.

Trixie.

What if he hurts Trixie?

Dan gets to his feet. He has to find Chloe.


Penelope Decker is fast asleep at a hotel in Boston, exhausted after a long day signing autographs and posing with cosplaying fans, when her dreams of a shirtless George Clooney morph into dreams of her daughter. 

Mom, Chloe murmurs in the dream. She’s crying—sobbing on her hands and knees—and Lucifer Morningstar is standing over her with eyes like flames and his teeth bared in a snarl. Mom, I need you.  

Penelope wakes with a start and bolts straight up in her bed. She glances at the clock. It’s after one in the morning. She has the urge to go—to get up and catch a cab to the airport and fly to L.A. so she can wrap her daughter in her arms as soon as possible—but it’s one in the morning and Chloe hates when she shows up unannounced.

It’s not that late in L.A., so Penelope reaches for her phone and dials. The voicemail picks up after four rings. 

You’ve reached Detective Chloe Decker, Chloe’s voice says in Penelope’s ear, brisk and businesslike. I can’t answer my phone right now, but leave a message and I’ll call you back. 

“Hey, Pumpkin,” Penelope says after the beep. “It’s Mom. I just had the weirdest dream...” 

Penelope sighs and rubs her face. She can’t stop thinking about that image of Chloe on her hands and knees, Lucifer looming over her like…

Like the Devil. 

“Last time I talked to Trix she said that you and Lucifer have started seeing each other,” Penelope says, even though she knows her daughter hates when she sticks her nose in her love life. “And I just...are you sure that’s a good idea, Pumpkin? Isn’t he kind of...dangerous?”

Penelope doesn’t know what else to say, so she sighs. “I’m going to fly to L.A. in the morning to see you. We need to talk about this. Call me when you get this.”

She hangs up, but the urge to get up and go remains.


Dr. Linda Martin is drinking a glass of wine and smiling as she thinks about how adorable Chloe and Lucifer were at the retirement party when a thought crosses her mind. 

What if Lucifer reverts back to his old self?

She’s spent years getting to know him. She’s helped him become a better version of himself, and although he’s far from perfect, he’s grown by leaps and bounds. She saw it today while she watched him with Chloe. The Devil who used to care only about himself has transformed into a Devil who cares about his partner more than himself. 

But he’s still the Devil. 

And the Devil is dangerous. 

Linda shakes her head and sips her wine. No. That’s not right. Lucifer is a good man. He’s a good friend. She knows him. She knows how much he cares for Chloe. He would never, ever hurt her. His days of self-sabotage—and the havoc they wreaked on Chloe—are behind him. He’s grown. 

But what if she’s wrong? What if he regresses? She’s seen patients do it before. They seem to be doing well, living their best lives as the best versions of themselves, and then something happens that triggers them and they turn into wrecking balls that smash all they’ve built to pieces. 

What if Lucifer smashes Chloe to pieces? He said his invulnerability was back, and Chloe didn’t seem thrilled by that. So what if it’s already happening?

Linda sets her wine glass down and takes a deep breath. She takes her job as a therapist seriously. But she cares more about her friends than her job, and Chloe is her friend. If Lucifer is regressing, then Chloe deserves to know, right?


Maze is disappointed.

The soccer coach is muscular and tattooed and hot but he sucks in bed. If she wants to get off, she’ll have to find someone else to do it for her. Or she could just do it herself.

“Wow,” tattooed but terrible dude breathes from next to her. “That was amazing.”

Maze rolls her eyes and gets out of bed to collect her clothes. She’s not really feeling the self-sufficiency thing tonight, so she’ll need to find somewhere to go and someone to get her off. She remembers Decker saying that Lux was having a massive party to celebrate something or other. Now that Maze is on decent terms with Lucifer again, she could go there. 

She freezes, shirt in hand, as she’s struck by a sudden thought. 

Should she be on decent terms with Lucifer? 

She’s not sure he deserves it. He went back to Hell, and he didn’t take her with him. But more importantly, he left Decker heartbroken. She was a mess while he was gone. Every night her kid was with Dan, she wanted to go out. Maze is always down to go out and have some fun, but Decker...that’s not her. She likes tea and books and boring shit. The only reason she wanted to go out was because Lucifer broke her heart.

He’s back now, of course. He and Decker are finally getting it on, and if the stupid smile on Chloe’s face when she talks about him is any indication, she’s happy. But Maze knows her former boss. He can’t love someone more than he loves himself, not even Chloe Decker. He’s going to break her heart again.

And a good friend would never let that happen.

Maze tugs her shirt on and then reaches for her pants.

“Hey, where are you going in such a hurry?” terrible-in-bed guy asks. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Yeah, I really do.”

“But why?”

Maze grabs her boots and heads for the door without even pulling them on.

“My friend needs me.”


Trixie wakes in a cold sweat, clutching Miss Alien to her chest. 

It’s dark and she just had a nightmare about Lucifer. She’s scared. Tears spill from her eyes. She holds Miss Alien tighter, but there’s only one person who will make her feel better. 

“Mommy.”

Chapter 9: Nine

Notes:

Hey guys :) Hope y'all had lovely holidays, and thanks again for your kind words in my comments.

Chapter Text

Chloe and Lucifer end up in his bed eventually. 

The penthouse is dark, but the city casts enough ambient light through the windows that Chloe can still see. She can hear the thudding of Lucifer’s heart beneath her ear from her position draped over his chest. She likes that. She likes knowing what his heart sounds like. She likes the sound of his deep, even breathing. She likes being in his bed, naked and sated and happy, his silk sheets almost as soft on her skin as his fingertips tracing patterns on her back. 

“I didn’t intend this,” he says. His voice is a rumble through his chest.

Chloe picks her head up. “Hm?”

He looks down at her. “This wasn’t what I intended when I asked you to come here.”

Chloe bends her arm over his chest and rests her chin in the crook of her elbow. “So I wasn’t a booty call?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “Not that I’m complaining. It was extraordinary. And you know I’m always ready and willing.”

“Yeah,” she says with a laugh. “I think you’ve made that pretty clear.”

He smiles. He tangles his fingers in her hair and rubs a strand between his thumb and forefinger. Chloe watches him. His smile fades, and suddenly he looks lost in thought, and maybe a little sad. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, reaching up to coast her fingertips over his stubble. He meets her gaze. “You want to share with the class?”

He swallows. He looks suddenly apprehensive, and she’s opening her mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to share when he speaks.

“There’s a hell loop that looks like Lux.”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “Really?”

He nods. “Some poor sod who cheated on his wife with a woman he used to meet here. The wife followed him here one night and confronted him. Made quite a scene, though I admit I don’t remember it happening in real life.”

“So that’s his hell loop? Being confronted by his wife over and over again?”

“Not all of it. But it starts there.”

Chloe strokes her thumb over his chin. “I’m going to be honest, I’m still a little confused about what, exactly, a hell loop is.”

“It’s a manifestation of guilt. It takes different forms depending on what a person might feel guilty over. Some of them replay a certain moment. Some replay a longer period of time. Some take what you love and turn it against you rather than force you to relive something. It varies, but it’s all designed to torture. To punish.”

Chloe swallows. Hell sounds...horrible. “I guess I thought for most humans it was physical torture. Because Maze talks about it sometimes.”

“There’s that as well,” Lucifer says, brushing his hand through her hair again. “It’s com—” He catches himself before he says complicated. He glances at her, and then looks away quickly. “Hell is complex,” he adjusts. 

Chloe traces her index finger along his clavicle. “So there was a loop with Lux?”

“Indeed.”

“Did you visit it while you were down there?”

“A few times. Until it became too difficult.”

Chloe’s heart aches. “Because you missed home?”

He doesn’t reply. He stares at the strands of her hair woven through his fingers for a long time, and then he finally meets her gaze. 

“The doctor once told me that you could be surrounded by people and still be lonely,” he murmurs. “I felt that in the loop, in that place that looked like home and wasn’t, and I felt it tonight too. All those people downstairs, Detective, they see what they want to see. They see what they want me to be and not what I am. But you don’t. That’s why I asked you to come.”

Chloe’s eyes start to warm. “Because I see you,” she whispers. 

He nods. “I used to imagine you in the loop. I’d look up and see you at the top of the stairs, looking for me. Wanting me despite everything I was. But you never appeared. And then tonight, you did.” 

The relief in his voice makes her ache all the way down to her bones. She leans forward and presses her lips against his because she can’t seem to find her voice. His hand weaves through her hair and holds the back of her head. She closes her eyes tightly against the tears threatening to fall. 

“Anytime, Lucifer,” she whispers. “Anytime you want me, I’ll be here.”

“And if I want you all the time?” he whispers back.

She smiles. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me.”

His hand cups her face, and his thumb strokes over cheek, and then he pushes her gently backward so he can look at her. “I’ve made you upset again,” he murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing. “You’re crying.”

She shakes her head and sniffs. “I’m okay.” She can tell by the look on his face he doesn’t believe her. “I’m fine,” she insists. “I just...hate thinking about it.”

“About what?”

“You being stuck down there for thousands of years. Alone.”

“Well I’m not alone now,” he says, brushing her hair back from her face. He smiles. “And apparently I’m stuck with you.”

“No take-backsies,” she says, smiling too. 

He frowns. “What on earth does that mean?”

“According to Trixie, it means you can’t take something back once you’ve said it.”

“Well why wouldn’t you just bloody say that?”

Chloe rolls her eyes and rolls onto her back to stretch. “Because she’s ten and it’s fun. You’re no fun, Lucifer.”

She knows that’ll get a rise out of him, and it does.

“I beg your pardon?” he says, propping himself up on his elbow. “I am the most fun person you’ve ever met, Detective. If you were to look up fun in the dictionary you would find a picture of this dashing face and a note that says, See also: Lucifer Morningstar.

“Mhmm,” Chloe says, trying to keep a smile at bay. It’s fun to provoke him the way he usually provokes her. He gets so angsty . It’s adorable.

Lucifer looks appalled. “How dare you. I have had more fun in a single evening than you’ve had in your entire life.”

“Drunken orgies aren’t fun,” Chloe says, crinkling her nose. 

He grins at her. “Well how do you know if you’ve never tried, hm?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not happening. Not ever.”

Lucifer hums in the back of his throat but doesn’t argue. He falls back on the bed with a contented sigh and stretches. 

Chloe casts a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. An old, familiar fear flickers in her chest. Will he want that someday? Will he want her to be more...adventurous? And if she’s not adventurous enough, will he get sick of her?

“Speaking of fun evenings,” Lucifer says, oblivious to her concerns, “I want you to know I haven’t forgotten.”

Chloe turns her head to look at him. “Forgotten what?”

“That I owe you a date.”

“You don’t owe me a date, Lucifer.”

“Poor choice of words on my part.” He rolls toward her. “All I meant is that we haven’t yet been on an official first date, and I intend to rectify that. I’m in the midst of planning a spectacular one as we speak.”

“You are?”

“Yes, of course. I know you’ve been patient already, but I need you to be patient a little longer. I want it to be special.”

Chloe reaches out to stroke her fingers over his jaw. “It’ll be special as long as we’re together.” 

“Well that’s very sweet, Detective. But it’s also patently absurd.”

Chloe blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“As you said, it’s taken quite a bit for us to get here. We’re incredible. Don’t you think our first date should be incredible too?”

“Well, yeah. But you don’t need to stress out about it. I’m not hard to please.”

He grins wickedly. “Oh, yes, I think we’ve established that. All it takes is my admittedly talented tongue on your—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off, flushing a little. “That wasn’t an innuendo.”

“Well not until I made it one, darling. That’s kind of my jam.” 

He leans toward her, and his palm slides across her stomach. His skin is warm. His thumb strokes over her navel, and her body responds immediately. Which, okay, that’s absurd. She really shouldn’t be ready to yank him on top of her again already. 

Lucifer is grinning at her like he knows what she’s thinking. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed about how much you enjoy my skills.” 

Chloe scoffs. “I’m not.”

“You’re blushing, Detective.” 

“Well because it’s not...I mean, I don’t…”

“It’s alright,” he purrs, his thumb stroking over her skin again. “I understand. All your exes were terrible at oral sex, so you were under the illusion that it’s overrated. And then you met me, and now you know it is very much not overrated.”

Chloe has no idea what to say to that. Her exes weren’t terrible, but they weren’t...well, they weren’t Lucifer. But there’s no way she’s going to feed his already massive ego and admit that he rocked her world out on that piano. 

“What I was trying to say,” she says, putting her hand over his just in case he gets any ideas and tries to slide it any lower, “was that you don’t need to go all Lucifer on this first date thing.”

“All Lucifer?” he repeats, his eyebrows furrowing.

“No billboards on Sunset. Or stripper grams. Or...you know. Other you stuff.”

“Billboards and strippers are not on the itinerary, I assure you.”

“What is on the itinerary?”

“Well you’ll just have to wait and see,” he says, smiling. He looks very pleased with himself, and she can’t decide if it’s adorable or if she should be worried. 

He leans toward her. “In the meantime,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking down toward her mouth, “we should practice.”

Heat flares in her body. “Practice what?”

“Dating.”

She laughs at that. “You know, some people would say we’ve been dating without dating for years now. I don’t think we need to practice.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledges. “But I’d like to see you in that exquisite dress again. Sooner rather than later.”

“You just want to take it off me again.”

He grins. “Guilty.” 

And then he leans forward and kisses her. He lingers, his lips moving slowly over hers. It’s lazy, the exact opposite of the kisses that brought them up here in the first place, and she sinks into it. She loves this. She loves him. 

She slips her arm around him and rakes her nails gently up his back. A low rumble of pleasure echoes in his chest, and she makes a mental note of it. She’ll have to see how he reacts if she does this when they’re in the middle of everything. 

“Put the dress back on,” he says into her mouth. “Let me take you to dinner and then bring you home and we can do this all over again.”

“Sounds nice,” she murmurs. “But isn’t it a little late for dinner?”

He leans back to look at her. “Are you hungry?”

She thinks about it. “I could eat.”

“Then I’ll buy you dinner.”

“But who’s going to be open for dinner this late?”

“You let me worry about that.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to call in a favor, aren’t you?”

He smiles instead of answering. 

“You don’t have to waste your favors on me, you know.”

He leans back even farther from her, an affronted look on his face. “Waste? ” he says incredulously. 

“I’m just saying.”

“It’s not a waste, Detective. You’re more than worth it. I want to use my favors on you. It brings me pleasure.” 

She smiles. “Well if it pleases you…”

He grins and ducks forward to kiss her again. It’s a lot less lazy this time. She tilts toward him. He’s so damn good at this. He’s had plenty of practice, she knows, but she doesn’t feel like that when he kisses her. She doesn’t feel like she’s just another woman in a long line of them. She feels like she’s the only one who exists. 

His hand on her stomach starts to dip lower, his fingertips ghosting over her skin and toward—

“Okay, okay, wait,” she says, grabbing his wrist even though she very much liked where he was headed. “If we don’t stop now we’re not getting out of this bed.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind that,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

She grins. “Yeah, me neither. But do you want me in that dress again or not?”

He seems to genuinely think about it, and then he says, “I want that very much.” 

“Well then get moving,” she says, pushing against his chest. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but the sound of the elevator chiming cuts him off. 

Chloe frowns. “Were you expecting someone?”

Lucifer frowns too. “No.”

“Mr. Morningstar?” a male voice calls. 

Chloe clutches the sheet to her chest. “Who is that?

“Don’t worry, darling,” Lucifer says soothingly. “It’s just Carlos. He won’t step off the elevator.” He twists in bed toward the entryway to his bedroom. “What is it, Carlos?” 

“The L.A. Times reporter is asking for you, sir,” Carlos replies. “She says she was promised pictures of you at the piano.”

“Oh,” Lucifer sighs. His eyebrows furrow. “I forgot about that.”

“Go,” Chloe says. “I’ve kept you from the party long enough.”

“I’m not returning to that party,” Lucifer insists. “I’m taking my girlfriend to dinner.”

Chloe couldn’t keep a smile from her lips if she tried. Maybe someday hearing Lucifer call her his girlfriend won’t make her smile like an idiot. But not today.

“Okay,” she says. “How about you put your suit back on and go serenade your adoring fans for the camera, and I’ll meet you down there in ten minutes?”

Lucifer smiles. “Well I suppose that’s acceptable.” He flings the sheets off and gets out of bed in all his naked glory, and Chloe stares. She can’t help it. 

 “I’ll be there shortly, Carlos!” he hollers as he walks around the bed toward his closet. 

“Yes sir,” Carlos calls back.

Lucifer glances over his shoulder at Chloe, and then double takes when he sees her staring. He stops and turns around. “Like what you see, darling?”

“Yeah,” she says bluntly. 

He grins. He closes the distance between them, plants his palms on the bed, and bends forward to kiss her. She threads her fingers through the hair on the back of his head and kisses him back. 

“So do I,” he murmurs. 

“If you’re talking about seeing yourself in the mirror I’m going to punch you.” 

He laughs. “I wasn’t, actually. But that’s also true.” 

“Of course it is.” 

He leans back to look at her. His eyes flicker over her face. “I think you’re beautiful, Detective.” 

There’s reverence in his voice, and warmth floods through Chloe’s veins. 

Lucifer grins. “Especially when you’re writhing in pleasure on top of my piano.”

“And there it is,” Chloe sighs. She pushes on his chest. “Go get your photo shoot over with, you cocky jerk.”

“You’ll meet me downstairs?”

“Yes. Go.” 

He smiles at her like a kid on Christmas morning. He kisses her one last time and then heads for his closet, whistling as he goes. 

Chloe stares after him, warmth still circulating through her body. She knows they’re in the honeymoon phase. It won’t last forever. It might not even last all night, knowing their history. But she doesn’t care. Lucifer is here instead of in Hell, and they’re together. 

Finally.


Chloe doesn’t realize she missed a call from her mom until she checks her phone on her way downstairs to meet Lucifer. 

She slows to a stop halfway to the elevator and frowns at her screen. Why is her mom calling her so late on a Saturday night? Especially when she’s in Boston for a convention. It’s the middle of the night there. 

Concern flickers in Chloe’s chest. She opens her voicemail and lifts her phone to her ear. 

“Hey, Pumpkin,” her mom’s voice says on the other end of the line. “It’s Mom. I just had the weirdest dream…”

She sighs, and Chloe frowns. Is her mom calling her because she had a nightmare?

“Last time I talked to Trix she said that you and Lucifer have started seeing each other,” she continues.  

There it is, Chloe thinks. She should’ve known this was about her love life. Her mom has been sticking her nose in Chloe’s love life since she was thirteen and had her first (sort of) boyfriend. She still rattles off stories about divorced couples who got remarried to each other, and then very innocently says, So how’s Dan?  

Chloe is rolling her eyes when her mom says, “And I just...are you sure that’s a good idea, Pumpkin? Isn’t he kind of...dangerous?”

Chloe goes still. Dangerous? Why does she think Lucifer is dangerous?

“I’m going to fly to L.A. in the morning to see you,” her mom forges on. “We need to talk about this. Call me when you get this.”

The call ends. Chloe lowers the phone from her ear and frowns at it. What the hell was that? 

The elevator pings, and Chloe glances up. 

Maze strides off the elevator, her jaw set in determination. She stops short when she sees Chloe. 

“Decker,” she says. It almost sounds like a sigh of relief. And then her eyebrows lift and her eyes rake over Chloe’s body. “You look hot.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says. She slides her phone into her clutch next to her badge and clips it closed. She’ll deal with her mom later. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

Chloe frowns. “Me? Why?”

Maze folds her arms over her chest. “We need to talk.”

“Now?” 

“Yeah.” 

Chloe shakes her head. “Now’s not really a good time, Maze. Lucifer and I are about to—”

“It’s about Lucifer.”

“Oh.” Chloe tilts her head. “What’s wrong?”

Maze crosses the room and puts her hands on Chloe’s shoulders. Chloe stiffens. The last time they stood like this, Maze kissed her. She’s not entirely sure if that’s Maze’s intention this time—she looks serious, but not in a Let’s make out way. More like a This is life or death so I need you to listen to me way. 

“Lucifer is the Devil,” Maze says slowly. 

For a second, Chloe is at a loss for words. She just stands there, her eyebrows lifted and her mouth open in surprise. 

“Um,” she finally says. “Yeah. I’m aware of that, Maze.”

“No,” Maze says, shaking her head. “You think you know what that means, but you don’t. You don’t know what he’s capable of. The things he’s done.”

Chloe frowns and shrugs out of Maze’s grip. “What are you talking about? I don’t care what he’s done.”

“You don’t care? ” Maze says in disbelief. “You, the cop who follows all the rules and would sacrifice your life for literally anyone just because you’re so damn good, doesn’t care about all the terrible shit your boyfriend has done?”

“I mean, I care,” Chloe says. “I just...I don’t think our past decisions define us. Just because Lucifer used to be something doesn’t mean he still is. We all have a past, Maze.”

Maze snorts. “Your past is getting naked on camera and marrying a douche. Lucifer’s past is different.”

Chloe bristles. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means he’s the King of Hell, Decker. He tortures people. He hurts them.”

“Yeah but he didn’t want to do that. It was a job. He was forced to do it.”

Maze laughs. “Is that what he told you? I was down there with him. I know what I saw. And trust me, he enjoyed it.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No.”

“Yes. Decker, come on. Think about it. You’re telling me you’ve never seen him get a little too rough with someone? You’ve never seen him hurt somebody and enjoy it?”

Chloe wants to say no. She really does. But she can’t. 

“I’ve seen you do that too,” she says instead. “You’re not exactly the poster child for nonviolent restraint, Maze.”

“Yeah except you’re not in love with me, are you?”

That stops Chloe short. She folds her arms over her chest. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” Maze says, stepping closer, “is that he’s not good for you. He’s the opposite of good for you. And he’s bad news for Trixie, too.”

Chloe blinks at her, stunned. And then she frowns and looks closer. There’s something different about Maze’s eyes. They’re...blue and silver? No. They’re brown, still, but there’s a flicker every once in a while, and it makes her eyes look almost like stars. 

“Are you wearing special contacts?” Chloe asks.

“What?” Maze says incredulously. “No. Decker, focus. I’m trying to tell you something.”

“Yeah, you’re trying to tell me to break up with Lucifer.”

Maze grins. “Oh, good. You do get it. Great. Let’s get out of here.” 

She grabs Chloe’s wrist and tugs, but Chloe stands her ground and pulls her arm free.

“No. Not great, Maze. I’m not breaking up with him.”

The smile drops from Maze’s lips. “You said we were friends.”

“We are friends. But I don’t—”

“Friends don’t let friends do stupid shit,” Maze interrupts. “And trust me, Decker, fucking the Devil is stupid and it’s not going to end how you want it to.”

Frustration flares in Chloe’s chest. “It’s not just fucking, Maze. It’s—”

“It’s what?” Maze demands. “What, exactly, do you think this is going to turn into? You think he’s going to give up Lux and this penthouse and move in with you and Trixie? You think he’s going to get down on one knee and then you guys can live happily ever after with little devils running around?”

“I don’t know what it’s going to turn into,” Chloe says, trying to keep her voice even. “That’s something Lucifer and I are going to have to figure out together, just like we’ve figured everything else out.”

“Oh you did all the rest together, huh? So he asked for your opinion before he flew down to Hell and left me to pick up the pieces?”

“Maze—”

“He doesn’t love you, Chloe.”

The words hang in the air, brash and awful. Chloe feels a familiar fear wrap around her throat like a vise. Voices whisper in the back of her mind—he’ll leave you again he doesn’t love you he’ll get bored you’re not enough—but Chloe steels herself against them.

“You’re wrong,” she says quietly. She doesn’t know if she’s talking to Maze or the voices, but it doesn’t matter. They’re all wrong. 

Maze shakes her head. “No I’m not. You’ve known him for, what, a few years? I’ve known him for millennia. The only person Lucifer Morningstar is capable of loving is himself. He can’t love you, Chloe. And he doesn’t.”

For a long moment, they stare each other down. Chloe is desperately hoping that any second now, Maze is going to burst out laughing and say Got you! because this is some kind of stupid prank that her weird demon sense of humor thinks is funny. But Maze doesn’t crack a smile. She’s never looked so serious. 

The reality of the situation hits Chloe like a suckerpunch. Maze is serious. She wants Chloe to break up with Lucifer.

Anger flares in her chest. She lifts her chin in defiance. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Maze, but I think you should go.”

“I’m not leaving,” Maze says. And then she tilts her head. “Actually, you know what? You’re right. I should go. And you’re coming with me.”

She grabs Chloe’s wrist and tugs her toward the elevator.

“No,” Chloe says, trying to yank her arm back. But Maze tightens her hold, and her fingers are like steel. Chloe tries to pull away again, but her wrist twists painfully in Maze’s grip.

She winces. “Maze, let go. You’re hurting me.”

Maze looks over her shoulder. “This is for your own good, Decker. You’re my friend, and I have to protect you. Even if it means I have to protect you from yourself.”

Her eyes are cold and determined, and fear pulses in Chloe’s chest. She wishes she had her gun. But what would she do if she did? Shoot her friend? 

“Maze, please,” she says. “Please let me go.”

Maze shakes her head. “I can’t, Decker. We’re not partners, anymore, but I’ve still got your back. You’ll thank me one day.”

She yanks Chloe after her and toward the elevator. Chloe tries to plant her feet, but her high heels slide over the polished floors. She pulls on her arm, but Maze is too strong. Chloe can feel her shoulder straining in its socket. She’s going to dislocate her own arm before she gets out of Maze’s grasp.

And then the elevator doors open and Lucifer appears. 

Maze freezes.

Chloe stumbles to a stop behind her and then exhales in relief. “Lucifer.”

“Well there you are,” Lucifer says, throwing up his hands. “And you say I take forever to get ready.” And then he notices Maze’s hand around Chloe’s wrist, and he frowns. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” Maze snaps. “Decker and I are leaving.”

“I’m not going with you, Maze,” Chloe says. “Let me go.”

“No.”

Chloe casts a glance at Lucifer. Maze’s grip is hurting her again. 

Lucifer straightens as if he can read her mind. He steps forward. “Let her go, Mazikeen.”

“Don’t get in my way, Lucifer,” Maze snarls. “I’d hate to kick your ass again.”

Lucifer smirks. “Oh is that how you remember it?” 

“I remember your daddy saving your ass before I was finished with you,” Maze shoots back.

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “Let the Detective go, Mazikeen. Now.” 

The last word thunders through the penthouse with all the authority of a king. Maze lets go of Chloe’s wrist, but Chloe doesn’t get a chance to feel relieved. A metallic glint flashes through the air, and suddenly Maze has her curved knives in her hands. 

“You can have anyone you want, Lucifer,” Maze snarls. “But you can’t have her.”

Lucifer tilts his head. A smirk plays over his lips. “Are you in love with my girlfriend?” 

Maze scoffs. “You’re not even in love with your girlfriend.” She sets one foot in front of the other, lifts her arms into a fighting stance, and spins her knives. “I won’t let you torture my friend.”

“Torture?” Lucifer repeats. He glances at Chloe, a question in his eyes.

She shakes her head. “I didn’t—”

“Over my dead body, Lucifer,” Maze interrupts.

Lucifer’s eyes flash. “Oh, that can be arranged.”

He charges at Maze before Chloe can say a word. Maze charges too. Her knives flash as her arms fly through the air so fast they look like blurs. Lucifer ducks and bobs and then catches one of her arms. He lifts a knee toward her ribs, but Maze twists free and then backhands him across the face. Lucifer stumbles and then rights himself immediately. 

Chloe lunges forward and intercepts him before he can go after Maze again. “Lucifer.” 

“Back off, Decker,” Maze calls. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then cut it out,” Chloe says, glaring over her shoulder. 

“No, she’s right,” Lucifer says. Chloe turns toward him with a frown. He sweeps her toward the piano as if she’s a child. “Stay back, Detective.”

He tries to start toward Maze again, but Chloe digs her fingers into his arm. “No, Lucifer, wait. You can’t hurt her.” 

Lucifer looks at her over his shoulder. “What?”

“There’s something wrong with her.”

“Oh, there’s plenty wrong with her,” Lucifer sneers, shooting a glare at Maze.

“No, I mean there’s something wrong with her. Her eyes are...I don’t know, they’re weird. This isn’t her. She isn’t—”

Lucifer’s left hand shoots up, and he catches one of Maze’s blades an inch before it buries itself in his temple. 

Maze,” Chloe gasps, turning to look at her in shock. 

Maze ignores her. “Come on, Lightbringer,” she taunts, motioning Lucifer toward her. “Why don’t you show Decker some of that wrath you’re famous for back home?”

Lucifer snarls. He wrenches free of Chloe’s gasp and strides toward Maze. It’s his turn to slash at Maze with one of her curved knives. She ducks and dodges just like he did, slashing back with the blade she’s still got, and they twist and turn across the penthouse in a violent dance. All Chloe can do is watch, her heart in her throat. She can tell Lucifer is holding back, but Maze isn’t. She’s giving him everything she’s got. 

They’re next to the couch when Lucifer lands a hard punch to her ribs. She doubles over, and he catches her around the throat and lifts her into the air. 

“You come into my house,” he spits, his eyes flashing red, “and touch my Detective, and you think this will end well for you? You’re lucky she’s asked for mercy on your behalf.”

Maze pulls her arm back and buries her knife in his forearm with a snarl. Lucifer roars in pain and drops her. Maze lands on the brand new glass coffee table, and it shatters into a million pieces beneath her. Lucifer turns away from her, staggering toward the bar with his arm cradled to his chest. 

Chloe darts forward. “Lucifer,” she says, grasping at his shoulder.

He shakes his head. “Fine.”

“You have a knife in your arm.”

He rips it out and it clatters onto the floor, stained with his blood. He clamps his hand onto the wound. “Not anymore,” he says, looking up at her with a grin.

Chloe covers his hand with hers and presses down to apply pressure. She glances around for something to put over the wound—a towel, a spare shirt, anything—but there’s nothing. “Damn it,” she mutters.

“You need to go, Detective.”

Chloe snaps her gaze up to meet his. “No way. I’m not leaving you.”

“Only one of us can fight a demon,” Lucifer points out, wincing when she presses harder on his arm. “And I do it much better when I’m invulnerable and not worried about you.”

“He’s right,” Maze says. Chloe glances over her shoulder. Maze is standing where the coffee table used to be, and as she steps over the bent metal frame, glass crunches beneath her boots. 

“You don’t belong in our world, Decker. You’re too fragile.”

Rage whips through Chloe’s blood, hot and furious. She lets go of Lucifer’s arm and steps between him and Maze. “Why don’t you come a little closer and I’ll show you how fragile I am, Maze.”

Maze smirks. “I like your spunk, Decker. Always have. But like I said before, I’m not interested in hurting you.” She pulls another knife—this one long and straight and lethal-looking—out of god-knows-where in her bustier. “Now move.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No.”

Behind her, the elevator pings. 

Maze smirks. “Then I’ll have them move you.”

Chloe turns around just in time to see half a dozen people pour out of the elevator. She knows all of them from work. Cacuzza is at the front of the group. 

“Decker,” she says, the same relieved sigh in her voice that Maze had earlier. “Thank God.”

Lucifer huffs. Cacuzza glares at him as she strides toward Chloe. Lucifer frowns, probably because Cacuzza has always been one of his biggest fans. 

“Deal with him,” Cacuzza says to the other cops over her shoulder. And then she grabs Chloe by the arm. “It’s okay, Decker. You’re safe now.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Back off,” Hamilton says, stepping into Lucifer’s space. 

“I beg your pardon?” Lucifer says.

Robbins appears on Chloe’s other side, his fingers wrapping around her arm. “Come on, Detective. We’re going to get you out of here and away from him.”

Chloe twists in his grasp. “I don’t want to be away from him.”

Lucifer is suddenly there, his hand on Cacuzza’s shoulder. “I’m only going to ask once, Cacuzza,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. His hand tightens on her shoulder. “Unhand the Detective.”

Cacuzza whimpers and lets go of Chloe as she buckles under Lucifer’s grip. 

Lucifer shifts his attention toward Robbins, who reaches for his sidearm with a glare.

“Seriously?” Chloe demands, grabbing his hands before he can pull it out. 

And then Maze is slamming into Lucifer like a linebacker, and they fly backward and smash straight into the piano. The instrument collapses beneath them with a deafening crash. 

“Go!” Maze shouts over her shoulder from on top of Lucifer. “Get her out of here!” And then she turns back to Lucifer and pulls her arm back to punch him. 

Robbins tightens his hold on Chloe and tugs her toward the elevator. “Let’s go, Detective.”

Chloe grits her teeth. “I said no.” 

She lifts her foot and stomps her high heel down onto the top of Robbins’s foot. He yelps in pain, and Chloe shoves the heel of her hand straight up into his nose. Blood explodes from his nostrils, and he clutches his face with an agonized scream. 

Finally free of his grip, Chloe turns around. Cacuzza is rising again, and the four other cops are standing behind her like they’re posing for a superhero movie poster. 

“Don’t make me hurt you, Cacuzza,” Chloe says, lifting her fists.

Cacuzza shakes her head. “Five against one, Decker. I like my odds.”

Chloe smirks. “So do I.”

Cacuzza reaches for her. Chloe dodges the grab and catches her wrist. She yanks hard, and Cacuzza stumbles forward and past her. Chloe twists her arm behind her back and then shoves, and Cacuzza’s shoulder pops out of socket with a sickening crack. She yells in pain as her knees buckle and she hits the floor.

Chloe feels briefly guilty until another pair of hands wraps around her shoulders. She ducks and spins, and then shoots back up and brings her fist crashing across the face of Hamilton. He staggers away from her. Karpowski is right behind him, and Chloe kicks him squarely in the chest. He goes flying backward and takes out the two cops behind him like a bowling ball. 

Chloe glances toward the demolished piano. Lucifer and Maze are standing in the middle of the wreckage, trading punches and snarling at each other. Lucifer’s face is bloody, and there’s a gash along his thigh where his gray suit is stained crimson. 

Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat, but she doesn’t have time to worry. The three cops in front of her are struggling to their feet. The first one up is Nixon. 

He steps forward and grins at her, his eyes raking over her body. 

“Nice dress, Decker,” he says, leering at her. “You look almost as good as you did coming out of that hot tub.”

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Chloe mutters. 

She grabs an abandoned whiskey glass from the bar to her left and hurls it at him. He lifts his arms to shield his face, and the glass shatters against his forearms. By the time he drops his arms, Chloe is in front of him. She swings her fist across his unprotected jaw. Pain explodes in her knuckles, but she ignores it and lifts her other fist to punch him a second time. 

Nixon sways from the force of the combo and then staggers backward. Arms wrap around Chloe from behind, locking her arms at her sides. Another cop—Jenkins this time—strides toward her from the front. 

“This is for your own good, Decker,” Jenkins says, her hands in the air. “Stop fighting. We’re here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Chloe snaps. She leans backward, using whoever’s behind her for leverage and balance, and kicks both her feet out and straight into Jenkins’s chest so that the cop flies backward.

Chloe’s heels land on the floor with a dull thunk, and she bends forward to try to keep her balance. The weight of the person behind her is too much, though. Gravity pulls at them, and Chloe tucks her head and rolls. She lands on her back and on top of whoever is behind her. She twists, wrenching her arm free, and then sends her elbow shooting backward. Whoever is beneath her exhales a sharp gasp in her ear and their grip loosens.

Chloe scrambles to her feet and glances down. Hamilton is wheezing on the ground at her feet. Jenkins and Karpowski are headed her way. She grabs the closest weapon she can find—a tall bottle of very expensive whiskey—and brandishes it like a baseball bat. 

Jenkins and Karpowski slow down.

“Easy,” Jenkins says.

“Come on, guys,” Chloe says. “Don’t make me do this. Just leave us alone.”

Karpowski holds his hands up placatingly. “I know you think you love him, Decker. But love doesn’t hurt.”

Chloe frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”

Before either of them can answer her, Maze flies through the air behind them. The demon’s body slams into the wall of liquor bottles behind the bar with a crash so loud Chloe thinks she might end up partially deaf. 

Jenkins and Karpowski flinch and turn toward the sound. Chloe seizes her chance. She smashes the whiskey bottle on Karpowski’s head, and then shoves Jenkins’s head into the bar. They fall onto the floor, unconscious, in almost perfect unison. 

For a moment, everything is finally still. Chloe’s ears are ringing from the sound of breaking glass. She glances out over the wrecked penthouse and sees Lucifer standing by the demolished piano, his chest rising and falling faster than normal as he sways unsteadily on his feet. Their eyes meet.

Chloe lunges toward him. Lucifer stumbles toward her, tripping over a jagged corner of the piano, and Chloe catches him as he tilts forward. He grasps her shoulders for balance, steadies himself, and then immediately puts his hands on her face. 

“Are you okay?” he rasps, his voice cracking. “Did they hurt you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay. Are you okay?” 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

She glances down at his leg where the gash is, and then up at the cut on his face. The wound in his forearm from Maze’s knife is leaking, splattering crimson droplets on the floor between Chloe’s high heels. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes, her throat suddenly tight.

“I’m fine, darling.”

“You’re bleeding in like eight places.”

“Yes, I tend to do that when you’re around.” He glances past her, probably at her colleagues, who she left in various states of unconsciousness and pain. “Something is wrong.”

“Yeah, you think?” Chloe says. “This has celestial craziness written all over it.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I don’t think this is divine.”

“Then what—”

The sound of more glass breaking echoes through the penthouse. Chloe turns toward the sound. Maze is getting to her feet slowly behind the bar. 

“Shit,” Chloe exhales. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. Chloe turns to look at him. “I need to talk to Mazikeen. I need to determine what all this is about. She’ll tell me what she knows, but only if you aren’t here.”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I told you, I’m not afraid to see your dark side. So if you want to interrogate Maze—”

“It’s not about that,” he cuts her off impatiently. “Whatever’s happening, it’s clearly about you. These people want to keep you away from me. We can buy ourselves time by giving them what they want.” 

“Lucifer—”

He lifts his hand to her face. “It’s only temporary, love. You can slip out of this club without anyone stopping you, but not if I’m at your side. We don’t know who else will come here looking for you, and I need to be invulnerable. This is the only way. You have to leave me.”

Love, Chloe thinks. He called me love. But she can’t dwell on it. Behind her, glass is crashing to the ground. She glances over her shoulder and sees Maze climbing slowly over the bar. 

“Not dead yet, Lucifer,” Maze calls.

“Go,” Lucifer says to Chloe. “I’ll meet you at our beach. Go.

Chloe hesitates. She doesn’t want to leave him, but he’s right. If she goes, she’ll draw away anyone else who might come trying to “save” her. And if they’re apart, he’ll be invulnerable. He’ll heal. 

She grabs his face and kisses him hard, just for a second, because she can’t help it. 

“I love you,” she whispers. 

And then she bolts for the elevator, stopping only to scoop her clutch off the floor so that she has her car keys. 

The elevator doors are still open. Chloe slips inside and slams her finger on the button for the main level. 

“Not so fast, Decker!” Maze shouts. 

Chloe slams her finger against the door button repeatedly. “Come on, come on,” she mutters.

The elevator doors start to close. Maze is sprinting toward the elevator, a determined glint in her eye, but Lucifer cuts her off. He tackles her, and they slam into the floor. The doors are closing, but Chloe keeps pressing the button anyway. They’re almost closed completely when an arm slips through the gap and stops them. 

The doors shudder and slide open again, and Chloe finds herself face to face with Nixon.

His bottom lip is a bloodied mess from their last encounter. “Hey Decker,” he says with a grin. There’s blood staining his teeth. 

He lunges at her. Chloe tries to swing at him, but he blocks her and wraps his hand around her throat. He shoves her backward and she chokes, her heels slipping on the elevator floor until her back slams hard against the elevator wall. 

Back in the penthouse, Lucifer roars her name. Chloe glances over Nixon’s shoulder and sees Lucifer, his eyes alight with rage, trying to scramble after her. Maze catches his foot and yanks, and he smacks onto the floor. 

The doors slide closed before Lucifer can get to his feet. The elevator starts to descend. Chloe claws at Nixon’s fingers around her throat. She can’t breathe.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Nixon asks, pressing himself up against her and dipping his head toward hers.

Chloe turns her face away from his. Nausea wells up in her throat. She can feel him. 

“Came to save you from the Devil,” he whispers to her, his breath hot on her cheek. “What do you think my reward should be?”

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what he thinks it should be, and Chloe sees red. She lifts her right arm, thrusts it down across Nixon’s, and sends her elbow rocketing backward into his face. He stumbles back from her with a cry of pain, blood flowing from his nose. 

Chloe follows him, adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She grabs his shoulders, pulls him forward, and then slams her knee into his groin. 

“How’s that for a reward?” she snarls.

Nixon’s eyes bulge. His hands drop from his bloodied nose to grab his crotch. He falls to his knees, still holding himself as his face turns a brilliant shade of purple. He chokes on a strangled sound, and then he collapses at her feet.

“Dick,” Chloe mutters. 

She bends over to grab her clutch from the floor where she dropped it, and then brushes off her dress in disgust. The elevator doors slide open and she strides off, leaving Nixon on the floor in the fetal position.

She’s rounding the corner out of the hallway and into the club when she runs into someone’s chest. She steps back in surprise, and comes face to face with Rick. 

“Detective,” he says. His eyes flicker over her, but not like Nixon’s did. He seems to be checking to see if she’s okay. “I was just on my way up to see you.”

Warning sirens blare in the black of Chloe’s mind. “You were?”

Rick reaches out to touch her arm. “Are you all right?” 

Chloe wants to ask him why she wouldn’t be all right and what the fuck is wrong with everyone, but he has the same look on his face that all her colleagues did right before they tried to forcibly remove her from Lucifer’s presence. Given the adrenaline that’s coursing through her veins, she’s pretty sure she could take Rick without much trouble. But she doesn’t know who else is coming behind him, and she can’t afford to waste time. The faster she gets away from Lucifer, the faster he’s invulnerable and starts to heal. That’s all that matters.

Which means she’s going to have to sell this.

“I’m fine,” she says. She brushes her hand over her dress like she’s trying to dust off something disgusting, and then she straightens her shoulders like she’s pissed as hell. “And I’m sorry, Rick, but I don’t think you’ll be seeing me around here anymore.”

Rick frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Because I just dumped your boss,” Chloe snaps. “He’s upstairs with some other woman. More than one, actually.” She gestures at her dress. “Do I look like the kind of woman who puts up with that shit?”

Rick smiles. “No, Detective. You don’t.”

“Because I’m not,” Chloe replies. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other places to be.”

She brushes past him, hoping and praying that he isn’t going to pull a Nixon or, even worse, a Maze.

“Detective,” Rick calls out after her. 

Chloe freezes. She takes a deep breath, and then turns around. “Yeah?”

Rick smiles. “It’s his loss. You’re better off without him.”

Chloe’s heart twists in her chest. No, I’m definitely not, she thinks.

But she pastes a smile on her face and nods. “Thanks, Rick.”

And then she turns and walks as fast as she can out of the club, her hands curled into fists and her eyes blurred with tears.

Chapter 10: Ten

Notes:

Guys there is so much ouch in this chapter, I am SO sorry. (That’s not even true. I’m not sorry at all. It will all be worth it in the end, I promise.)

Chapter Text

Maze is unconscious. 

Lucifer stands in the den of his mansion in Hollywood Hills, affixing cufflinks to the clean suit he recently put on, and stares at the demon slumped and chained to a chair in the middle of the room.   

She is bloodied and bruised. She looks terrible. She looks like she was interrogated by the Devil.    

He’s not sorry. 

It’s not enough. It’s not even close to enough. He wants to punish her. She deserves to be punished. She has betrayed him so many times, and he’s always waved it off as part of her nature, but her most recent betrayals have wounded those closest to him. One person, in particular. Hurting him is one thing. But hurting his Detective? 

That is another thing entirely. 

He can feel the wrath pulsing through his veins. His vision is tinted red. He wants to punish Mazikeen—he desires it—and he has never refused himself what he desires. But the Detective’s voice whispers in his ear, just as it has so many times before.

Don’t. Be better. 

“The things I do for you,” he mutters to the vision of her in his mind. She gives him that smile that sends his heart galloping and then she evaporates, and he’s alone.

Well, not entirely.

He finishes with his cufflinks and paces a half circle around Mazikeen. There’s blood on the white marble floor beneath her feet. He has no intention of cleaning it, which means it will likely stain. He adds that to the growing list of things Mazikeen will need to apologize for when all this is over. 

Speaking of, he’s still not sure what this is. He knows more than he did when he launched off the balcony of his penthouse with an unconscious Mazikeen in his arms, barely disappearing into the sky before a dozen cops poured out of the elevator with their guns drawn. For instance, he now understands what the Detective meant when she said Mazikeen’s eyes were weird. Every few seconds, her normally brown eyes flicker silver and blue. He’s certain he’s seen something similar before, but he can’t place his finger on where or when. He has an excellent memory, but even he has trouble remembering everyone he’s met and everything he’s experienced over the course of millennia. 

He tried to get the answer out of Mazikeen. That went about as well as asking the Detective’s offspring to summarize her day at school in a sentence or less. All Mazikeen did was rant and rave and snarl about how dangerous and evil he is, and how the Detective deserves so much better than what he can offer. Finally, in a fit of rage, he knocked her out just to shut her up. 

Now here he stands, adjusting his suit so that he doesn’t return to the Detective looking like a bedraggled serial killer, silently fuming that he doesn’t have any solid answers for her. The Detective likes to know things. She likes facts and proof and evidence and answers. He has none of those. He knows that whatever this is, it’s not divine. His siblings don’t have the power to do something like this. His father does, and Lucifer has never been one to rule out his father’s nefarious interference, but this seems far too out of character. His father allows terrible things to happen, and Lucifer holds him responsible for that, but even he can admit that his father wouldn’t do this. Particularly given how fond he became of the Detective during his brief stint as a ride along.  

The only other thing he knows is that Mazikeen seems to be completely unaware that she’s acting like a lunatic. She seems to truly believe what she’s saying, and that means it’s likely that whatever this is has altered her mind in some way. He suspects it could be magic, but he’s unsure about who has this kind of reach. It’s one thing to cast a spell over a single human. It’s another thing to cast it over dozens of humans and a demon. 

He’s afraid to know how many people are under the spell. He’s afraid of how the Detective will react when she finds out that magic exists, and that her boyfriend has so many enemies with access to magic that he can’t even be sure which one instigated their current situation.

Thinking of her possible shock makes him antsy. He’s been away from her for too long. He feels the tug in his chest he always feels in her absence, the restless energy and dull ache that never seem to dissipate unless he’s in her presence. She’s more than capable of taking care of herself, he knows. But he also knows she’s frightened and confused, and probably struggling with how out of control she feels, and he hates that. He hates the idea of her being anything but happy. 

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Mazikeen’s voice cuts through the silence like one of her knives. Lucifer lifts his head to look at her. 

“About what I said,” she rasps with a sneer. “About how much better off Decker would be without you.”

Lucifer slides his hands into his pockets. “Actually I was thinking about how much better off she’d be without you.

Mazikeen spits out some blood and it lands on the marble floor with a smack. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what it was like after you abandoned her.”

That catches Lucifer off guard. He furrows his eyebrows, and then realizes his mistake and tries to smooth out his expression.

But it’s too late. Mazikeen is Hell’s most fearsome torturer, and she knows when she’s hit a nerve.

“You ruined her, Lucifer,” she says in a low voice, leaning forward as far as the chains around her body will allow. “All she wanted to do was party. She was two steps away from becoming an alcoholic.”

“Liar,” Lucifer hisses.

Mazikeen smirks. “Am I? Why don’t you ask her next time you see her? Or, better yet, why don’t you ask Dan how many times she showed up to work with a hangover? Or ask Trixie how many times she crawled into her mom’s bed at night because she was worried about leaving her alone?”

Guilt gnaws at Lucifer’s chest, threatening to eat him alive. He tries to shove it away. “That’s over now,” he says, hoping if he says it aloud then it will be true. “I’m back.”

“Doesn’t change what you did to her,” Mazikeen says, shaking her head. “Do you know how many times I had to fend off some creep who would have taken advantage of her? Do you know what would have happened to her if I hadn’t—”

Enough,” Lucifer snarls, curling his hands into fists.

Mazikeen grins. “Same old Lucifer. You never could look in the mirror with both eyes open.”

“I’m not the one lacking self-awareness, Mazikeen,” Lucifer counters. “You fancy yourself Cerberus, but you’re just a lost puppy looking for a home. It’s too bad no one wants you.”

Mazikeen’s eyes flash. “And you think they want you?

“Everyone wants me, darling.”

Mazikeen barks out a harsh laugh. “Everyone except the people you want. Decker can say she loves you all she wants, and maybe she even means it right now, but it won’t last. She ran when she found out who you are. And she’ll run again when she realizes that you’re never going to change.”

Fear wells up in Lucifer’s throat but he swallows it down. He refuses to let a demon get the best of him. “You’re wrong. The Detective and I are past that. I have faith in her. In us.”

Mazikeen smirks. “You’re going to need a lot more than faith to keep a woman like that, Lucifer.”

“And who’s going to take her from me? You?” He stalks across the room and bends forward so that they’re eye level. “I’d love to see you try.” 

“I won’t have to,” Mazikeen replies, leaning forward so that their faces are inches apart. “You’ll do that all by yourself just by being who you are.”

Lucifer straightens with a scoff and stalks away from her.

“Scoff all you want, Lucifer,” she calls out after him. “You know I’m right. You’re on your best behavior because you’re finally getting to fuck her—”

Watch your mouth,” Lucifer snarls, slipping into his true form and whipping around to face her. “Or so help me Dad, Mazikeen, I will destroy you.”

Mazikeen is briefly silent, her lips pursed together, and then she lifts her chin. “She hasn’t seen all of you. She doesn’t know what you are or what you’re capable of.”

His true form feels monstrous all of a sudden. He slips back into his human form and tugs at his suit jacket. “A whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”

“Not when your parts are rotten at the core. She’s good, Lucifer. Like, disgustingly good. And you’re not.”

Lucifer wants to argue with her. But he can’t. 

“You’re not good enough for her,” Mazikeen says, her voice dropping low. “You know it, and I know it. It’s only a matter of time before she figures it out too.”

For a moment, Lucifer can’t speak. He’s caught in a memory of the Detective, tears streaming down her face, telling him that she’s terrified of him and doesn’t know if she can accept him. He knows they’re past that now. He knows that. But there’s also part of him, somewhere deep down in a place he doesn’t like to acknowledge, that can’t help but wonder if it even matters. She’s accepted what she knows. But she doesn’t know everything. She hasn’t seen everything.

What happens when she does?

“Just spare yourself the pain and let her go,” Mazikeen presses. “Trust me, it’s not worth it.”

For a second, he’s frozen. Maybe Mazikeen is right. Maybe he’s too far gone even for a miracle. Surely someone as good as the Detective can’t want someone as dark and twisted and damaged as him.  

But then the Detective whispers in his ear, her voice soft and fierce. 

I love you.

The ache in his chest intensifies. He’s been away too long. He needs to be near her again. 

He unfurls his wings. 

“Lucifer,” Mazikeen warns.

“She’s worth it,” he cuts her off. “She’s worth all of it.”

He leaves before she can argue.


When Chloe pulls into an empty parking spot on the street near the beach, she shoves the gear shift into park with a sigh. 

She turns the keys in the ignition. The engine hums to a stop. Silence balloons, piercingly loud in her ears except for the distant sound of the ocean. She buries her head in her hands and sighs again. There’s a headache starting to throb between her eyes. She’s tired. Her body is sore, and her feet ache from these heels. 

She’s supposed to be at dinner with Lucifer. They’re supposed to be tucked into the back corner of some ridiculously romantic restaurant where the chef owes him a favor, smiling at each other over glasses of wine. He’s supposed to put his hand on her knee under the table, and she’s supposed to tell him to behave even though she doesn’t want him to. They’re supposed to be together. Instead, Lucifer is bloodied and bruised and doing god-knows-what to Maze, and Chloe is sitting alone in her cruiser, wondering what the hell is going on.

She tilts her head back against the headrest and stares out the windshield. She has no idea how long she’ll be waiting here. Maze doesn’t seem like the type to break easily in an interrogation, but Lucifer knows things Chloe doesn’t. Maybe he knows how to get her to talk. Or maybe Chloe is going to be sitting here in this stupid dress all night, trying and failing to breathe around the worry lodged in her throat, until the sun comes up and she has to decide whether to keep waiting or go back for him.

The minutes drag by. It’s like the stakeout from hell. She wonders, suddenly, whether Lucifer will be able to find her if she’s sitting in her car. It’s late and there aren’t many people around, but her car is pretty nondescript. Lucifer said I’ll meet you at our beach not I’ll look for your car on the street. Maybe if she goes out on the beach, he’ll come sooner. 

It’s stupid and illogical but she does it anyway. She pulls her keys from the ignition, shoves them in her clutch, and then gets out of the car. She heads toward the beach. It’s closed, but she’s not worried. She’s got her badge in her clutch in case any of the beach patrols wander by. 

When she gets to the sand, she stops and slips her high heels off. A memory of the look on Lucifer’s face when he told her they were staying on floats across her mind, and her chest aches. She pushes the memory away and wanders out toward the water, holding her heels by the ankle straps. The sand is cold beneath her feet. There’s a breeze coming off the ocean, and she shivers. She should’ve grabbed the jacket she keeps in her trunk. This dress wasn’t made to keep her warm.

She isn’t sure if she ends up in the exact place where she kissed Lucifer for the first time. That’s the downfall of darkness and the seemingly endless stretch of water and sand—it all looks the same. She uses the landmarks she can see inland, though, and tries her best. When she finally stops, she surveys her surroundings. There’s no one else in sight, so Lucifer should be able to spot her regardless of whether he walks to the beach from his car or flies overhead.

Flies, she thinks with a snort of disbelief. With his wings. Because he’s an angel. Her boyfriend is an angel. And also the Devil. The actual Devil.  

Her life is so nuts.

She looks out at the ocean and breathes it in, trying to clear her mind of everything but the sound of the waves crashing into the shore and the chill of the sand between her toes. The cloud cover is heavy, so there are no stars and no moon to light the sky. It’s dark. Black as one of Lucifer’s suits.

Chloe closes her eyes. She came out here a few times when he was down in Hell. She felt close to him here, because this was the place where she first realized that she might be falling in love with him. The way she felt about him scared her, but it seems so simple now. There’s no might about it. There’s no more hesitation or guessing. She’s head over heels. 

“Chloe?”

Chloe jumps at the sound of her name, and turns to see Dan standing in the distance. 

“Dan?” she exhales in surprise. 

At first, she’s relieved—after the nightmare at the penthouse and the oppressive silence of the drive over here, it’s nice to see a familiar face. But then she remembers why the penthouse was a nightmare, and apprehension flickers in her chest. Did Dan seek her out for the same reason Maze and Cacuzza did?

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

He walks toward her through the sand. “The lieutenant called me. She said there was an incident involving you at Lux but you weren’t answering your phone and they couldn’t ping it for a location. Are you okay?”

Chloe frowns. “Keller called you?” 

He stops next to her. “Yeah, Dispatch called her when they heard you were involved.”

“But how’d you find me?” she presses. She turned her phone off as soon as she got in her car at Lux. That’s why Keller couldn’t track it.

“I hacked the signal on your cruiser,” he says with a shrug. “Like you did at Palmetto. Are you okay? You look spooked.”

He reaches for her, but Chloe recoils from his grasp. 

Dan frowns, and then holds his hands up. “Okay. Sorry. Staying in my space.”

He slides his hands into his pockets. Chloe studies him suspiciously, and then leans forward and squints at him through the darkness. She wants to see if his eyes are flickering silver and blue like Maze’s did. She doesn’t remember any of the cops having a similar flicker, but she didn’t really get a chance to look at them too closely, seeing as she was a little busy kicking their asses. She’s not sure why it matters, or if she’s just being ridiculous, but she’s got a gut feeling she can’t ignore. The flicker means something.

There’s no flicker in Dan’s eyes, though. They’re the same shade of gray they’ve always been.

“You’re not here to save me, are you?” she asks.

Dan looks confused. He glances around at the empty beach. “From what?”

Chloe almost says Lucifer, but decides it’s probably smarter to keep her mouth shut.

Dan’s frown deepens. “Do you need me to save you?”

“No.”

“Okay. Then no, I’m not here to save you.”

Chloe studies him for another moment, still suspicious, but there’s no flicker in his eyes and he doesn’t burst into a speech about how Lucifer is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her, so she exhales slowly.

“Okay,” she says. “Sorry. I just...it’s been a weird night.”

“You’ve had a lot of those lately.”

Chloe snorts in agreement and looks out at the ocean. The familiarity of his presence—and relief that he’s not here to “save” her, whatever the hell that means—wraps around her like a warm blanket. Maybe whatever happened back at Lux was confined to Lux. Like, someone cast a celestial spell over the building or something just to mess with Lucifer. It sounds ridiculous, she knows, but she used to think the idea of Lucifer being the actual Devil was ridiculous. 

“So you want to tell me why you’re out on the beach in the middle of the night?” Dan asks, breaking the silence between them.

Chloe sighs. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

Chloe searches for the words to describe what happened at the penthouse but can’t find them. “I’m waiting for Lucifer,” she says instead. Because it’s true. 

“Is that why you’re wearing that dress?”

There’s something in his voice that makes Chloe look at him. “What?”

Dan doesn’t look at her. He purses his lips the way he does when he’s upset, and then looks down at the sand. “You know, the Chloe I know would be at home with a book and some tea right now. Not standing on a beach in the middle of the night in a dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

The words feel like a slap across the face. Chloe blinks at him, too stunned to say anything. 

“You don’t need to change for him, you know,” Dan says, turning to face her. “In fact, you shouldn’t. He’s not worth it.”

For a moment, all Chloe can think about is Lucifer standing where Dan is standing now, saying the same thing. I’m not worth it. But then she sees it—a blue and silver flicker in Dan’s eyes—and the memory evaporates. A shiver drills down her spine. 

“It got you too,” she breathes. 

Dan frowns. “What got me?”

Do what you did with Rick, a voice that sounds a lot like Lucifer hisses in the back of Chloe’s mind. Lie before it’s too late.  

Chloe shakes her head. “Nothing. I just…” She looks out at the ocean and sighs like she’s just had a realization. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she says. “About Lucifer, I mean.”

Dan rubs his hand over her back comfortingly. “I’m sorry, Chlo. I know you were hoping he’d be better. But some people just don’t change, you know?”

Chloe’s heart is pounding in her chest. She wants to jerk away from his touch because this isn’t Dan, just like whoever was at the penthouse wasn’t Maze or Cacuzza or any of the others, but she knows she can’t.  

The ocean breeze lifts her hair, and she shoves it behind her ear and turns away from the shore. “You’re right,” she says, giving Dan the best resigned sigh she can muster. “I should head home. Drink some tea like the old lady I am.” She reaches out and squeezes his forearm. “Thanks, Dan. I’ll call you tomorrow.” 

She starts to head back to her car, but Dan catches her hand. “Wait.”

Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat. She turns around. 

Dan’s gaze flickers over her face like he’s reading a suspect, and then his expression hardens. “You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?”

“Do what?”

“Forgive him.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s what you do,” Dan says, dropping her hand. “He runs off to Vegas and marries a stripper, you forgive him. He shows up to a crime scene in assless pants, you forgive him. He abandons you for months, not so much as a text or a call to check in, and you forgive him. Now his crazy ass family is in town, and you got freaking kidnapped, and you’re right back with him again.”

The voice in the back of Chloe’s mind is telling her to stay calm and play along, but she ignores it. It makes sense that she couldn’t reason with Maze, because Maze is...well, Maze. But Dan is different. They used to be married. He’s one of her best friends. They have a kid together, for god’s sake. She can get through to him. She knows she can. 

“It wasn’t Lucifer’s fault I got kidnapped, Dan.”

“Of course not,” Dan says, throwing up his hands. “Nothing is ever his fault.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve held him accountable for his mistakes and you know that. But he’s not responsible for what other people do.”

Other people? Jesus Christ, Chloe, what’s it going to take? What’s so special about him that he gets a million chances and nobody else does?”

Chloe frowns at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Dan says, brandishing his index finger at her. “You and me—”

“What happened between us has nothing to do with Lucifer.”

“Bullshit. We would’ve worked things out if he hadn’t showed up.”

“Dan, you lied to me. Repeatedly. You let me become the department pariah because you cared more about saving your own ass than telling me the truth.”

“Oh and Lucifer never lies to you?”

“No!” Chloe explodes, all the frustration from the last hour finally boiling over. “He has always told me the truth, no matter how many times I refused to believe him, and that’s more than I can say for you.”

Dan clenches his jaw and puts his hands on his hips. “Look, I’m not perfect, okay? I know we can’t go back to the way things were, and I’m not asking for that. I’m just trying to get you to see that you’re blind as a bat when it comes to him. He’s got the wool pulled so far over your eyes—”

“No,” Chloe interrupts. “You’re wrong. I can see just fine, Dan. I know him. He’s a good man.”

“He’s the Devil, Chloe.”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t good.”

“I can’t believe this,” Dan says, laughing in disbelief. He throws up his hands. “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that before,” Chloe says bitterly. “Wasn’t true after Palmetto, and it’s not true now.”

Dan narrows his eyes at her. “You know, it’s one thing to do this to yourself. But dragging our daughter into it too is pretty shitty.” 

Chloe frowns. “What the hell does Trixie have to do with this?”

“That jackass is going to get you killed,” Dan snaps, stepping into her space. “Do you want Trixie to lose her mom? You know what it feels like to lose a parent. Do you want our daughter to feel like that too?”

Chloe feels like she’s been slapped again. Angry tears well up in her eyes. “How dare you throw that in my face.” 

Dan ignores her. “We have one red line, Chloe, one non-negotiable, and that’s Trixie. Lucifer is the Devil. He’s dangerous and he’s evil and he can’t be trusted around her. Why can’t you see that?”

“He’s saved her life, Dan. And mine, multiple times. In fact, one of those times was from Malcolm, and he only had to do that because you didn’t come clean sooner. If there’s anyone I should be worried about trusting Trixie with, it’s you.

Dan clenches his jaw and clenches his fists. “I don’t want him around our kid, Chloe.”

“Too damn bad. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Fine. If you won’t put her first, then you don’t get her anymore.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you either dump that asshole, or I’m suing for full custody.”

The words hit like a grenade. Chloe’s ears are ringing. It’s suddenly hard to breathe. She waits for remorse to shiver over Dan’s face the way it always does after he says something he doesn’t mean, but he doesn’t even blink. 

He’s serious. 

“You can’t do that,” she murmurs.

He nods. “Yes I can. And I will.”

“You won’t win.”

“I will when Lucifer takes the stand and tells the judge he’s the Devil.” A humorless smile curves Dan’s lips. “He doesn’t lie, remember?”

Panic claws at Chloe’s chest. He’s right. Everyone in the world seems to have it out for Lucifer right now, and a judge won’t be any different. She could lose Trixie. 

Chloe shakes her head. “You can’t do this to me, Dan.”

“I’m not doing it to you. I’m doing it for her.”

“But you know him. You know him.”

“What I know is that he’s a drunk, arrogant, self-obsessed man whore, and he has the mother of my child so twisted up in knots that she’s willing to overlook her own daughter’s safety for him,” Dan spits. “Look at yourself, Chloe. He’s got you out in the middle of the night by yourself, wearing a dress and fuck-me heels like some kind of—”

Chloe doesn’t wait for him to call her a whore. She punches him before he can finish. Her fist collides with the side of his mouth, and he stumbles through the sand and away from her. He stays hunched over for a minute, lifting his hand to his mouth. When he finally straightens and drops his hand, she sees blood on his bottom lip. 

“Guess that’s my answer then,” he says. He shakes his head and wipes his hand on his jeans. “Never thought I’d see the day when you picked some guy over Trixie.”

He starts toward the parking lot, but Chloe cuts him off. 

“No,” she says, putting her hands out to shove lightly on his chest. “No, Dan, I’m not...just stop, okay? Listen to me. This isn’t real.”

“This isn’t real? ” he repeats incredulously.

“This isn’t you,” she rephrases. “Something is happening and I don’t...it’s a manipulation, or a spell, or a...shit, I don’t know, okay? I’m still learning all this stuff but it’s not real. You wouldn’t do this to me. You would never do this.”

“Watch me,” he snarls. 

He tries to push past her, and she digs her nails into his forearm and tries to stop him, and the next thing she knows they’re struggling with each other in the sand.

“Let go, Chloe.”

“No. She’s my kid, Dan.”

“She’s my kid, too.”

“Then don’t—”

“You made your choice.”

“There shouldn’t have to be a choice, if you would just listen to me—”

No.

And then he shoves her backward and pulls his gun from his belt and takes aim at her chest, and everything goes still. 

A wave crashes on the shore behind Chloe. A breeze blows, and it ruffles the hem of her dress and her hair. Goosebumps race over her skin. Another wave crashes into the sand. 

Chloe lifts her hands slowly. “Dan,” she says quietly. 

There are tears in her ex-husband’s eyes. Memories assault her. He cried when she walked down the aisle toward him. He cried when the nurses put Trixie in his arms for the first time. 

She realizes she’s crying too. “Please,” she whispers.

Dan shakes his head at her. “Why him, Chloe?” he asks, his voice cracking. “Of all the men to leave us for, you chose...”

The Devil. He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to.

“I’m not leaving you, Dan. I’m not.”

“You can’t even pretend, can you?” Dan asks. “You can’t even pretend you’ll let him go.”

There’s a rustling sound to Chloe’s left, and then Lucifer’s voice cuts through the night and says, “That’s enough, Daniel.”

Dan spins, his gun shifting to aim at Lucifer, who is standing a few yards to Dan’s right. 

Chloe lunges forward to get between them. “No, don’t—”

“Stay there, Chloe,” Lucifer commands, holding his hand out. 

Chloe goes still at the sound of her first name coming out of his mouth. Lucifer is wearing a different suit than before—this one is black with a white shirt—but any questions about why he had to change are drowned out by the sight of his wings. 

She’s seen them before. She saw them the night he left her. But she was so consumed by the yawning cavern of grief in her chest that she hadn’t given them much thought. She forgot how beautiful they are. Gleaming and pure white, they’re stunning against the backdrop of the black sky. He holds his shoulders back when they’re unfurled, like he’s proud of them. And he should be. They’re breathtaking. 

“Holy shit, man,” Dan breathes. “You have…”

“Wings?” Lucifer says. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s par for the course when you’re an angel.”

Chloe thinks this is the first time she’s ever heard him call himself that. She doesn’t think it’s an accident that he hasn’t put his wings away yet. 

Lucifer nods at the gun. “You know that won’t accomplish what you think it will, Daniel.”

For a second, Chloe thinks he just lied. But then she realizes he’s just telling the truth strategically. Dan doesn’t know Lucifer is vulnerable again. He just knows that the last time he tried to shoot Lucifer, it didn’t work. 

Dan shakes his head. “I don’t want you near my kid.”

“I would never harm her, Daniel.”

“Like you’d never hurt Chloe, right?”

Guilt shivers across Lucifer’s face. “I deeply regret any pain I’ve caused the Detective. My intentions are never—”

“Intentions don’t mean shit, man,” Dan cuts him off. “You think I wanted to hurt her? You think I slid that ring on her finger thinking that someday I’d screw it all up?”

“Dan,” Chloe whispers.

Lucifer steps forward. “You’re more than your mistakes, Daniel. You’re a good man. I’ve witnessed it firsthand. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone. So why don’t we put the gun away, hm? Have a civilized conversation without the threat of imminent death.”

Dan doesn’t lower the gun. 

“Come on, Daniel,” Lucifer says. He takes another subtle step forward. “Use that cop brain of yours and think. Think about what you know about the Detective. She puts Beatrice first always. Always. There’s not a mother on this planet who loves her child more than the Detective loves hers. She would never put your daughter at risk.”

“Use my cop brain, huh?” Dan says. “You want to know what my cop brain thinks?”

Lucifer tilts his head, and Chloe can tell he’s trying to swallow a sarcastic comment. “Do tell,” he says. 

“It thinks that if you were bulletproof like you were before, Chloe wouldn’t look so scared. And you would have already taken this gun out of my hands.” 

Dan clenches his jaw and straightens his aim, and Chloe knows. 

He’s going to shoot Lucifer. 

“No!” she shouts. 

Lucifer’s wings sweep forward with a whoosh sound, and a strong gust of wind rushes past Chloe and slams into Dan. He goes flying backward, his arms pinwheeling, and the gun sails through the air. It lands in the sand a few feet from Chloe, and she scrambles forward to grab it. 

She straightens and aims it at Dan, but Lucifer is already there—he’s kneeling behind Dan, one arm wrapped around his neck, and Dan starts choking as the crook of Lucifer’s arm presses against his throat.

“Lucifer,” Chloe calls.

“I only want him out of commission, Detective,” Lucifer replies. “You needn’t worry.”

Dan’s eyes are bulging and his face is turning red. He’s clawing at Lucifer’s arm, and when his eyes meet Chloe’s she can see the panic in them. 

“It’s okay,” she tries to reassure him. “You’ll be okay.”

“Trixie,” he croaks. 

He claws at Lucifer’s arm for another second or two, and then his eyelids droop and his body goes limp. 

Lucifer lets him fall gently into the sand and then gets to his feet. “Right,” he says, dusting off his hands. “Can’t say I’ve never wanted to do that.”

Chloe stares at Dan. He’s sprawled in the sand, his head tipped back toward the sky and his mouth open. There’s still blood on his bottom lip from where she punched him. She blinks hard, trying to convince herself that this is just a dream and she needs to wake up, but she can’t. Her knuckles ache. The breeze is cold on her skin. It feels too real to be a dream. 

I’m suing for full custody.

A sob builds unexpectedly in her chest and she sucks in a sharp breath. 

Lucifer looks up in alarm. “Detective?”

Chloe presses the back of her hand to her mouth. She’s still holding the gun. Her eyes are welling up again, and suddenly the world is blurry. She closes her eyes tightly, but it doesn’t matter. The tears leak out anyway.

She feels Lucifer’s thumbs stroke over her cheeks a moment later. “Detective,” he whispers.

She opens her eyes to look up at him and lowers her hand from her mouth. “When he wakes up, will he remember this?” 

Lucifer shakes his head. “I don’t see why not.”

“So he could…” She can’t bring herself to say it. She swallows around the tightness of her throat and tries to focus on what she can control, what she can do to fix this and get things back to normal. 

“What did Maze say?”

“Nothing useful, I’m afraid.” A breeze catches some strands of Chloe’s hair, and Lucifer tucks them behind her ear gently. “She’s...well, she’s quite certain that what she’s doing is in your best interest. I’d be impressed by her loyalty if she didn’t sound like a raving lunatic.”

Chloe nods. Dan sounded crazy too. So did Cacuzza and Karpowski. Everyone has gone crazy, and she has no idea why.

Fear wraps around her throat and squeezes. “Lucifer, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well how do we stop it? How do we fix things? There has to be a way to make everything go back to normal, right?”

Lucifer looks agonized. “I don’t know, Detective.”

Helplessness washes over her. The gun feels suddenly heavy in her hand. Another sob catches in her throat. The wind blows hard, and she shivers and blinks against a fresh wave of tears. 

Lucifer shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. He guides her arms through the sleeves gently, letting her switch the gun from one hand to the other without trying to take it from her. He seems to realize she needs it. He fusses with the jacket after it’s on, buttoning a few of the buttons and adjusting it around her. She leans closer to him. He’s warm. He’s always warm. 

“Detective,” he says gently. “What happened before I arrived?”

“Dan said...” she starts, but she has to stop and take a deep breath. “He said he’s going to sue for full custody of Trixie.”

Lucifer looks stunned. “What?” 

“I can’t lose her, Lucifer,” she whispers, shaking her head. “I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Lucifer soothes, lifting his hand to her face again. “I won’t allow it.”

“You can’t stop it,” she says, still fighting off a sob. “Look at everything that’s happened tonight. We don’t even know what we’re up against, let alone how to stop it, and Trixie is—”

The realization hits Chloe like a freight train. 

“Trixie,” she breathes. She staggers out of Lucifer’s arms and toward Dan, where she drops to her knees in the sand.

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. 

She can hear the concern in his voice but she ignores him. She pats her hands over Dan’s unconscious body until she finds his phone. She unlocks it without any trouble, and scans his screen for the tracer app.

“Detective,” Lucifer says, his voice more insistent. 

“Dan had Trixie tonight,” she tells him without looking up.

“So?”

“So Dan is here,” she replies, gesturing at her unconscious ex-husband. She finds the app she’s looking for and opens it. “Our sitter is out of town. So is my mom, and Maze is at your penthouse, and he wouldn’t call one of Trixie’s friends this late. There’s no one else to leave her with.” 

“You think he brought her with him?” Lucifer says incredulously. “But why?”

“Why would he do anything he just did?” Chloe counters, her thumb sliding over Dan’s phone screen. “The whole world’s gone fucking nuts.”

“Aptly put, Detective,” Lucifer says. She can hear the smile in his voice. He always smiles when she curses freely. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“We have these apps on our phones,” Chloe says, waiting for the location to load. “We can track her phone and—” 

The location data finally appears. 

“She’s here,” Chloe murmurs.

And then she jumps to her feet and bolts toward the nearest public parking lot in a flat-out sprint, her clutch and her shoes and her newly acquired gun forgotten back in the sand. She doesn’t even check to see if Lucifer is following her. 

When she gets to the parking lot, it isn’t hard to find Dan’s car. There’s only three in the lot. The concrete hurts her bare feet, but she doesn’t slow down. Not until she gets to the car and slams to a stop against the side, bending forward to peer into the backseat. 

Trixie looks up from her sketchpad, and their eyes meet through the window. Her face lights up. “Mom!” 

“Trixie,” Chloe breathes.

She yanks open the door and Trixie scrambles out of the backseat and throws herself into Chloe’s arms. Chloe sways a little from the impact, and then bends forward to hold her daughter tightly and breathe her in.

“I’m so glad to see you, Monkey,” she whispers into the top of Trixie’s head. “I love you so much. You know that, right? I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Trixie murmurs, her voice muffled. “But you’re squeezing me really tight and it’s kind of hard to breathe.”

“Sorry,” Chloe laughs. She loosens her grip and straightens, and Trixie leans back to look up at her. Chloe brushes her hand over her daughter’s cheek. “Sorry, baby.”

Trixie frowns. “You’re crying.”

“I’m just happy to see you that’s all,” Chloe says, swiping the tears from her face. She hears the sound of shouting and laughter, and she glances toward the street to see a group of five college-aged guys walking down the sidewalk. 

“Are we getting ice cream now?” Trixie asks.

Chloe looks back at her daughter with a frown. “What?”

“Daddy said we would get ice cream when we found you.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said we were coming to get you, and then we’d all go out for ice cream like we used to.” And then she frowns. “Where’s Daddy?”

Chloe’s mind floats to Dan sprawled in the sand, unconscious and with blood on his bottom lip, and her heart aches. “He’s coming,” she lies. She swallows and wraps her hands around Trixie’s shoulders. “Listen, Monkey, there’s something we need to talk about, okay?”

Trixie nods. “Okay.”

“You remember when you told me that you were okay with Lucifer and I being boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Trixie’s entire body goes rigid, and the hatred that suddenly blossoms over her face is like nothing Chloe’s ever seen. 

“I changed my mind,” Trixie snaps. “I’m not okay with it. I hate it. I hate him.”

Chloe blinks at her, stunned. “What?”

“I want you to be with Dad. I want him to live with us and I want things to be like they were.” She shrugs out of Chloe’s grasp and folds her arms over her chest, and Chloe sees it in her eyes.

The flicker of silver and blue. 

“No,” she breathes. 

“Yes,” Trixie says petulantly. 

Chloe swallows around a lump in her throat. “Baby, listen to me—”

“No, you listen,” Trixie cuts her off. “You said we don’t pretend with each other. You said I was the most important thing to you.”

“You are, Trix. Of course you are.”

“Then why can’t Daddy come home? Why can’t we be a family again?”

Chloe’s eyes feel warm. She used to have nightmares about Trixie having this reaction to the divorce. When it never happened, and Trixie adjusted fairly well, she was beyond relieved. Maybe that’s why it hurts so badly now. Because she thought she was safe from it.

“We are a family,” she says. “We talked about this, remember? Your dad and I love each other very much. Just because we don’t live together anymore doesn’t mean we aren’t still a family.”

“We’re not a family,” Trixie insists. “All you do is work and hang out with Lucifer and I never see you. We don’t go camping with Dad anymore, and we don’t get ice cream, and it’s all Lucifer’s fault. He ruined everything. You love him more than you love me.”

All the air rushes out of Chloe’s lungs. The hatred is just as clear in Trixie’s voice as it is in her eyes, and Chloe doesn’t think it’s all directed at Lucifer. 

For a second, that’s too much for her to bear. Maze was bad, and Dan was worse, but Chloe could handle them. It’s not like she hasn’t fallen out with them before. But Trixie? She can’t deal with her daughter succumbing to whatever this is. She can’t handle her bright, bubbly, kind-to-a-fault, ray of sunshine kid being eclipsed by whatever the fuck has turned the world upside down.  

She wants to sink down onto the concrete and curl into a ball and cry. She doesn’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t know how to fix it. She doesn’t even know if it can be fixed. But she can’t do that. She won’t. Whatever—whoever—is responsible for this wants her to fall apart. And there’s no way in hell she’s giving them the satisfaction.

“Trixie,” she says, putting her hands on either side of her daughter’s face. “Look at me.”

Trixie glares at a spot off to Chloe’s left.

“Now, Trix.”

Trixie lifts her eyes. Chloe remembers the first time she ever looked into these eyes. Dan wasn’t the only one who cried. 

“I love you,” she says. “More than anything and anyone, all the time, forever. As long as I’m breathing, there’s no one on this earth who loves you more than I do.”

Trixie’s expression softens a little. “You promise?”

“Yeah, Monkey,” Chloe says, stroking her thumb over her daughter’s cheek. “I promise.”

Trixie smiles. Chloe smiles too, her eyes warm with tears. She can’t see the flicker in Trixie’s eyes anymore, and she wants to be relieved, but she doesn’t think this is over. Not that easily. 

Her detective instincts kick into high gear. “Babe,” she says, combing her fingers through Trixie’s hair, “can you tell me what you did tonight?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean after I dropped you off at your dad’s, what did you do?”

Trixie frowns. “We ate dinner. Watched TV. And then I played my game with my friends while Dad watched basketball until he said I had to go to bed.”

“So your dad got you out of bed to come here?”

Trixie shakes her head. “No. I had a nightmare first.” And then fear shivers across her face, and she tilts a little closer to Chloe.

Chloe holds her tighter. “What’d you dream about?” 

“It was—”

She stops with a gasp, her eyes fixed on something behind Chloe, and the terror on her face chills Chloe to the bone.

“Trixie?” she says with a frown. “What is it? What—”

She spins around, wishing she hadn’t left that gun back in the sand, but all she sees is Lucifer. 

“Sorry, Detective, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Lucifer says with a smile. Her high heels are dangling from his left hand. He glances down at Trixie. “Hello urchin. Past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

Trixie screams in response, loud and piercing and terrified. 

Chloe jumps in surprise. Lucifer frowns, clearly taken aback. Trixie flings herself into Chloe’s back, her arms wrapping around Chloe’s midsection.

“No,” she sobs, her face buried in the small of Chloe’s back as she hangs on tight. “No no no.

“Trixie,” Chloe says, trying to twist in her daughter’s arms so she can see her. “What are you—”

“Don’t let him get me,” Trixie begs. Chloe finally holds her in place long enough to turn and face her, and when Trixie tips her head back to meet Chloe’s gaze, her eyes are wide and filled with tears. “Please, Mommy, don’t let him get me.”

“Get you?” Chloe repeats. “What...baby, it’s Lucifer. You know him.”

“He’s the Devil,” Trixie wails, still clinging to Chloe. “He’s going to take you down to Hell and I’ll never see you again!”

Chloe looks up at Lucifer, at a complete loss for words. Lucifer looks heartbroken. He holds his hands up in the air in a non-threatening gesture and takes a step away from them. 

“Beatrice,” he says softly. “I would never take your mother from you. I would never hurt you. You’re safe. You have my word.”

“Liar!” Trixie screams, tears streaming down her face. “You’re a liar!”

Lucifer recoils as if her words have physically hurt him. 

“Trixie,” Chloe says, wrapping her hands around her daughter’s arms and bending forward. “Trixie, look at me.”

“Help!” Trixie shouts, her voice echoing through the parking lot. “Help, somebody! He’s trying to take my mom! He wants to hurt us!”

“Trixie,” Chloe hisses. “Stop it. Look at me—”

“What’s going on?” an unfamiliar voice asks. 

Chloe looks up and sees the group of college guys she saw earlier. At the front of the group is a guy who looks like a cross between Captain America and a Ken doll. There are Greek letters emblazoned over the gray t-shirt he’s wearing. 

“Is she okay?” he asks, casting a worried glance at Trixie.

“Yeah,” Chloe says, trying to muster a smile. “She’s fine. Everything is fine.”

“He’s the Devil!” Trixie shouts, pointing at Lucifer. “He hurts my mom and makes her cry, and he’s trying to take her away from me! You have to help us!”

The five guys turn in unison to look at Lucifer. 

Lucifer frowns. “I would never separate that child from her mother. I would never hurt either of them.” 

“Maybe you should back off,” Captain America suggests. “Go somewhere else and give the kid some space.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere. If anything, you should go. This doesn’t concern you.”

Captain America seems to take that as a challenge. “Oh I think it does,” he says, straightening to his full height. He curls his hands into fists. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

“I’m not picking on anyone,” Lucifer says, clearly appalled. “And I suggest you uncurl those fists, you steroid-fueled cretin. No one here is frightened of you, least of all me.”

“I’m going to call the cops,” one of the guys in the back announces.

“Good idea,” Captain America says, his hands still in fists.

The guy in the back lifts his phone to his ear. 

“Wait,” Chloe says in the same instant Lucifer says, “Put that phone away,” and steps forward.

Captain America steps forward too, blocking Lucifer’s path. “Easy, bro. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

Lucifer’s eyes flash. “As if you could. Bro.

Chloe holds out the hand that isn’t holding Trixie against her hip. “Guys, stop. Relax. You don’t need to call the cops, okay? I’m a cop.”

They all turn to look at her. The guy in the back doesn’t lower his phone from his ear, but he looks interested

“You got a badge?” Captain America asks suspiciously.

“Yeah, of course. It’s…” Chloe trails off when she realizes she left her badge in her clutch and her clutch back on the beach.  

“It’s here, Detective,” Lucifer says. He pulls her clutch from his pants pocket and then produces her badge. He holds it up for everyone to see. “Take a good look, douche brigade.” 

One of the guys leans forward and squints. “Dude, I’m friends with a cop,” he says, nudging Captain America with his elbow. “That thing is totally fake.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lucifer says, looking appalled again. “I’ll have you know she is the finest homicide detective in the LAPD, and I’m the finest civilian consultant in the history of time. Together we have the highest solve rate in the entire city.”

“Yeah,” Captain America says with a smirk. “Sure you do.” 

“Yeah, the parking lot right near there,” the guy on the phone is telling someone on the other end of the line. “This woman is with her boyfriend but her kid is really freaked out. Screaming and crying about how he’s the Devil. I think it might be a child abuse thing.”

Chloe straightens at the words. She can’t decide whether she’s offended or deeply hurt by the suggestion, but she doesn’t get the chance. 

Child abuse?” Lucifer snarls. “How dare you.”

He starts forward, his eyes flashing again, and Chloe lunges forward to stop him. “Lucifer, no,” she says, sliding between him and Captain America and putting her hands on his chest. “Stop it. Look at me. Stop it.”

Lucifer exhales sharply through his nose and looks down at her. “He said—”

“I heard what he said,” Chloe cuts him off. “But you’re not helping.” 

Lucifer looks like he wants to argue with her but, thankfully, he doesn’t.

Chloe turns to face Captain America. “Look, I appreciate you intervening, but everything is fine, okay? She’s fine.”

Trixie screams again, right on cue, and when Chloe turns to look at her, she’s just in time to see her daughter hurtling toward Lucifer with a red colored pencil held tightly in a fist above her head.

It happens too fast for Chloe to react. One second she’s blinking in surprise, trying to figure out why her daughter is yelling like she’s charging into battle, and the next thing she knows Trixie has buried the colored pencil in Lucifer’s thigh.

“Bloody hell!” Lucifer hisses, leaping backward. The pencil is sticking out of his thigh. He rips it out, sending a spatter of blood onto the concrete, and then glances up at Trixie with a look of utter betrayal. 

Trixie is undeterred. She lunges at him again, her hands curled into fists, and starts hitting him. “I hate you!” she screams. “You can’t take her! I won’t let you! I hate you!”

Lucifer doesn’t touch her. He holds his hands in the air above his shoulders and lets her wail on him, wincing a little as her fists connect with his body. If he looked heartbroken before, he looks devastated now. 

Chloe bends forward to catch her daughter around the middle and haul her away from him. “Trixie, baby, stop.”

“Go away and leave us alone!” Trixie shouts at Lucifer, flailing in Chloe’s arms. “I hate you! I hate you!”

“Monkey,” Chloe says, struggling to keep a grip on her daughter. “Trixie, stop it.”

And then, because things aren’t bad enough already, a cop car pulls into the parking lot with its lights on. 

“That was fast,” the guy on the phone says. 

Chloe and Lucifer share a look, because they both know there’s no way this cop car is here because of that 911 call. Chloe thinks of Dan, who tracked her here because he hacked into her cruiser, and her heart shoots into her throat. How many of her colleagues are out looking for her right now? And what are they going to do if they find her?

Trixie goes still in Chloe’s arms. “The police,” she breathes. “They’ll help us.”

She says it with all the confidence of a child whose parents are both cops, but Chloe doesn’t share her relief. She still remembers what happened at the penthouse, and she’s got one, maybe two minutes to get through to her daughter before whoever is in that cruiser gets over here. 

She sets Trixie’s feet down on the pavement and grabs her shoulders. “Monkey, look at me.”

Trixie looks at her, her eyes shining with hope. “They’re going to save us.”

“Trixie—”

Trixie wrenches out of her grasp and takes off, sprinting toward the cop car. 

“Trixie, no,” Chloe says, starting after her, but she’s stopped short by Captain America stepping into her path. 

“I think you should stay here,” he says. 

Chloe straightens and clenches her jaw. “Get out of my way.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Chloe’s seriously considering kicking his ass when two uniformed officers she doesn’t know get out of the cruiser in the distance. Trixie immediately latches onto the hand of the one on the driver’s side, and points toward Chloe.

“Dude, you should go talk to them,” one of the guys says to Captain America. “Make sure they hear both sides of the story.”

Captain America gives Chloe an appraising look. “Yeah, you’re right. Keep an eye on them.” 

He heads for the cruiser. Chloe starts to follow him, but Lucifer catches her hand.

“We have to go, Detective.”

Chloe twists to look up at him. “What? No. I’m not leaving Trixie.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time we encountered your colleagues?”

“Yeah, but if I could just explain—”

“You can’t,” Lucifer cuts her off sharply. “Think of Maze and Daniel. Words are bloody useless. No one is listening to us. We need to make ourselves scarce until we figure out how to put things right.”

“I’m not walking away from my kid, Lucifer.”

Lucifer gestures at Trixie. “That is not your offspring, Detective. Just as it wasn’t Maze in the penthouse, or Daniel on the beach. You have to have realized that by now.”

He’s right. She knows he’s right. And it’s not like Trixie won’t be safe. She’s with on-duty officers, and Dan isn’t far. He won’t be unconscious much longer. 

But how can she just walk away? That’s her daughter.  

In the distance, Captain America is talking to the pair of cops. They’re all staring at Chloe and Lucifer. Trixie is still holding the hand of one of them, and she’s tugging him toward her mother with all her might, but he isn’t budging.

“Mom,” Trixie calls. She motions for Chloe. “Mom, come here!”

“Detective,” Lucifer murmurs.

“I can’t,” Chloe says. Her throat feels like it’s closing up. “I can’t leave her, Lucifer. That’s what she’s afraid of.”

Lucifer exhales a heavy breath. “Very well.” He squeezes her hand. “I won’t rest until I figure out what is happening and fix it. I’ll return Beatrice and Daniel and everyone else to their right minds. You have my word.”

He leans forward and brushes a kiss over her temple. And then he starts to turn away from her, and his hand starts to slip away from hers, and it hits Chloe what’s about to happen—Lucifer is going to leave her, and she has no idea if or when he’ll come back, and she’ll be alone in the middle of this waking nightmare with people who look like her loved ones but aren’t.

“Wait,” she blurts out, clutching his hand.

He turns to look at her. Chloe gazes up at him. There’s no flicker in his eyes. They’re the same dark brown they’ve always been, and he’s the same man she’s always known. The one who never lies to her, the one she trusts with her heart and soul, the one who killed his brother and went to Hell and back—twice—to keep her alive so she could be with her daughter. 

She glances at Trixie. Every fiber of her being wants to stay. But that’s not what’s best for her daughter, is it? Whatever is making everyone act this way is extremely dangerous. Dan pulled a gun on her. Nixon tried to assault her. Right now everyone seems to be intent on getting her away from Lucifer, but how does she know that won’t change? What if she stays, and then people start to turn on her like they’re turning on Lucifer? What if Trixie gets hurt because Chloe was too selfish to give her kid what she needs, even if it breaks her heart?

“You’re right,” she whispers, looking back at Lucifer. “We have to figure out what’s happening. And we’re better together than apart.”

He searches her gaze. “Are you sure?”

Chloe’s vision blurs with tears. “It’s only temporary, right?” 

He nods. “Yes.”

“Then yeah. I’m sure.”

She feels cold metal press against her palm. She doesn’t have to look to know that he’s giving her Dan’s keys. “You drive.”

 Normally, she’d make a joke about how she can’t believe he isn’t trying to convince her to let him drive. She doesn’t this time. She just nods and heads for the driver’s side door while he strides around the front hood toward the passenger side. 

“Mommy!” Trixie screams. 

Chloe glances over her shoulder. She can’t help it. Trixie lets go of the cop’s hand and tries to dash in Chloe’s direction, but Captain America scoops her up before she can. Trixie flails desperately in his arms. 

“Mommy, no!” she wails. “Don’t go with him! Please!

Chloe has never wanted anything more than she wants to sprint across the parking lot and wrap her arms around her kid and promise she’ll never leave. 

But she can’t.

“Mommy!” Trixie sobs. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, and her hands are stretched out toward Chloe. “Don’t leave me!

Chloe feels like someone has ripped her heart out of her chest and is grinding it beneath their heel.  

“Detective,” Lucifer calls gently. 

Chloe takes one last look at her daughter, and then gets in the car. 

Chapter 11: Eleven

Notes:

Y'all have been saying such nice things in my comments, and I really appreciate it. Truly. I so badly want to write out responses (some of y'all are *really* good at picking up on the details I work so hard on), but life is not being kind with spare time at the moment. Someday, maybe.

In the meantime, I'll answer a common question: I will be posting a new chapter of this fic every single Tuesday until the story is done, or unless I warn you ahead of time that I need a week off. I can't give you a specific number of chapters yet (revisions are a bitch), but we've got a ways to go still. Thanks for sticking with me :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Chloe cries while she drives.

The cops from the beach don’t follow her. She drives like she’s trying to lose a tail anyway, just in case. When she’s certain she’s not being followed, she gets on the 405, flips on the lights in Dan’s cruiser so everyone will get the hell out of her way, and drives like the Devil himself is chasing her.

Except he’s not. He’s sitting in the passenger seat, watching her with a look of heartbroken concern. 

She doesn’t look at him. She can’t. If she takes her eyes off the road, and if she lets herself think about what she just did and why she did it, she’s going to lose her shit. So she just keeps staring straight ahead, blinking hard every time the tail lights in front of her get too blurry, and wiping the sleeve of Lucifer’s suit jacket over her face every time her cheeks start to feel too wet. 

She should probably ask Lucifer where he thinks they should go. But she doesn’t. She just drives on autopilot until she finds herself steering the car into a metered parking spot on Fairfax Avenue across from The Original Farmer’s Market. 

She shifts the car into park, and then turns Dan’s keys in the ignition. The engine cuts out, and then there’s nothing but silence. She can feel Lucifer’s eyes on her. She doesn’t meet his gaze. She looks out her window at the familiar landmark across the street instead. Silence hangs over them.

“There’s an ice cream stall in there,” she says eventually. 

“In the market?” 

She nods. “Bennett’s. My dad used to take me there after auditions. He always got rum raisin, which I thought was gross. And I always got Fancy Nancy, which he thought was gross.”

A memory surfaces. Her dad, smiling proudly at her over an ice cream cone when she told him she’d landed the part in Hot Tub High School. Chloe swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. 

“Fancy Nancy?” Lucifer asks softly. 

“Coffee ice cream,” she answers, watching the palm trees across the street blow in the wind. “Caramel swirl and bananas. It’s the best. Trixie loves it.” 

Chloe’s eyes start to feel warm, and she looks down at her hands. She can’t stop thinking about the look on Trixie’s tear stained face as she left. The way her arms were stretched out. The desperation in her voice. Don’t leave me!

Chloe takes a deep, shuddering breath. She can’t decide which emotion she’s drowning in—guilt or grief. She hates them both. She feels like she can’t breathe. 

“She’ll forgive me for leaving her,” she whispers, her voice wavering. “Right?”

“Yes,” Lucifer replies without hesitation. “I have no doubt.”

It’s a nice thing to say. But Chloe has enough doubt for the both of them. 

Lucifer reaches across the center console and sets his hand on her knee. “Look at me, love.”

There it is again. Love. Why can’t he call her that when they’re not in the middle of a waking nightmare?

She looks up at him, and he smiles softly at her. “You’ll eat ice cream with her again soon. You have my word.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lucifer.”

“I’m not.”

There’s steel in his voice, but softness in his gaze. She wants to bury her face in his chest and cry. But Trixie doesn’t need her mom to fall apart in a parked car right now. She needs her to figure out how to fix this so they can go back to living their lives. 

Chloe sniffs and wipes her eyes and then straightens in her seat. “So what now?”

“Detective,” Lucifer says gently. “If you need—”

“I need my kid back,” she cuts him off. “We need our lives back. Crying in the car isn’t going to fix anything, and I want to fix things. So let’s just...let’s just do something. Okay?”

Lucifer studies her for a moment, and then nods. “Very well.” 

Chloe sniffs again and then takes a deep breath. “I think we should treat it like a case.” 

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “A case?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s a mystery, right?”

He nods. “Indeed.” And then he smiles. “Lucky for us, no one is better at solving mysteries than you.”

Chloe frowns. “Me?”

Lucifer frowns too. “Surely you’re not questioning your abilities?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “Just surprised you’re not touting yours.”

He blinks at her for a second, and then he smiles again. “I’ll have you know I’ve been working on my modesty as of late.”

Even with everything that’s going on, the impulse to tease him throbs in Chloe’s chest. She follows it.

“Oh I’ve noticed,” she says. “You’re the epitome of humility these days.”

He looks surprised at her response, but then amusement tugs on his lips. “Well you don’t have to sneer when you say it, Detective.”

“Can I laugh?”

“You most certainly cannot.”

“I’ll just settle for a smirk then.”

Mischief flickers in his eyes. “I find your smirks very sexy, you know. Particularly when they’re accompanied by snark.”

“You’re saying the King of Hell likes it when his girlfriend gives him attitude.”

His smile widens. “Oh, very much.” 

They smile at each other across the center console. Chloe feels the knot of tension in her chest loosen a bit. Her life is a mess. Everyone she loves is acting insane, and she has no idea how to fix it. But she’s still got her partner, and they’re going to figure this out. They always do. 

“All right,” she says. “So if this was a case, we’d start by reviewing what we know.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agrees. “What do we know?”

Chloe sighs. “Something or someone has brainwashed everyone we know into thinking we need to break up.” 

“Are we certain that it’s them?”

Chloe frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What if it’s us?” he explains. “What if we’re just imagining it all?”

“What, like, we’re having the same dream?”

“I was thinking of a shared hallucination.” 

“Is that even possible?”

“Oh yes.” He smiles the way he does when he’s remembering something. “After I first arrived in Los Angeles, Mazikeen and I flew out with some friends to the Utah desert for a weeklong vacation at Amangiri. We ran into Jennifer and—”

“Jennifer?” Chloe interrupts. And then she frowns. “Like, Jennifer Aniston?”

“Lopez, darling,” Lucifer clarifies. 

Chloe frowns. Is he about to tell her he’s slept with JLo? 

“She’d never tried peyote,” Lucifer continues, oblivious to her thoughts. “So of course I introduced her, and my goodness did we have some fun. On the second night we...” 

He trails off when he glances at Chloe and sees what she’s sure is not an encouraging look on her face. 

“Right,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Not the proper time to share that recollection.”

Chloe swallows the urge to tell him that there’s never going to be a proper time to share all the details about his drug-fueled sexcapades with Jennifer Lopez. 

“The point is shared hallucinations are possible,” he says. 

“I don’t think we’re hallucinating,” Chloe says. She’s still trying to shake the mental image of him and JLo in bed together. “I think everyone else is. That’s why their eyes keep flickering.”

“You mentioned that earlier,” Lucifer says, turning to look at her. “What, exactly, did you see?”

“It’s like...I mean, it’s a flicker. One second their eyes are normal, and then they flicker blue and silver, and then they’re back to normal again. It’s fast. If you blink, you’ll miss it.” She frowns. “Didn’t you see it when you were interrogating Maze?”

“I did, yes,” he confirms. “But I sometimes see things differently than you. So I was curious as to whether we were seeing the same thing.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “So what is it?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

Chloe looks down at her hands. Her eyes catch on her fourth finger where she used to wear Dan’s ring. “It wasn’t just Maze,” she says. “Dan’s eyes did it too. And Trixie’s. I didn’t get a good look at Cacuzza or any of the rest, but I bet theirs were too.”

“Seems like a fair assumption.” 

She looks up at him. “And you don’t think it’s celestial? I mean, isn’t the timing a little too coincidental?”

Lucifer frowns. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Well your dad is gone, right? When the cat’s away, the mice will play. So what if Michael is, you know, making his move? He said he had an epic plan. Maybe this is it.”

“I’m not willing to rule that out,” Lucifer muses, fiddling with his cufflink. “But Michael doesn’t have this kind of power. Whatever this is, it’s not in his bag of tricks.”

“Are you sure? I mean, he brings out fears, right? And this is...”

She doesn’t finish. Lucifer meets her gaze. Guilt and regret are written plainly on his face. “Your worst fear,” he says softly.

She shakes her head. “No. Not the worst. It’d only be the worst if you hated me too.”

His expression softens. “They don’t hate you, Detective. Quite the contrary. They seem rather intent on saving you.” He drops his gaze. “From me.”

Chloe sets her hand on his arm. “I don’t need to be saved.”

“Yes, you’re quite capable of taking care of yourself,” he murmurs without looking at her. “That was on clear display back at the penthouse.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant I don’t need to be saved from you. ” 

He glances up at her, and she sees a faint gleam of hope in his eyes. She leans toward him.

“It’s all lies, Lucifer,” she murmurs. “All of it, every word they’re saying, none of it is real. I know what the truth is. It’s you. You’re real. We’re real.”

“How can you be sure?” he whispers.

She smiles. “Because I know you. And you’re not the only one who’s got faith.”

He stares at her for a moment, stunned. And then his expression dissolves into relief, and she can’t help it—she leans forward, and pulls his face toward hers, and kisses him. She pulls back after a moment, and then presses her forehead to his and strokes her thumb over his stubble. 

“I love you,” she whispers. “No take-backsies.”

He chuckles softly. She smiles, and kisses him again, and then leans back onto her side of the car. He keeps staring at her, his eyebrows furrowed a little, and she knows he’s thinking about that conversation in the evidence room that they never got to finish.

“Okay,” she says, because she doesn’t want him to feel pressured. “Back to the mystery. It could be celestial, but we don’t know. So how do we find out?”

“Well,” Lucifer sighs, “fortunately for us, I happen to know Heaven’s nerdiest angel.” 

Chloe frowns. 

“Amenadiel,” Lucifer answers her unspoken question. “He spent his youth studying like a dullard. I’m sure if anyone can tell us whether our current issue is celestial, and if so how to fix it, he can.”

“But what if he’s been infected too?”

Lucifer smiles. “Is that what we’re calling them? The infected? As if they’re shambling corpses in a cheesy zombie flick?”

“Well what else do you want me to call them?” Chloe asks. “The flickers?”

Lucifer’s smile turns wicked. “Sounds inappropriate.”

“How is—you know what, don’t answer that.” 

Movement catches Chloe’s attention from the corner of her eye, and she glances out the window at a couple jaywalking across the street in the direction of the market. They’re wrapped around each other, their heads bent together as they walk. 

“I could show you rather than answer,” Lucifer offers. His voice is a purr.

“Maybe later,” Chloe says without taking her eyes off the couple. On any other night, that could be her and Lucifer. Envy flickers in her chest. She waits until they’re on the sidewalk, and then glances at Lucifer. He’s giving her an odd look. 

“What?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious. 

Lucifer shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m occasionally caught off guard by how things have changed is all.”

“Changed?” Chloe says with a frown.

“You respond differently to innuendos now,” Lucifer clarifies. “Before, you would have just said no and rolled your eyes.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t sleeping together before.”

He tilts his head. “I never quite understood that phrase. If you do it right, there should hardly be any sleeping at all.” He grins. “You can attest to that.”

Yeah, she can definitely attest to that. But that doesn’t mean she needs to say it. “Not everyone is as skilled as you are, Lucifer,” she points out.

He looks thrilled. “You think I’m skilled?”

“I didn’t…” She trails off because yes, she did say that. “Can we focus on the task at hand, please?”

He leans toward her. “I would very much like to focus on a task for my hands, and judging by your reaction on the piano earlier this evening, you—”

“Lucifer,” she warns.

He smiles. “My apologies, darling.” He leans back to his side of the car. “We were discussing how we need to speak with Amenadiel.”

“Do you think he’s infected?”

“It’s hard to say. The only people we’ve encountered thus far are those who are firmly in your camp.”

Chloe turns to look at him with a frown. “My camp?”

“Yes. Say, for instance, that we were to get divorced. We would need to split assets. If you think of the people in our lives as assets—”

“Wait,” Chloe says, holding up her hand. “Divorced? So we’re married now?”

He waves his hand. “It’s an analogy, Detective. You would, in the case of such a split, be chosen by all the people who rushed to your defense tonight. Daniel and your spawn, obviously. Your colleagues.”

“But Maze?” Chloe says. “She’s your best friend, Lucifer.”

Lucifer frowns. “I don’t know that I’d call her that. And if she is, she’s a terrible one. Repeated betrayals notwithstanding—”

“Okay, hold up,” Chloe cuts him off. “I’m not disagreeing with you that the betrayals suck. And I lived with her, so I know she doesn’t always make the best choices.”

Lucifer snorts in agreement.

“But have you ever thought that maybe she betrays you all the time because you guys really suck at communicating with each other?”

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “I take great pride in my sucking abilities, Detective. Communication does not fall under that category.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“There it is,” Lucifer says happily. 

Chloe presses her lips together to hide a smile. He really wasn’t kidding about liking her attitude. “Focus, Lucifer.”

“Right,” he says. “I acknowledge that Mazikeen was originally in my camp, so to speak. But it is my belief that her allegiance lies elsewhere now. Namely with the Doctor and her offspring, and you and yours. So yes, I believe that if the courts forced her to decide between us, she would choose you.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “You are really clinging to this divorce analogy.”

“It’s fitting,” he says with a shrug. And then he frowns. “Does it bother you to pretend to be married to me?”

Chloe blinks. “Does it bother you?

“Well we’re getting divorced.”

“So it doesn’t bother you to pretend to be married to me as long as we get a pretend divorce?”

Lucifer looks like a deer in headlights. “Well I don’t...that is, if we were to…”

He doesn’t finish. They stare at each other for a long moment, tension thick in the air, until they both look away. 

Lucifer clears his throat. “In keeping with the analogy, I believe that Amenadiel would choose me.”

Chloe nods and swallows. “Yeah, seems right.”

“And the Doctor, of course.”

“Yeah, I—wait, you think you’d get Linda?”

Lucifer frowns. “Well you can’t possibly think she’d choose you.

Chloe tries not to be offended by the tone of his voice and fails. “Linda and I are pretty good friends, Lucifer.”

“Yes, but I’m her favorite client.”

“Yeah, client,” Chloe says. “It’s a professional relationship. That’s not the same.”

“We used to be far more than professional, Detective.”

Chloe frowns. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

Lucifer doesn’t seem to notice her discomfort at the reminder that he and Linda used to sleep together. “She has also called me her friend on more than one occasion. In front of other people, too.”

Chloe opens her mouth to argue with him, but thinks better of it at the last second. If this was an actual divorce, she’d clearly be the winner. All of the people in their lives—even his oldest friend—are on her side. It won’t kill her to let him have Linda.

“Okay,” she says. “You’re right. Linda is probably yours.” 

He looks pleased. “Thank you. And since both my brother and the Doctor are in my corner, so to speak, we should be able to visit them in their home without causing a scene.”

Chloe nods. “All right. Let’s head over there then.” She reaches for the keys in the ignition to start the car, but Lucifer puts his hand on her arm to stop her.

“Not quite yet, Detective. I wish to test a theory first.”

“What theory?”

“I want to see if strangers react to us.”

Chloe frowns. “React?”

“Yes. If my theory is correct, and the only people who will try to forcibly separate us are those who would choose you, then we shouldn’t inspire any negative reactions in complete strangers.” 

“But what if we do?”

Lucifer looks grave. “Then we’re dealing with something on a much grander scale. Something far more dangerous.”

The words are ominous, and they hang in the air like a lingering fog. Chloe’s mind runs through a hundred awful what-if scenarios before she shakes them away and forces herself to focus. 

“There’s a CVS down the street,” she says. “I think it’s open twenty-four hours. We could go in and buy some stuff, see if anyone gets pissed about us being together?”

“Lovely idea,” Lucifer says with a nod. 

Chloe starts the car. She checks for oncoming traffic, and then pulls out and heads for the CVS. 

It only takes them two minutes to get there. It isn’t until she pulls into the parking lot, parks, and turns off the car that she remembers she doesn’t have shoes on. 

“Shoot,” she says. “Do you—” She stops when she turns toward Lucifer, and finds him holding her high heels out for her. She smiles. “Thanks.”

She takes the shoes and bends forward to slip them on. She’s fastening the last strap around her ankle when she glances at the floor, and spots a brown colored pencil that must have rolled under the seat while she was driving. 

Her hands go still on the straps of her shoe. A painful lump wells up in her throat. For a second, she’s right back in that parking lot by the beach, listening to Trixie scream for her. It feels like there’s something sharp in her chest, twisting and cutting and ripping her open every time she tries to breathe. 

She left her kid. 

What kind of mother leaves her kid?

“Detective?” Lucifer calls. 

Chloe sucks in a breath and wills her tears to stay in her eyes. She reaches for the pencil, and then straightens with it still in her hand. She glances up at Lucifer in time to see his eyes flick down and notice what she’s holding. 

His body goes rigid. Pain flares in his eyes, but disappears quickly. He reaches out and covers her hand with his. 

“We’ll get her back,” he murmurs. “You know as well as I that she loves you unconditionally. There isn’t a child on this planet who loves her mother more than your offspring loves you, Detective. You’re doing what’s best for her. She won’t hold that against you.” 

Chloe swallows the argument sitting on her tongue and glances at his leg where Trixie stabbed him. “Does it hurt where she…?”

“It’s fine,” he says dismissively. “No permanent damage.”

Chloe isn’t sure that’s true. She thinks about how devastated he looked when Trixie went after him, and how hard he’s trying now to focus on assuaging her pain instead of acknowledging his, and that sharp feeling in her chest returns. 

“She didn’t mean it, Lucifer,” she murmurs. “She loves you.”

Lucifer looks out the windshield. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Chloe doesn’t try to fill the silence. 

“Not everything Daniel said on that beach was true,” he says eventually. “But there are some things that I know he may believe.”

“Like?”

“Like how I’ve hurt you. I know I have. And Mazikeen said some things as well that I’m not entirely sure are falsehoods.”

“Lucifer—”

“I think,” he cuts her off. She stops talking. He clears his throat. “I think your child may have shared some things that she is genuinely afraid of. Like, for instance, that I might take you away from her.”

Chloe chews her lip. She doesn’t know how to respond to that because she has no idea if it’s true. Maybe Trixie is afraid that Lucifer will take her away. But Trixie is also afraid that a bullet or a knife or a bomb or a host of other things will take her mom away, and none of that changes the fact that the underlying force of whatever is happening is built on a lie about who Lucifer is. 

“Trixie isn’t just worried about losing me,” Chloe says into the silence. “She’s worried about losing you too.”

Lucifer looks pained. “Detective, I realize that you’re trying to make me feel better—”

“She asked your dad about it.”

Lucifer turns to look at her in surprise. “What?”

“At his retirement party,” Chloe clarifies. “She asked him if he grants favors the way you do. And when he asked her what she wanted, she said she wanted you to stay with us forever.”

Lucifer opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“You were in the room when I told her about us, Lucifer,” Chloe reminds him. “You saw how thrilled she was. She’s loved you since the moment she met you. And I think, deep down, you know that.”

Lucifer swallows. “She really said that to Dad?” 

Chloe nods. “Yeah.” And then she smiles. “She also asked him to put giraffes on Mars, so I think when all this is over, we should probably talk to her about how she shouldn’t take advantage of her celestial connections for her own benefit.”

Lucifer blinks at her, and then a smile spreads over his lips. “If you insist.”

Chloe studies him, looking for an indication that he needs more reassurance, but finds none. She lifts his hand to her mouth anyway, and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Come on,” she murmurs. “Let’s test your theory.”

She gets out of the car. He follows suit. She walks around the back of the car and joins him, and as they head toward the entrance of the store, he drapes his arm over her shoulders. He’s never done that before. Chloe glances up at him in surprise, expecting him to second guess himself and pull away. When he doesn’t, she smiles and leans into him, wrapping her arm around his waist. 

When the red doors slide open, though, and they step into the store, the smile fades from her lips. A few yards in front of them, a CVS employee is stacking packages of Brawny paper towels on top of each other beneath a sign that says Sale!  

“Welcome to CVS,” he says in a bored voice. He glances over his shoulder at them, and then immediately freezes.

Chloe’s steps falter. Lucifer tenses next to her, obviously thinking the same thing she is—their theory is wrong, and they’re about to get in a fight with a store clerk who’s barely eighteen and hasn’t grown into his arms and legs yet. 

Chloe watches the clerk’s eyes, waiting to see the flicker, but it never comes. The only thing his eyes do is travel over her legs and linger on the v-shaped opening of Lucifer’s suit jacket that reveals the low cut front of her dress. 

“Uh,” he says when their eyes meet. 

Chloe smiles. “Hi,” she says, lifting her voice a little so it sounds like a question. 

The clerk’s face goes crimson. “H—hey, uh, hi.” 

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile. This kid is definitely reacting to her, but not in the way they were afraid of.

“Bloody hell,” Lucifer says. “Take a picture, would you? It’ll last longer and you can use it later when you finally get a moment alone with your hand.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe admonishes. 

Lucifer ignores her. “You’ve got a little drool right there,” Lucifer says to the clerk, gesturing at his chin. 

The clerk paws at his chin, his eyes wide. 

Lucifer snorts and looks down at Chloe. “He believed me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and tugs him toward the snack aisle. He follows her with a snicker. 

“You’re a jerk,” she tells him when they’re out of earshot of the clerk.

Lucifer tightens his arm around her shoulders so that the side of her body presses harder into his. “He deserved it.”

“Women look at you like that all the time and you don’t see me acting like that.”

“Well I wouldn’t mind if you did. A possessive Detective is a sexy Detective. Oooh!” He drops his arm from around her shoulders and reaches for a bag of cool ranch puffs. “Jumbo size,” he says, reading the package. He looks up at Chloe with a glint in his eye. “How fortunate. I, too, am jumbo sized. As you’re well aware.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Chloe tells him. 

He grins, and then rips open the bag and shoves his hand inside. 

“Seriously?” she hisses at him. She glances around, but no one is in sight. 

“What?” Lucifer says around a mouthful of puffs. “It’s not like I won’t pay for them.”

Chloe sighs but doesn’t bother to chastise him further because there’s no point. He’s just going to keep eating. 

“You need a snack,” he says in between fistfuls of cool ranch puffs. “Pick whatever your heart desires. My treat. Although you really should be treating me, given your trust fund.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes. She is hungry, though, so she wanders down the aisle, scanning the various boxes and bags in search of her favorite crackers. She stops dead in her tracks when she sees a shelf full of Goldfish crackers. 

Trixie loves Goldfish. 

A memory surfaces. Six-year-old Trixie in a bright pink swimsuit, sitting cross-legged on a towel in the sand. 

“Mommy?” Trixie says thoughtfully as she digs her hand into a ziploc bag full of Goldfish.

“Yeah, Monkey?” Chloe says as she looks up from her book.

Trixie smiles. “This is my favorite.”

“What is? Goldfish crackers?”

“No, Mommy,” Trixie says, rolling her eyes. “Being at the beach with you.”

Chloe remembers that the words made her feel warm all over. She doesn’t feel warm now, though. She just feels cold and empty and rubbed raw with guilt. 

“Looking for something in particular?” Lucifer wonders. 

The sound of his voice snaps Chloe out of her memory. For a second, she can’t remember how to breathe. She closes her eyes and sucks in a breath, and then exhales it slowly. 

“Detective?” Lucifer asks, worry creeping into his voice.

“Yeah,” she says. She refocuses on the shelves before her. “I was looking for…” She finally spots what she was searching for. “Ah. These.” She grabs a box of Club crackers off the shelf. 

“You must be joking.”

Chloe turns to look at him with a frown. “What? Why?”

That’s your snack of choice?” Lucifer says, gesturing at the green box in her hand with fingers that are covered in cool ranch dust. “Old lady crackers?”

“They’re not old lady crackers.”

“They most certainly are. I think they serve those in nursing homes along with daily pill doses.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“Would you like some prune juice to wash them down?” Lucifer asks, his eyes twinkling. “Perhaps a tube of BENGAY for the ache in your back?”

“Haha, very funny,” Chloe says, turning away from him and walking down the aisle. “That’s rich coming from the guy who is literally older than dirt.”

“Don’t look like it though, do I?” he says, preening. 

Chloe decides not to dignify his arrogance with a response. She gets to the end of the aisle and glances down the center lane of the store, looking for more people they can test their theory on. Lucifer follows her, crunching loudly on his puffs. Eventually, she finds a woman in the aisle stocked with cold medicine. 

Chloe stops at the end of the aisle and turns toward Lucifer. “Give me those,” she says, snatching the bag from his hand. 

“Hey,” he says. “Snatching is rude.”

Chloe glances down the aisle at the woman, who is now walking toward them, and then back at Lucifer. “Kiss me.”

Lucifer frowns. “Here? Now?”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “What happened to always ready and willing?”

Lucifer straightens as if she’s just issued him a challenge, wipes his hands on his pants, and then grabs her face in his hands and kisses her. 

He smells like cool ranch puffs. Which, honestly, aren’t her favorite. But it’s hard to complain when he’s kissing her like this, and for a second, she forgets why she even asked him to do it. She’s got her crackers in one hand and his cool ranch puffs in the other so she can’t touch him, but she leans into his chest and opens her mouth for him. He doesn’t need a second invitation. He makes a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat and buries a hand in her hair as he strokes his tongue into her mouth.

“God, get a room,” a voice mutters nearby. 

Chloe suddenly remembers that they’re making out in the middle of a CVS, and then she remembers why. She leans back from Lucifer just in time to see the woman walk past them with an eye roll, but nothing else. No speech about Lucifer being the Devil, no threats, no violence. She doesn’t even look over her shoulder at them. 

“She didn’t care,” Chloe whispers. 

Lucifer frowns. “What?”

“About us,” Chloe clarifies. “She didn’t care that we were together.” She looks up at him. “Your theory must be right. People who don’t know us aren’t infected.”

Lucifer studies her for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he grabs her by the wrist and yanks her toward the end of the aisle. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, tripping along behind him.

“One last test,” he mutters, his head on a swivel. “Just need to find...ah, here we are.” 

He tugs her forward until they come to a stop behind a guy with a Dodgers hat sitting backwards on his head. 

“Excuse me,” Lucifer says. 

The guy in the hat turns around slowly. He glances at Chloe, checks her out quickly, and then looks back at Lucifer with his eyebrows furrowed. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, actually,” Lucifer says brightly. “Are you gay?”

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses.

The guy in the hat blinks. “Uh. What?”

“Gay,” Lucifer repeats. “Do you enjoy having sex with men?”

“No,” the guy says. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“So you would sleep with her?” Lucifer asks, gesturing at Chloe. “Provided she consented, of course.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Chloe tells him.

The guy looks down at Lucifer’s hand around Chloe’s wrist and frowns. “Isn’t she like...your girlfriend?”

“Why yes she is,” Lucifer says, puffing out his chest in pride. He drapes his arm around Chloe and pulls her flush against his side. “What do you think of us? Do you think we’re cute together?”

“Dude, I don’t even know you.”

“Minor detail,” Lucifer says, waving his hand dismissively. “Based on what you see, what do you think? Do we make a nice pair?”

“Uh...sure?”

“So you don’t have a sudden and inexplicable desire to rescue her?”

“Am I supposed to?” the guy says incredulously. And then his expression goes slack in horror. “Wait, are you guys swingers? Are you hitting on me?”

“No,” Chloe says, feeling her face flush. 

“Oh, look at you trolling for partners in your local convenience store,” Lucifer says with a grin. “No shame. I like it.”

The guy’s face turns crimson. “I’m not hitting on you. You’re hitting on me.

“I most certainly am not,” Lucifer says. “I’m in a committed relationship, thank you very much. Speaking of, if I told you that we plan on spending the rest of forever together, would you support that decision?”

“Wait, what?” Chloe says, looking up at Lucifer.

Lucifer ignores her. “Answer the question,” he says, waving impatiently at the guy in the hat. “We don’t have all night.”

“Yeah, sure bro,” the guy says. “You do you.”

Lucifer grins. “Well, actually, she does me these days. And quite well, I might add. She does this thing where she—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off before he can embarrass her even more. “That’s enough.” She smiles apologetically at the guy in the hat. “So sorry to bother you. We’re leaving.”

She shoves Lucifer toward the front of the store. 

“Detective,” he huffs at her. “There’s no need to push. And we can’t leave yet. I’d like to get some gummy bears before we go, and I believe they’re located in that direction.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Chloe hisses, shoving him again. “You can’t just walk up to people and say stuff like that.”

“Well I had to,” he says, turning to face her. “Every man we’ve encountered tonight has looked at you like he can’t wait to bend you over—”

“Lucifer!”

“—and I needed to be sure that it was you and not the infection.”

“Me?” Chloe says incredulously. “What did I do?”

“Well you put on that dress, for starters.” 

Chloe casts an exasperated look at the ceiling and sighs. This is what she gets for wishing things were normal. She gets Lucifer being peak Lucifer. 

“Can we agree that the theory checks out so far?” she asks.

He smiles. “Why of course, darling.”

“Great. Then let’s go.”

She brushes past him toward the exit, but Lucifer grabs her elbow and yanks her back. “Nope,” he says, dragging her toward the candy aisle. “Not until I get my gummies.” 

Chloe casts another look at the ceiling. “Why am I dating a middle school boy?” 

Lucifer grins at her over his shoulder. “Because you love me.” And then he winks. “No take-backsies.”

Chloe can’t help it. 

She laughs.

Notes:

For the record, I also love Club crackers and Lucifer can pry them out of my cold dead hands.

Chapter 12: Twelve

Notes:

Much love to y'all who keep leaving me love in my comments. I appreciate it more than you know :)

Chapter Text

Linda looks shocked when she opens the door and finds Chloe and Lucifer on the other side. 

“Lucifer,” Linda says in surprise. She glances at Chloe, double takes at her outfit, and then says, “Chloe?”

“Hey Linda,” Chloe greets.

Linda pulls her bathrobe tighter around her body. “Is everything all right?” 

Lucifer steps into Linda’s space, bends forward, and squints at her instead of answering. Linda leans back, but Lucifer follows her and bends even farther forward. There’s an intense look of concentration on his face, but it’s hard for Chloe to take him seriously because two minutes ago he was explaining to her how betrayed he felt when he realized that green gummy bears are strawberry flavored.

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “What’s happening right now?”

“Just looking for flickers,” Lucifer mutters.

Linda casts a glance at Chloe out of the corner of her eye. “Is he high?”

“On gummy bears,” Chloe replies.

Linda frowns. “Are you high?” 

Chloe snorts. “I wish.”

Lucifer whips around to face her. “Why Detective,” he purrs, a wicked grin smoothing over his lips. “I had no idea you were interested in drugs. We should get high together and see how much of the Kama Sutra we can get through.”

Chloe gives him a look. “Can you focus?”

“Right,” he says. “We’ll talk about that later.” He turns back to Linda, squints at her again, and then shakes his head. “No flickers. My theory must be correct.”

Chloe thinks of Dan, and how she briefly thought he was safe when she didn’t see the flicker right away. “It doesn’t always show up right away.”

Lucifer hums and then gives Linda an appraising look. “Well, the doctor is small,” he decides. “You can take her.”

“Me?” Chloe says. “Why do I have to take her?”

Lucifer frowns. “Well surely you don’t expect me to punch her?”

“Why am I being punched?” Linda asks. “What’s going on?”

“Long story,” Lucifer replies. “The Detective will explain. I need to speak with my brother.” He shoves past her and into the house without waiting for an invitation. 

Linda sighs. “By all means, Lucifer, please come in.”

Chloe wants to laugh, but she feels guilty for intruding. “Sorry, Linda,” she says with a wince. “I know it’s late.”

Linda smiles. “Don’t apologize. It’s not the first time he’s barged in at an odd hour. I should be used to it by now.”

“You mean he has no concept of boundaries? I’m shocked to hear you say that.”

Linda laughs and beckons her inside. “Come in. I’ll make some tea.”

Chloe thanks her and steps into the house. Linda shuts the door behind her. They’ve just gotten down the entryway steps when Lucifer strides out of the kitchen with a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie in his hand. Chloe considers pointing out to him that he probably should have asked before he helped himself to Linda’s cookies, but decides against it.

“These are delicious,” he announces, grinning around a mouthful of cookie. “Well done, Doctor. You should give the Detective your recipe. She enjoys baking with the urchin around the holidays.”

“It’s the recipe on the back of the Nestle bag,” Linda says to her.

Chloe smiles. “Trixie’s favorite.”

“A bag?” Lucifer repeats with a frown. “Who puts a recipe on a bag?” And then he waves his hand. “Nevermind, I don’t care. Where’s my brother, Doctor? I assume fast asleep since it’s far past his bedtime and he’s incapable of fun.”

“Actually, he’s not here,” Linda replies. 

Lucifer frowns. “Well then where is he?” 

“He went up to the Silver City. After he saw your father off, he decided to visit some of your siblings.”

Chloe’s heart stutters to a stop in her chest. For the first time since the beach, she’s afraid. She glances at Lucifer. He meets her gaze and looks just as worried as she feels.

Linda glances between them with a frown. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s just a short visit. He said he wouldn’t be gone long.”

Chloe shakes her head. Time is different in Heaven and Hell. What might seem like five minutes to Amenadiel could be years. And they don’t have years. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. 

“Don’t worry, darling,” he says, holding out his hand. “He’ll come if I pray. Just give me a moment. Excuse me.”

He turns and strides out of the room, leaving Linda and Chloe in silence. 

The moment he’s out of sight, panic claws at Chloe’s chest. She’s immediately annoyed with herself. She’s a homicide detective, for god’s sake. She shouldn’t need her boyfriend around to make her feel safe. But whatever’s happening is definitely out of her wheelhouse, and tonight has been awful. It helps to have Lucifer close. It makes things...less awful.

“Chloe?” Linda says, putting her hand on Chloe’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Everything is fine.” 

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “Riiiight,” she says slowly. And then she pats Chloe on the arm. “Let’s get some tea.”

Linda heads for the kitchen. Chloe watches her go. Maybe it’s because Lucifer is gone, but she’s suddenly wondering if Linda is going to flip the way Dan and Trixie did. What if she’s just tricking them into a false sense of security? What if she’s going to—

“Chloe?” Linda calls from the kitchen. 

Chloe looks up. 

Linda gestures in the direction Lucifer went. “You can go with him if you’re uncomfortable.”

Chloe frowns. “Uncomfortable?” 

“You’re reaching for a gun you don’t have,” Linda says, glancing down at Chloe’s hip. 

Chloe follows her gaze, and sure enough, her hand is at her hip where her sidearm would usually be. 

“Oh,” she says. She drops her hand. “No, I’m…” She doesn’t know what she is, and she doesn’t know how to finish that sentence, so she sighs instead. 

“I can put some whiskey in your tea,” Linda offers with a smile. “If you need to take the edge off.”

Chloe studies her. That sounds like something Linda would say, and she looks how Linda should look, and she hasn’t started spouting off about Lucifer being dangerous or evil or too selfish to love her. Maybe Lucifer is right. Maybe this is a weird celestial preview of what their divorce would be like, and Linda is in his camp, so she’s safe. There’s no reason to worry. 

Or maybe not. 

Chloe walks across the house, stops in front of Linda, and leans forward to look into the doctor’s eyes. She wants to check for the flicker herself. Not that she doesn’t trust Lucifer. She just...wants to be sure.

“Are you looking for flickers?” Linda asks dryly. 

Chloe doesn’t answer. She waits a little longer, but nothing appears. Linda’s eyes aren’t flickering. They just look normal. 

“Sorry,” Chloe says, leaning back. “Just trying to be careful.”

Linda smiles and nods at the closest barstool. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Chloe slides onto the stool with a sigh. Her feet hurt in these heels. She misses her sensible brown shoes. When all this is over, she’s never wearing high heels again. Ever. Flip flops or boots. That’s it.

A memory of the look on Lucifer’s face when he saw her high heels surfaces.

Well, maybe not never.

She pushes the memory away and glances toward the hallway that Lucifer disappeared down. She can’t see him. She can’t hear his voice either. Which is fine, right? He probably doesn’t pray out loud. Unless he’s not praying. Is he calling Amenadiel? Do cell phones work in Heaven? Or is there, like, some other way that angels communicate with each other?

She looks away from the hallway and pushes her hand through her hair. She desperately needs a hair tie. She should’ve bought one at CVS. She meant to. She just got distracted trying to make sure Lucifer didn’t buy the entire candy aisle. 

“So,” Linda says as she sets the tea kettle on the stove and flicks on the burner. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Well I would,” Chloe says with a sigh, “except I have no idea.”

Linda gives her a sympathetic smile. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you and Lucifer are suddenly obsessed with really intense eye contact?”

Chloe snorts. “We probably seem crazy to you, huh?”

Linda shakes her head. “I don’t believe in crazy. The human mind is a complex thing. We don’t always understand why other people’s brains work the way they do, but that doesn’t make them crazy. In my experience, the people who call others crazy are just too lazy to find a better explanation. Or too cruel.”

A lump forms in Chloe’s throat. She didn’t realize how badly she needed to hear that. She was called crazy so many times after Palmetto. Hearing Dan say it to her tonight was...well, it didn’t feel good. Even if he wasn’t really himself.

“Do you feel crazy?” Linda asks gently. 

Chloe nods. “Yeah. I mean, I know I’m not. But…”

“But?” Linda prods. 

Chloe chews her bottom lip and searches for the words. “I guess I’m just wondering when we’re going to catch a break. I mean, why is it that every time Lucifer and I finally get to a good place, everything just implodes?”

“So you two got into a fight?” 

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “The exact opposite, actually. We’re fighting with everyone else. I mean, Maze showed up unannounced at the penthouse and started ranting about how bad Lucifer is for me, and then a bunch of cops from my precinct showed up too, and they were acting so…”

“Crazy?” Linda supplies with a smile. 

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “They were dead set on getting me away from Lucifer. I had to fight them, Linda. Physically fight them. And Maze...I mean, the penthouse looks like a bomb went off.”

“Why were they trying to get you away from Lucifer?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, throwing up her hands. “That’s the thing. They were acting like he’s dangerous. One of them literally said love doesn’t hurt to me. Like, what the hell is that? That’s what we say to domestic abuse victims, and I’m not...I mean, this is Lucifer we’re talking about. My Lucifer. He’d cut his own arm off before he hurt me.”

Linda doesn’t answer. Chloe looks up when the silence drags on too long. The doctor is frozen, and she has an odd expression on her face. Like she’s trying to remember something but can’t quite grasp it. 

“Linda?” Chloe asks. 

Linda meets her gaze. “What did you say just now?”

“I said Lucifer would never hurt me.”

Linda nods. She purses her lips the way she does when she’s thinking, and then she says, “Well that’s not exactly true, is it?”

Warning bells start to blare in the back of Chloe’s mind. “What do you mean?” 

“Well he has hurt you in the past,” Linda says. “Repeatedly, in fact. I understand it wasn’t physical, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t painful. It might be difficult for people who care about you to believe that he won’t do it again.” 

Chloe presses her lips together. Linda’s eyes aren’t flickering, but Chloe’s gut is telling her that something is wrong. 

She straightens on the stool. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Linda replies.

“What do you think of my decision to be with Lucifer?”

Linda tilts her head. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I mean do you think I’m making a mistake? Do you think he’s going to hurt me?”

“Do you?

“I’m the one asking the questions, Linda. Not you.”

Linda lifts her eyebrows. They stare each other down for a moment, and then Linda folds her hands on the counter. “I have a feeling I’m being interrogated.”

Chloe lets her silence speak for itself.

Linda nods. “All right.” She straightens a little. “I think you see him differently than other people do. You always have. And I think Lucifer wants to be who you think he is.”

“And who is it I think he is?”

“A good man.”

The words hang in the air and then settle over Chloe like a chill. She stares across the island at her friend, waiting, and she finally sees it—a flicker in Linda’s eyes. 

Chloe’s first thought is how heartbroken Lucifer is going to be. But then, after her heart squeezes in her chest, rage takes over. This isn’t fair. None of this is fair. Lucifer has spent all of eternity being blamed for things he hasn’t done and being held responsible for things other people did. Now he’s finally found a home, finally found a family, and they’re turning on him?

Chloe curls her hands into fists and tries to control her temper. “I don’t think he’s good,” she says, her voice wavering with barely restrained anger. “I know he’s good.”

“Chloe,” Linda says gently. “I’ve seen this before in patients.”

“Seen what?”

“A savior complex.”

Chloe exhales sharply through her nose. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“There’s a reason you’re a cop,” Linda forges on. “You want to help people. You want to protect them, and save them, and Lucifer is no different. You two have a connection. I’m not disputing that. But that connection is affecting your judgment.”

“For god’s sake,” Chloe says, pushing her stool back and getting to her feet. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?”

“You don’t need to be ashamed of how you feel,” Linda says, holding out her hands in a placating gesture. “I understand it can be very intoxicating when you think you have the power to make someone—”

“I’m not making him anything,” Chloe cuts her off angrily. “He already is. You of all people should know that. You know him better than anyone, maybe even me.”

“I do know him,” Linda says patiently. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What Lucifer wants more than anything in this world is to be loved. And he will do whatever it takes to get that love, even if it means jumping into something he’s not ready for.”

“Linda—”

“I know he tries to be a good man. And his effort matters. I’m not saying it doesn’t, or that he’s a lost cause. But that doesn’t mean he’s ready to give you what you’re asking for. He’s not like other men, Chloe. He’s swimming against the current of literal millennia of habits and beliefs—”

“You’re a shrink, Linda,” Chloe says, brandishing her finger. “You’re supposed to know people can change.”

“People can change. But change isn’t permanent, Chloe. It’s cyclical. Addicts relapse. People fall off the wagon. Lucifer is no different, and he’s reverting back to his old self. I can see it happening. And I think you can too. I saw it written all over your face at family dinner when he brought up that he’s invulnerable again.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Lucifer was vulnerable by choice,” Linda replies. “It was a physical manifestation of a subconscious desire. He wanted to be vulnerable with you, but he wasn’t sure how, so he let his body be vulnerable as he learned to let his heart do the same.”

“So?”

“So if he’s invulnerable again, that means something. It says something about the state of his mind.”

For a moment, all Chloe can think about is that damn cave at the abandoned zoo, and Michael sneering at her on the other side of the bars. But then she remembers her kitchen the other morning, and the bright red blood on Lucifer’s shirt. She thinks of the cut on his forehead after their shootout with the cartel, and the small scratches on his palm after he brushed broken glass off her thigh.

“He’s not invulnerable.”

Linda frowns. “What?”

“He’s not invulnerable,” Chloe repeats. “I’ve seen him bleed at least three times in the last week.”

“But he said—” 

“He was invulnerable when Dan shot him. But he’s not now. So if you’re trying to use that as evidence that he’s relapsing, then you’re wrong.”

Linda looks stunned. “Wait,” she says. “Wait. Dan shot him? That’s when he became invulnerable?” 

“Yeah.”

“But then he became vulnerable again.”

“Yeah.”

Linda’s eyes go wide. She leans over the counter. “Does Lucifer know you were upset?”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“You seemed upset at family dinner when he brought up that he was invulnerable,” Linda says impatiently. “Did you guys talk about it? Did you tell him that you were afraid that he was reverting back to his old self?”

“I mean, I didn’t say it exactly like that. But yeah. I guess so.”

Linda’s mouth is hanging open now. She looks completely, utterly stunned. And then she shakes her head, and a smile starts to form on her lips. “I can’t believe this.”

“Can’t believe what?”

“I was right,” she says, more to herself than to Chloe. “He has changed.”

For a moment, Chloe is too confused to say anything. That’s...not something that someone who was under the influence of the flicker would say. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of what Linda said two minutes ago. 

Chloe leans over the counter, searching Linda’s eyes, but the flicker isn’t there anymore. It’s gone. 

What the hell?

“So you don’t think Lucifer is regressing?” Chloe asks.

Linda laughs. “No.” 

Chloe blinks at her, and then she leans against the counter and sighs. “I am so confused.”

Linda smiles kindly. “Let me explain. When Lucifer subconsciously chose to be physically vulnerable, I don’t think it was just about him. He wasn’t just responding to his own desire. He was responding to yours. You wanted him to be vulnerable with you, and he wanted to give you what you wanted, so he was vulnerable in the only way he knew how to be.”

Chloe frowns. “But when Dan shot him, the bullet bounced right off.”

“Because Lucifer was responding to your desire again. He gave you what he knew you’d want. He knew it would hurt you if he was shot or killed, so he made himself invulnerable so you wouldn’t suffer.”

“So if he’s physically vulnerable again…?”

“It’s because you want him to be,” Linda finishes. “He recognized how upset you were about his invulnerability returning, and he was upset that you were upset, so he reverted back to the state you wanted him to be in. All along, he’s been trying to give you what you want. Subconsciously, but still.”

Chloe blinks at her, stunned. 

The ear splitting whistle of the tea kettle stops any further conversation. Linda jumps in surprise, and then turns toward the stove. Chloe watches her, but her mind is elsewhere. Her brain is still stuttering over the revelation that Lucifer’s invulnerability—or lack thereof—might be tied to her and what she wants. 

On the one hand, it’s flattering. He still hasn’t said I love you, but making himself vulnerable again so she wouldn’t feel insecure about his feelings is a hell of a statement. On the other hand, though, it makes her feel sick to her stomach. He could be shot or stabbed or worse, and he did that for her. He thought she wanted him to be at risk more than she wanted him to be safe. What does that say about her? What does that say about their relationship? 

“Here,” Linda says, sliding a mug across the counter.

Chloe smiles. “Thanks.” She wraps her hands around the mug and watches the steam curl from the top. 

“So,” Linda says. “How are things with you and Lucifer other than the vulnerability issue?”

Chloe looks up. “They’re good. Really good, actually.”

Linda purses her lips and nods but doesn’t reply. Silence hangs in the air. Chloe knows Linda is staying silent on purpose. She does the same thing in interrogations. When you give people silence and time, they feel compelled to fill it. But somehow, knowing that isn’t enough to keep Chloe from talking. 

“He’s planning our first date,” she says. 

Linda lifts her eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah. He says he wants it to be special. Which, like, so do I, but...I mean, he’s Lucifer. Should I be worried? Because I just keep thinking about that billboard on Sunset he rented when I was upset about the gift from God thing, and I…”

She trails off when Linda’s expression goes slack.

“Linda?”

Linda doesn’t answer.

“Linda,” Chloe calls again.

Linda snaps her gaze up to meet Chloe’s. “Sorry. I was just...have you guys talked about that?”

Chloe frowns. “Talked about what?”

“About how you’re a gift that his father created to manipulate him.”

Chloe frowns. She’s opening her mouth to disagree, but she stops short when a brief flash of silver and blue flickers suddenly in Linda’s eyes. 

Chloe’s heart sinks. She pushes her mug away. “Is that really what you think?” she asks quietly. 

“Well I’m only human,” Linda says. “I won’t pretend to know what God’s plan is. But if Lucifer’s father wanted to teach him how to care about other people more than he cares about himself, then manipulating him into falling in love with someone as selfless as you would be a good way to do it.”

The words sting more than Chloe wants them to. She’s trying to decide whether she wants to argue or just give up and go get Lucifer when Linda shakes her head. 

“No,” she breathes.

Chloe frowns. “No?” she repeats.

Linda doesn’t react. She’s staring off into space, her eyes glassy. “Lucifer doesn’t really believe that his father manipulates him,” she says softly. “He told you that. And you believe him.”

Chloe frowns. “He never told me that.”

“No, not you,” Linda says, looking up. “Me. He told me that.”

“He did?”

“Yes. He—” 

Linda stops talking abruptly. She stands frozen for a few seconds, and then her eyes flicker. She straightens and meets Chloe’s gaze. “Lucifer believes that his father is using you to manipulate him.”

Chloe blinks at her, confused. Why does Linda keep contradicting herself? Why is she...

The realization hits like a lightning bolt. 

“You’re fighting it,” Chloe breathes.

Linda frowns. “What?”

“That’s why you keep going back and forth,” Chloe continues. “Because sometimes you can see through the illusion.”

“What illusion?”

Chloe strides around the island and grabs Linda’s shoulders. “I need you to listen to me, okay? There’s something weird going on. A spell, or a hallucination, or...I don’t know the right words, but it’s something, okay? It’s something that makes people think that Lucifer is evil, and that I need to break up with him.” 

“You should.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No. Linda, listen—”

“No, you listen,” Linda interrupts. “Chloe, I know him. I know him better than anyone. And he’s not ready for this. He’s not ready for you.”

“You can fight this, Linda,” Chloe insists. She feels desperation well up in her throat and she tries to swallow around it. “Please fight it. Please. He needs you to be on his side.”

“I am on his side. I’m his therapist. But I’m your friend, Chloe, and that’s more important. And I’m telling you, as your friend, Lucifer isn’t ready to be in a serious relationship with you. I don’t know if he’s ever going to be ready. I’m not sure he’s capable.”

Chloe opens her mouth to argue, but Lucifer’s voice rings out through the kitchen before she can. 

“Is that so, Doctor?”

Chloe whips around to face him. He’s standing framed in the doorway, his fingers fiddling with one of his cufflinks. Everything about his posture screams casual and unaffected, but Chloe isn’t fooled. She can see it in his eyes. He’s hurt. She wonders how much he heard. 

“Lucifer,” she starts.

“Yes,” Linda cuts her off. “Chloe isn’t like your other conquests, Lucifer.”

“I’m aware,” Lucifer says stiffly.

“She has a dangerous, stressful job,” Linda forges on. “She has a child. She needs stability and assurance. That’s why she chose Pierce.”

“Pierce?” Lucifer echoes, straightening to his full height. His eyes flash. “What the bloody hell does—”

“He offered her what you didn’t,” Linda interrupts. “That’s why she said yes to his proposal. He was safe and steady and stable, and he was ready to devote his life to her.”

I’m ready to devote my life to her.”

“Are you sure?" 

Lucifer opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He glances at Chloe. She can’t handle the distress in his eyes. 

“Stop it, Linda,” she says quietly.

Linda shakes her head. “No. It’s important that he faces the truth. Relationships are hard work, Lucifer. They take commitment and persistence and selflessness. You have to put her first. You have to be sure about what you want—”

“I know what I want, Doctor,” Lucifer cuts her off, his voice thundering through the kitchen. “And so do you. You asked me once, remember? You asked me what I wanted, and I told you, and it hasn’t changed. It’s all I’ve wanted since our first case, even if I didn’t realize it.”

Linda doesn’t answer. Her face goes slack like it did before. Hope flutters in Chloe’s chest. 

“Fight it, Linda,” she says, reaching out to grab the doctor’s arm. “Focus on what you know.”

“What I know,” Linda says slowly, almost robotically. She blinks, and then she shakes her head and fixes her gaze on Lucifer. Her eyes flicker silver and blue. 

“What I know is that you are unfathomably narcissistic,” she says, her voice hard. “You are utterly terrified of intimacy. And you have a long, long history of sabotaging everything good that has ever happened to you. This relationship won’t be any different.”

Lucifer looks like he just got suckerpunched.

Anger flares in Chloe’s gut. “Stop it, Linda.”

Linda ignores her. “I know you, Lucifer. You’ll try to hold on to her, but you’ll hold on too tight. You’ll put too much pressure on yourself, and it’ll make you resent her, and then you’ll look for an escape. Alcohol. Drugs. Other women. Anything and anyone but her.”

Lucifer flinches.

Stop it,” Chloe says through clenched teeth. 

“You’ll break her heart,” Linda continues, still ignoring Chloe. “And you know it. If you love her, if you really love her, you’ll do what’s best for her. You—”

Enough,” Chloe snarls, stepping between Linda and Lucifer. 

Linda blinks in surprise. “Chloe?” she murmurs.

Chloe glares at her, and then turns toward Lucifer. He’s staring at the floor, his eyes glassy. His posture lacks all its usual confidence. Defeat is coming off of him in waves.

“Lucifer,” Chloe murmurs.

He gives no indication that he heard her, so she crosses the room to stand in front of him. He doesn’t look at her. 

“Look at me, babe,” she whispers, brushing her hand over his face. 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. 

“You know none of that is true,” she tells him, holding his gaze. “You know what’s real.”

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, and says nothing. 

She frames his face in her hands and shifts closer to him. “Say it to me,” she whispers. “Tell me what’s real.”

He tilts toward her. “You.” 

“Us,” she corrects. 

“Detective,” he breathes, his voice breaking.

She kisses him. What else can she do? She can hear the defeat bleeding into his voice, and she can’t stand it, so she rises onto her toes and kisses him because that’s what he understands. That’s his language. And it’ll be hers, too, if that’s what he needs.

“I love you,” she whispers afterward. “Okay? That’s what’s real. We’re real.”

He presses his forehead to hers. His hands wrap around her hips, and his fingers flex against her like he’s holding on for dear life. “You and me,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “You and me.”

He sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, and then lets it out. Chloe lingers close to him for a moment, and then she grabs one of his hands. 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

She leads him by the hand toward the front door. He follows her without a word, his fingers woven through hers.

“Chloe,” Linda calls out after her. “Chloe, wait.”

Chloe holds Lucifer’s hand tighter and doesn’t turn around.  

Chapter 13: Thirteen

Notes:

You guys, seriously, you say the nicest things in my comments. Thank you!

Chapter Text

Lucifer has the car keys in his pocket, but unlike he did at the beach, he doesn’t offer them to Chloe.

She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. She doesn’t ask. She slides into the passenger seat of Dan’s cruiser without comment, and then buckles her seatbelt as Lucifer starts the car. She glances at him as he pulls away from the curb, but his face is an impassive mask. She can’t read him. She wants to ask him if he’s okay, but she knows he’s not. She has a feeling he needs some time to gather his thoughts, so she presses her lips together and stares out the windshield. He seems to be driving with a purpose, though she has no idea where he’s taking her. They can’t go back to the penthouse, and they can’t go to her place. Where else can they go? 

She’s struck, all of a sudden, by how much has changed in just a week. Last week they were driving toward Linda’s house for family dinner, flirting and laughing and happy. Now they’re driving away from Linda’s in a deathly silence, and the world seems to have gone to hell. 

“Amenadiel didn’t answer me,” Lucifer says quietly. 

Chloe looks over at him in surprise. “What?”

He tightens his fingers around the steering wheel. “Amenadiel,” he repeats. “He didn’t respond.”

“Is that normal?”

“No.”

Chloe frowns. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Chloe waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Fear wells up in her throat like vomit. She swallows it down and looks out the window. She’s not the kind of person who panics, but it’s hard to ignore the fluttering of anxiety in her chest. Everyone they know has gone insane, and the one person they were hoping would have answers is unreachable. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

Lucifer’s hand slides over her knee. “I know you’re frightened, Detective,” he says softly.

“Aren’t you?” she asks, turning to look at him. 

He blinks in surprise. “Well I…” 

He trails off. Chloe wonders if he’s choosing not to say anything because he can’t lie and he doesn’t want to admit the truth. She looks out the window and chews her lip.

“I will admit I’m unsettled,” Lucifer murmurs after a while. “Amenadiel is annoyingly reliable, and it doesn’t bode well that he’s either out of reach or not listening.”

Chloe doesn’t say anything. Lucifer’s hand is still on her knee. He strokes his thumb over her skin. 

“I am unsettled by the Doctor as well,” he continues. “I didn’t expect her to…” He clears his throat. “I thought she, at least, might be on my side.”

Chloe looks at him. “She was.”

He frowns. “Did you not hear anything she said?”

“I heard it. But before you came out, she was different. She was trying to fight it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean while you were trying to get in touch with Amenadiel, she kept bouncing back and forth. One minute she was the real Linda, telling me that you’ve changed and you’re vulnerable again for my sake, and then she’d flip and act like everyone else.”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “What did she say about my vulnerability?”

“You remember how Amenadiel said you were choosing to be vulnerable around me? Like, you did it because you wanted to?”

“Yes.”

“Well apparently Linda—the real Linda—thinks you weren’t just responding to your own desire. You were responding to mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah. I wanted you to be vulnerable, and you wanted to give me what I wanted, but you didn’t know how, so you made yourself physically vulnerable. When Dan shot you, you became bulletproof because you knew that’s what I’d want. And then when you realized that your invulnerability upset me, you changed back.”

“Hm,” Lucifer says thoughtfully. Chloe watches him carefully, curious about how he’ll react. He looks puzzled for a moment, but then he nods. “That makes sense.”

Chloe blinks. “It does?”

“Well of course. I don’t just draw out people’s desires, Detective. I enjoy fulfilling them as well. So it’s a perfectly reasonable assumption that I would respond to what you desired.”

Chloe’s heart sinks. “So it’s not actually about me,” she says. “You would’ve become vulnerable for anyone if that’s what they wanted.”

He scoffs. “Well of course not, Detective.”

Chloe frowns. “No?”

“No. I enjoy fulfilling desires, but I’m not compelled to do it. I do it if and when I choose. And apparently I chose you. Repeatedly.” He smiles. “You must be quite pleased to hear that my relapse into vulnerability is, in fact, your doing.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. 

The smile on his lips fades. He pulls his hand back from her knee, and Chloe feels suddenly cold. 

“What do you mean no? ” he says, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the road. “I thought you wanted me to be vulnerable.”

“Lucifer, I—”

“You were upset and I fixed it. I fixed it for you. So you wouldn’t worry about my feelings for you. So you’d be happy.

He doesn’t just look confused anymore, he looks hurt. And she doesn’t want that.

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, reaching for his arm.

He jerks away from her touch, and the car swerves with his movement. “You’re not happy with me.”

The pain in his voice breaks her heart, and she knows that after everything that happened with Linda, there are a lot more layers to the phrase you’re not happy with me than just this specific context. She also knows they can’t have this conversation while he’s driving. The last thing they need right now is to end up wrapped around a tree.

“Lucifer, pull the car over.” 

“No,” he says petulantly. The car speeds up. 

She gives him a look. “Pull the car over, Lucifer. Now.”

He huffs out an exasperated breath, but he yanks the wheel to the side and pulls the car over. He slams on the brakes so hard Chloe lurches a little in her seat, and then he shoves the gear shift into park.

“Are you happy now?” he asks, glaring out the windshield. “I did as you desired. Although apparently that’s not enough to make you happy.”

Chloe sighs. She turns in her seat to face him. “Can you look at me please?”

He snorts derisively and continues to glare out the windshield. Chloe waits. She used to have to do this with Trixie back in her toddler days. Lucifer might have more time than she does, considering the whole immortal angel thing, but she’ll wait as long as she needs to. She can be stubborn too. 

Eventually, Lucifer meets her gaze. Chloe reaches out and sets her hand on his forearm, and she’s glad when he doesn’t recoil. 

“If Linda is right, and you became vulnerable again because you thought that’s what I wanted, that is very, very sweet.”

He looks briefly vindicated, but then his eyebrows furrow. “I sense a but coming.” 

She exhales a breath. “But that’s not what I want.”

“You said—”

“I know what I said. But I don’t want you to put yourself in danger just because I’m afraid that you don’t—”

She stops abruptly. His eyes widen a little. 

“Just because I’m afraid,” she amends. “Yes, part of me wanted you to be vulnerable again because it was reassuring. It was...I don’t know. Proof, I guess. But Lucifer I never, ever want you to get hurt. Okay? Especially not for something as stupid as that.”

He frowns. “So you want me to be invulnerable?”

“If you can be, yeah. So can you...I don’t know, can you undo it?”

He gives her an incredulous look. “I’m not a cell phone, Detective. You can’t just press a button and restore me to factory settings.”

“Well can you try?

“How on earth would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, what did you do before Dan shot you? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that your douchey ex was about to do something douchey and keep me from ever having sex with you again.”

Chloe gives him a look. “Seriously?”

“Yes seriously,” he says. “Not all of us are accustomed to dry spells, Detective, and I spent thousands of years in Hell with nothing but my imagination, so I—”

“Wait,” Chloe cuts him off. “You didn’t have sex in Hell?”

He looks appalled. “Did you think I did?”

“I don’t know,” she says defensively. “I didn’t really think about it.”

“Well how nice for you. You were up here running around with Maze, solving cases and partying at Lux and not thinking about me, and meanwhile I’m down there for thousands of years trying to remember how your ass looks in jeans.”

For a second Chloe’s brain trips over his admission that he likes the way her ass looks in jeans, but then she pushes the thought away. 

“Hold on,” she says. “Are you saying you waited for me?”

“Well of course I did, Detective,” he replies, throwing up his hands as if he’s completely exasperated by her. 

“But I thought you didn’t plan on coming back.”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why—”

“Well I hoped, Detective. And in any case, I didn’t want sex if it wasn’t with you.

Chloe stares at him. She still doesn’t fully understand how Hell works, but she knows there are thousands of demons down there. Demons who look like Maze. Demons who worship him as king and will do anything—literally anything—he wants, whenever he wants, no questions asked. He was down there for thousands of years, and he could’ve done whatever he wanted, and she never would have known. But he waited for her. For her.  

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. 

Lucifer looks confused for a second, and then he perks up like someone just offered him a lifetime supply of gummy bears. “Are we finally going to have car sex?”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

He points at her. “The last time you said my name like that—”

No,” Chloe says, shoving his hand away. “No, I am not about to have sex with you in my ex-husband’s police cruiser on the side of the road. God, Lucifer.” 

“Well you don’t have to bring Dad into it,” he huffs. 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Can you just focus on trying to be bulletproof?”

“Fine,” he says. He shifts in his seat, tugging on his jacket, and then closes his eyes. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m focusing. Do you mind? You’re very distracting.”

Chloe swallows a sarcastic retort and presses her lips together. 

Lucifer stays like that for a minute or so, silence hanging in the air, and then he cracks one eye open. “Well? Do I look bulletproof?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, looking him over. “You look the same.”

He nods at the glove compartment. “Give us the gun that’s in there and we’ll find out.”

“What? No.” 

“Well we have to test it somehow, Detective.”

“Yeah, but not by shooting you.”

“Why not?”

“Um, because if it doesn’t work then you’ll be shot? Seriously, you have no concept of self-preservation. How have you not died more often in the last few years?”

“For Dad’s sake,” Lucifer sighs. “Do you have something sharp then?”

She doesn’t, but she knows Dan keeps a knife in his glove compartment. She reaches into the glove compartment, pulls it out, and flips open the blade. Lucifer rolls up his sleeve. Chloe holds out the knife. He takes it from her, and then traces a small line on his arm. Blood oozes to the surface of his skin. 

“Damn it,” he says.

“Try again. Think harder.”

He looks up at her. “Think harder? Are you joking?”

“You can self-actualize,” Chloe insists. “You just have to try harder. Here, come here.” 

She holds out her hands, and he frowns at her. She rolls her eyes and grabs his face, and then leans forward so that they’re only a breath apart.

“Lucifer,” she says.

He arches an eyebrow. “Yes, Detective?”

“I want you to be invulnerable. Knife-proof, bulletproof, all of it. Completely invulnerable.” She drops her hands. “Okay, now try it.” 

He lifts the knife obediently, but as the blade slides over his skin, another thin line of blood appears. Chloe sighs.

“You know, this might not be my fault,” Lucifer says, looking up at her. “Are you sure you really mean it?” 

“Seriously?” she says. “You think I want you to bleed?”

“Well it sure as hell seems like it,” he says, gesturing at his arm. 

You’re the one who self-actualizes, Lucifer.”

“Yes, and according to the Doctor, I do it at your behest.” 

Chloe flops back into her seat with a sigh. “Forget it.”

Lucifer wipes the blade on his pant leg and then flips it closed. Chloe folds her arms over her chest and glowers at the windshield. 

“Perhaps the Doctor was incorrect,” Lucifer offers into the silence. 

“Maybe,” Chloe replies.

“Oh come now, Detective,” Lucifer says. “There’s no reason to be glum.”

“You’re right. Everyone we know hates us, you’re vulnerable because I’m insecure and needy, and the one person who could help us get things back to normal is MIA for reasons unknown. Everything is fine.

Lucifer sighs. “You are the least needy person I’ve ever met, Detective. You have no reason to be insecure other than your terrible taste in junk food and your atrocious taste in men. Present company excluded, of course. And I don’t believe Amenadiel is the only one who can help us, so we still have options.”

Chloe looks at him. “Do you have another sibling on earth?”

“Not to my knowledge. But as I told you, I’m not sure this is celestial. If you’re right that Doctor Linda was able to fight the effects, then this could be something much simpler.”

“Like?”

“Magic.”

“Magic?” Chloe repeats. “You mean like in Harry Potter?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Please don’t say that in front of a sorcerer.”

“When would I meet a sorcerer?” Chloe asks incredulously. 

Lucifer lifts a shoulder. “Half an hour or so unless you have objections. And depending on traffic, of course.”

Chloe blinks at him. “Wait, you’re serious? You want to take me to meet a sorcerer?”

“Well, technically she prefers the term magician,” Lucifer says. “She has an extensive knowledge of magical lore, so if this is magic, she’ll know. And it’s very likely she’ll be able to fix it for us.”

“You mean because she’s such a good magician?”

“Well, there’s that.” Lucifer grins. “Also, she owes me.”

“Of course she does.” 

Lucifer reaches for the gear shift. “Shall we? Or do you have a better idea?”

“I have zero ideas.”

“So?”

Chloe gestures at the road before them. “So let’s go meet your magician.”


When Lucifer parks the car on what appears to be a deserted street in front of a massive warehouse not far from downtown, Chloe is more than a little confused. 

She squints out the window. “Are you sure this is it?”

“Quite sure,” Lucifer says, pulling the keys out of the ignition. “I’ve been here before, darling.”

Chloe looks at him. “Where is here, exactly?”

“It’s a club.”

“Like Lux?”

“Not quite.” He tilts his head. “This place is a little more…”

When he doesn’t answer, Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “A little more what?

“Over the top,” he answers with a wicked smile.

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. “You’re telling me there’s a club more over the top than Lux?”

“There are quite a few, actually. There’s a difference between excess and style, Detective, and I’ve always preferred the latter.” 

He winks at her and then climbs out of the car. Chloe follows him. She shuts the door behind her, and then eyes the warehouse as she walks around the front hood of the car to join him. It’s a massive brick building. The bricks are white, but the neon graffiti looks far more recent than the peeling white paint. Chloe thinks she can hear a pulsing beat, but she’s not sure. A sad-looking plastic bag blows across the street and catches her eye. 

“It doesn’t look like much,” she observes. 

“It’s not supposed to,” Lucifer replies. He presses his hand against the small of her back and guides her across the street and toward a very ordinary looking steel door. “That’s part of the allure.”

“What’s it called?”

He grins at her. “Deep Throat.”

Chloe nearly trips on her high heels in surprise. “Are you serious?” 

“Indeed.” 

“I’m guessing they weren’t thinking of Watergate.”

Lucifer chuckles. “No, Detective.” He leans closer to her. “If, once we’re inside, you should find yourself suddenly inspired—”

Chloe hisses his name and shoves him so hard he stumbles a few feet away from her. He throws his head back and laughs, and Chloe can’t help but grin at him even though she can feel her face flushing. 

“Horn dog,” she accuses. 

“Mmm, guilty as charged,” he hums, slinking back to her side. He slides his hand along her hip and pulls her flush against his chest. “But have you looked in a mirror? There’s not a person on the planet who’d blame me.”

“Flatterer.”

He lifts his free hand to her face and brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. “You think so?”

“Are you about to tell me the Devil doesn’t flatter?”

“Flattery is a close relative to dishonesty,” he murmurs. “And the Devil doesn’t lie. Certainly not to his beloved.”

Chloe’s heart flutters in her chest. He’s dancing awfully close to saying the three words they haven’t talked about yet, and judging by the look on his face, he doesn’t regret what he just called her. She wants to prod him to continue, or at the very least call her beloved again, but she hates the idea of manipulating him into saying something just because he feels like he’s supposed to. So she gives him an out instead, and opens the door for him to say something suggestive so they’re back on familiar ground.

“I guess that’s true,” she says, tilting closer to him. “You made it pretty clear from day one that you were attracted to me.”

He shakes his head, and his thumb brushes over her lips again. “Hear my soul speak,” he murmurs. “The very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service, there resides to make me slave to it, and for your sake am I this patient log-man.”

Chloe’s heart stops fluttering and starts to thud. He’s giving her that look again. She loves when he looks at her like that. 

“What’s that from?” she whispers.

“Shakespeare,” he answers. He drops his hand. “You would’ve liked him.”

Chloe blinks. “I would’ve...wait, you knew Shakespeare?

Lucifer smiles. “Quite well.” He pulls her toward the door by her elbow. “Now come on, Detective, we’ve got things to do. We mustn’t dawdle.”

Chloe stumbles after him, her brain stuttering over the lastest in a very long line of ridiculous revelations about her boyfriend. He knew Shakespeare, for God’s sake. He’s the Devil and he knew Shakespeare. How is this her life?

When they get to the steel door, Lucifer swings it open and motions her inside. She steps through the doorway and into a vestibule of sorts, and immediately finds herself in the middle of what appears to be a very large group of people. She stops in surprise. 

“Oh no, darling,” Lucifer says in her ear. “The Devil doesn’t wait in lines.”

He brushes past her, catching her hand as he goes, and then leads her deeper into the building. As they weave through the crowd, Chloe realizes that it is, in fact, a line—it’s just so long that it curls past itself like a massive snake. Several people recognize Lucifer as he passes, and they greet him by name. He smiles and waves and is his normal charming self, but he doesn’t pause to actually talk to anyone. He keeps a firm grip on her hand, and Chloe gets more than a few appraising looks when people realize that she’s with him. 

By the time they get to what appears to be the front of the line, Chloe feels like the entire vestibule of people is staring at them. Lucifer doesn’t seem to notice. There’s a velvet rope barring the crowd from an entryway covered by black velvet curtains. Chloe can hear the music more clearly now. It’s a pounding, deep bass beat, the kind that conjures up memories of the clubs Jed used to love taking her to.

Behind the velvet rope are three of the largest bouncers Chloe’s ever seen wearing matching black suits. Standing in front of them is a very tiny, very pretty blonde in a shimmering red dress. Her face lights up the moment she sees Lucifer.

“Lucifer!” she squeals. 

“Jenna, darling,” Lucifer greets. “How are you?”

“Better now that you’re here!” Jenna exclaims, scurrying forward. “Where have you been? It’s been forever since we’ve seen you.”

“I took a little work trip down south,” Lucifer replies. “But never fear, I’ve returned at last. I’m sure it’s been terribly boring without me.”

“Of course it has,” Jenna giggles. “Nobody parties like the Devil.” She unhooks the velvet rope and then finally spots Chloe. “Oh,” she says. “Who’s this?”

Lucifer pulls Chloe gently forward by the hand so that she’s standing at his side. “This is my girlfriend.”

Jenna’s eyebrows shoot up so high they seem to disappear into her hairline. 

Chloe offers her hand before Lucifer can introduce her as the Detective. “I’m Chloe.”

The surprise dissolves from Jenna’s face immediately. She beams and shakes Chloe’s hand. “I’m Jenna. Nice to meet you.” She gives Lucifer a sly smile and shoves him lightly on the chest. “Look at you, settling down. I think I’ve witnessed a miracle.”

Lucifer looks down at Chloe and winks. “You have no idea.”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and leans a little closer to him. 

“Well, you two are adorable,” Jenna announces. She looks over her shoulder. “Aren’t they adorable, Andre?”

The largest bouncer glances between Lucifer and Chloe and grunts. 

“He’s a man of few words,” Jenna says fondly. She leans toward Lucifer. “Except in the bedroom.”

“Oh, look at you,” Lucifer says, smiling broadly. “Well done.”

Jenna laughs and then motions them forward. “Come on, hurry up before he yells at me for leaving the rope open too long.”

Lucifer steps past the open velvet rope, and Chloe follows him. Jenna hooks it closed behind them. “Have fun!” she says brightly.

Chloe thanks her, and then Lucifer leads her by the hand through the black velvet curtains. They end up in another lobby-like room, though it’s far smaller than the one they just left. A pair of doors marked as bathrooms are on the left. There’s a couple fighting in hushed tones in a corner to the right, and a man who’s either very high, very drunk, or both talking animatedly to a potted palm tree in the opposite corner. 

“I think he found his soulmate,” Lucifer quips.

Chloe snorts. 

Lucifer smiles down at her, and then leads her through another set of black velvet curtains. 

When they get to the other side, Chloe’s mouth falls open. 

She’s been to plenty of clubs in Los Angeles, whether for work or in her younger days when she went out more, but she’s never seen anything like this. To her immediate right is the longest bar she’s ever seen. It’s at least the length of a football field, and it’s filled with people waiting for drinks or sitting on stools. There are a dozen high top tables in front of the bar, and there are people milling around those too. Chloe can’t help but stare, because she’s never seen so many people dressed so...uniquely. There are three men in wife beaters and jeans talking to three girls in designer cocktail dresses. There’s a woman wearing what appears to be a wedding dress, and a man in a giant hot dog costume. There’s a couple making out near one of the high top tables, and Chloe’s pretty sure they’re wearing body paint and not actual clothes. There are four men in white tuxedos by the bar. But it’s the five girls in bikinis that really give her pause. She watches them walk away, and then she realizes—

“Is that a pool? ” she demands, tightening her hold on Lucifer’s hand. 

Lucifer smiles down at her. “It is.”

Chloe gapes at it. The end of the pool juts into the warehouse and is fenced to prevent stray dancers from falling in, but there’s a gate nearby leading out to a large patio where there are dozens of shirtless men and women in bikinis standing around heaters with open flames. There must be lights in the pool, because it appears to be blinking and flashing in unison with the lights on the ceiling of the club. There’s steam hovering over the water. 

“It’s heated,” Lucifer says in her ear as if on cue. “But I much prefer the hot tub.”

Chloe is too stunned to say anything. There’s a pool and a hot tub? In a nightclub? What in the actual hell...

“I’m afraid we won’t be venturing in that direction though,” Lucifer says. “We’re headed upstairs.”

He leads her back into the club. Once they get past the high top tables, they’re suddenly in the middle of a massive dance floor and surrounded by so many people it makes Chloe’s head spin. There’s a raised stage in the distance, and Chloe can see a DJ in an elevated booth, but she has no idea who he is. The bass beat is loud enough that she can feel it in her chest. Got me running in circles around you to please you I do what I need to, a voice croons over the beat. So pardon my manners just something about you turns me to a savage. The beat drops, and there’s a roar from the crowd as the multi-colored lights in the warehouse flare and flash. The sea of people seems to move in unison, and Chloe can’t help but feel like she should join in.

When she and Lucifer finally get through the crowd, they stop at the foot of a spiral staircase. There’s an angry looking bouncer guarding the bottom step. Lucifer flashes him a smile, and the guard steps aside. Chloe follows Lucifer up the stairs, glancing out over the club as they climb. It looks even bigger from up here. She can’t believe how many people there are. 

When they get to the top of the stairs and step into what appears to be a lounge looking out over the club, the volume of the music drops drastically. Chloe can still hear it, but it’s not nearly as loud. She frowns. How is that possible? 

Magic, her brain supplies, but she has no idea if that’s actually true. She glances up at Lucifer to ask, but he’s smiling at something in front of them. 

“Hello, Zatanna.”

Chloe follows his gaze. There’s a cluster of white couches in front of them and half a dozen people sitting on them. A woman stands up. She’s got the longest legs Chloe has ever seen, and they’re encased in black leather pants that would make Maze jealous. She’s wearing a white satin bustier that lifts her chest in a way that draws Chloe’s eyes, and a cropped leather jacket. Her black hair is curled and hanging loosely around her shoulders. 

She’s gorgeous. 

Her eyes are fixed on Lucifer. She walks across the room and stops in front of him, and her eyes travel slowly up his body. “Well well well,” she murmurs, folding her arms over her chest. “If it isn’t the Devil himself.”

Lucifer smiles. “You’re looking well.”

“You too.” Zatanna turns her gaze to Chloe and sizes her up. “I see you brought the flavor of the day.”

“I’m not the flavor of the day,” Chloe says, shaking her head. 

Zatanna’s eyebrows lift. “You sure about that?”

Chloe smirks and looks up at Lucifer. “I don’t know. Am I sure about that, Lucifer?”

“Quite sure, darling,” Lucifer replies with a grin. He slides his hand along the small of her back. “Zatanna, allow me to introduce you to my girlfriend, Detective Chloe Decker.”

Chloe isn’t sure what reaction she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Zatanna to burst out laughing. Judging by the frown on Lucifer’s face, he wasn’t expecting it either. 

“I’m sorry,” Zatanna says, holding up her hand. “I just...I thought you said girlfriend.”

“I did,” Lucifer says. 

Zatanna starts to laugh again, but stops when no one joins her. Her eyebrows furrow. “You’re serious?”

Lucifer nods. “Swear to Dad.”

Zatanna glances between Lucifer and Chloe, clearly stunned. “Wow,” she says eventually. And then she smirks at Chloe. “You must be a real hellcat in bed.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Lucifer purrs. 

Chloe elbows him hard in the ribs. He bends forward with an exhaled oof. “Detective,” he whines, clutching his middle. “What was that for? You should be proud of how fast you make the Devil come.”

Chloe’s face feels hot. “We’re keeping private things private, remember?” 

He huffs at her. “You know I don’t lie.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to tell the whole truth unprompted.”

“I didn’t,” he insists. “If I was going to do that I would have told her that in the shower last week, you—”

Chloe smacks her hand over his mouth. “If you ever want me to do that again, you’re going to stop talking.”

Lucifer’s eyes are glinting mischievously, but he lifts his hand and mimes locking his mouth closed. Chloe rolls her eyes. She drops her hand from his mouth and turns her attention back to Zatanna. 

The magician looks amused by their interaction. “Zatanna Zatara,” she says, holding out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Chloe says, shaking her hand.

“So you’re a cop?”

“A homicide detective.”

Zatanna snorts. “I can’t believe the Devil fell for a cop.

“Neither can the Devil,” Lucifer says. “You know she drives the speed limit? And Dad forbid she eat candy before ten in the morning.”

“I’m standing right here, Lucifer,” Chloe says.

He looks her up and down with an expression that clearly says I know what you look like naked and I’m imagining it right now. “Yes, I can see that.”

Chloe sighs at him. 

“Well you guys have the bickering thing down,” Zatanna says in amusement. “How long have you been together?”

“Not long,” Chloe replies. “But we’ve worked together for a few years.”

Zatanna lifts her eyebrows. “You mean he helps you solve murders?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah.” She glances up at Lucifer with a smile. “He’s pretty good at it.”

“She’s being modest,” Lucifer says to Zatanna. “I’m exceptional. Best partner she’s ever had.”

Zatanna glances at Chloe, who lifts her shoulder in a shrug. He’s not wrong. 

“A crime-solving Devil,” Zatanna says with a snort. “Now I’ve seen it all.”

“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” Lucifer says. “We have a bit of a problem that might be magical in nature, and since, as you said, you’ve seen it all, we require your services.”

Zatanna folds her arms over her chest. “So you’re calling in one of your favors.”

“One?” Chloe asks.

“She owes me three,” Lucifer answers. He grins at Zatanna. “She likes to treat me like her own personal genie.”

“I know genies,” Zatanna replies. “You’re no genie.”

Chloe frowns. “Wait, genies are real?”

“Everything is real in one way or another, darling,” Lucifer says. He turns his attention back to Zatanna. “Do you consent?”

“Do I have a choice?” Zatanna asks. “I’m in your debt, and you’re here to collect. So what’s the favor?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need some context first.” Lucifer nods at the couches. “May we?”

Zatanna glances over her shoulder at the people sitting on the couches. “Give us a minute.”

They all rise from the couches immediately and head for the spiral staircase. Zatanna motions toward the couches, and Lucifer and Chloe follow her lead. Chloe sits on a couch facing the staircase, and Lucifer lowers himself onto the cushion next to her. He scoots closer to her so that their hips are pressed together, crosses his legs, and then drapes his arm around the back of the couch behind her. Chloe leans toward him. She likes that he hasn’t hesitated to be so casually close to her tonight. It’s one of the few things that she doesn’t want to return to normal. 

“So,” Zatanna says, lowering herself gracefully onto the couch across from them. “What’s up?”

Lucifer glances at Chloe, but she has no desire to explain what they’ve been through. She doesn’t trust herself to get through the story without crying, and she’s not interested in crying in front of a magician she just met while sitting in a club called Deep Throat. 

She gestures at Lucifer to go ahead. He gives her a sympathetic look, and then turns toward Zatanna and launches into an explanation of their night. He starts with Maze in the penthouse and goes from there. Chloe stares at his suit-clad knee while he talks, trying to keep her face impassive while she listens. She can feel Zatanna watching her, but she doesn’t lift her gaze. She just keeps staring at Lucifer’s knee and focusing on her breathing, because reliving everything hurts like hell and breathing is the only thing she can control. 

When Lucifer finally finishes relating the story, his final words hang in the air. Chloe swallows around a lump in her throat. She feels nauseous. Lucifer’s hand curls around the back of her neck all of a sudden, and she glances up at him. He smiles at her, his fingers stroking gently over her skin. She puts her hand on his leg and leaves it there. 

“Well you two have had a hell of a night,” Zatanna says.

Lucifer gives her a look. “Very funny, Zee.”

Zatanna shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.” She glances at Chloe. “Do you want a drink?” 

“No, thanks.”

“You sure? There’s a bar up here.”

Chloe glances at the bar in the corner of the lounge and the bartender standing behind it at the ready, but she shakes her head. “No, I’m good.” She looks at Lucifer. “Do you…?”

“I’d like to know what we’re dealing with,” he says, looking at Zatanna. 

Chloe blinks at him in surprise. She’s never seen him turn down a drink. Ever.

“Is it magic?” Lucifer prods.

Zatanna sighs. “It’s possible. You said you got no reaction from any of the strangers at CVS?”

“None,” Lucifer replies. “It’s only people we know.”

“No, it’s only people she knows,” Zatanna corrects.

Lucifer frowns. “You wouldn’t be affected by—”

I wouldn’t be,” Zatanna cuts him off. “But you went through Jenna in the front right? And I’m guessing you saw some people in the crowd you knew. You knew some of the people sitting up here. Did any of them react badly?”

“Jenna said we were adorable,” Chloe reminds him. 

Lucifer looks like he’s been slapped. “No,” he answers Zatanna quietly.

“Why would it just be me?” Chloe asks.

The magician shrugs. “Probably for the same reason the spell—if it is a spell—makes everyone want to protect you from him. Whoever is doing this really doesn’t want you to be with him. Any idea who that might be?” 

“I have some ideas,” Lucifer says bitterly. “But I need to know what, exactly, I’m dealing with first.”

“Well I won’t know that until I find the subject of the spell,” Zatanna says. “Do you think it’s you two, or everyone else? If it’s you, I can fix it pretty easily and whoever you’re dealing with isn’t much of a threat. But if it’s someone who was powerful enough to cast a spell over everyone else…”

She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. Lucifer looks grave, just like he did in the car earlier when he said that whatever this is could be dangerous, and Chloe feels fear claw at her chest again. 

“I’ve no idea,” Lucifer says. “But I’d appreciate any light you could shed on the matter.”

Zatanna gets to her feet and walks toward them. She stops in front of Lucifer, holds her hand out so that her palm is a few inches from his forehead, and murmurs something that sounds like gibberish to Chloe. Lucifer doesn’t flinch. Zatanna studies him for a moment, and then lowers her hand. 

“Nothing but the Devil here,” she says with a smile. 

Lucifer doesn’t return her smile. 

Zatanna turns to Chloe and lifts her hand. “Do you mind?”

Chloe glances at her hand. “What are you…?”

“She’s trying to determine if there’s a spell on us,” Lucifer says, reaching for her hand. “She won’t harm you. You have my word.”

Zatanna smiles. “It won’t hurt. I promise.”

Chloe swallows and nods. Zatanna extends her hand toward Chloe’s head, and then murmurs the same words she said before. Chloe expects to feel a shiver or a breeze or something, but she feels nothing. Zatanna studies her, and then her eyebrows furrow. 

“That can’t be right,” she murmurs. 

Lucifer straightens next to Chloe. “What is it?”

Zatanna extends her hand again and murmurs the same words. She searches Chloe’s eyes, and then looks at Lucifer. “You didn’t tell me she’s not human.”

“What?” Chloe demands.

“Oh is that all?” Lucifer says, slumping a little. “You gave me a fright.”

“Wait,” Chloe says. “I am human.”

“No you’re not,” Zatanna says. She nods at Lucifer. “You’ve got the same...well, for lack of a better word, vibe that he does.”

Chloe gives Lucifer a bewildered look, and he squeezes her hand comfortingly.

“She’s fully human, I assure you,” Lucifer tells Zatanna. “What you’re sensing is my father’s touch. She’s a miracle.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, among other things, that she’s immune to me.”

Zatanna stares at him in shock. “You mean if you did that thing where you ask her what she wants…?”

“She’d only tell me if she wanted to,” Lucifer finishes. “And I’d have no idea if it was the truth or not.”

“We don’t lie to each other,” Chloe says. “It’d be the truth.”

Lucifer smiles at her.

“Okay,” Zatanna says, drawing the word out. She gestures between them. “This is starting to make more sense.” And then she grins at Chloe and folds her arms over her chest. “He has no effect on you and you still fell for him?”

Chloe smiles. “He grew on me.” She tilts her head. “Sort of like a fungus.”

“Detective!” Lucifer huffs.

Chloe laughs and leans over to brush her lips over his jaw. “A very handsome fungus,” she murmurs.

Lucifer straightens his jacket with a huff. Chloe smiles at him and coasts her hand along his thigh, and then looks up at Zatanna.

The magician is grinning. “I like you. You don’t put up with his shit.”

“I beg your pardon,” Lucifer says in offense. “I do not have shit.

Zatanna smirks. “Honey, you’ve got more shit than a sewer. You’re the Devil.”

Chloe shrugs. “I like that about him.”

“You do?” Lucifer asks.

“I do,” Chloe says, meeting his gaze. He looks shocked for a moment, and then a smile spreads slowly over his lips. It’s so wide and pleased that Chloe’s heart flutters.

“All right,” Zatanna says. “I feel like you guys are about to start making out, and I definitely didn’t sign up for that, so can we focus?”

“Sorry,” Chloe says, looking away from Lucifer. “So we’re not under a spell?”

Zatanna shakes her head. “Not that I can tell. Which means someone put a spell on all the people you know.”

“Can you fix it?” Lucifer asks.

“Maybe,” Zatanna says, putting her hands on her hips. “But I need to get a better read on it. Which means I need to talk to someone who’s under it.”

Chloe and Lucifer share a look.

“That might be difficult,” Lucifer says. “As I mentioned, we haven’t exactly had pleasant experiences with our mutual friends this evening.”

“Well is there anyone you haven’t seen yet that you’re sure would be under the spell?”

“I could text Ella,” Chloe suggests to Lucifer. “She’d come here if I asked her to. And I’d be shocked if she wasn’t under the spell.”

Lucifer doesn’t look thrilled by the idea. Honestly, Chloe isn’t either. She doesn’t want to listen to another lie-filled lecture about why Lucifer is bad for her, and she definitely doesn’t want to see the look on Lucifer’s face when Ella accuses him of being evil. But what other choice do they have?

Lucifer nods as if he can read her mind. “I believe that’s our only option,” he says with a sigh. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out her phone, and offers it to her with a smile. “Let’s see how Ms. Lopez feels about deep throating.”

Chloe rolls her eyes as Zatanna snorts in laughter.

Chapter 14: Fourteen

Notes:

Not to sound like a broken record or anything, but thanks for all the love in my comments guys :)

Chapter Text

It’s not hard for Chloe to convince Ella to meet her at the club. 

Hell yes girl! Ella texts her back immediately. I am so there! Her confirmation is followed by a string of emojis that mostly consist of a dancing woman and pink hearts. 

After that, there’s nothing to do but wait. They kill some time talking. Chloe finds out how Zatanna and Lucifer met, which is a very funny story. She also finds out why Zatanna owes Lucifer three favors. The stories of the first two favors are just as amusing as the story about how they met. The third, though, apparently touches a nerve for Zatanna. 

Lucifer seems to recognize that she doesn’t want him to share any details.

“She wanted to protect someone she loves,” he tells Chloe vaguely.

Zatanna’s eyes flash. “Loved. Past tense.”

Lucifer smiles. “I know a lie when I see it, Zee.”

“Drop it, Lucifer.”

Lucifer tilts his head. “Very well.”

Chloe has about a million questions, but she doesn’t ask any of them. It’s none of her business. Zatanna’s friends appear at the top of the stairs, and she rises to greet them without another word. 

Lucifer turns toward Chloe. “I think I’d like to try Amenadiel again. If you have no objections, of course.”

Chloe shrugs. “Go for it.”

“You’ll be okay here?”

Chloe smiles. “I’ve been in clubs before, Lucifer. And I’m a cop. I’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “I suppose Zee won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, more to himself than to her. 

“Overprotective much?” Chloe teases.

“Guardian Devil, remember?” Lucifer replies. And then he bops her on the nose with his index finger and grins because he knows she hates that.

Chloe sighs at him.

“You should go downstairs with Zee and dance,” Lucifer suggests as he gets to his feet. “Have some fun.” And then he frowns. “Just not with any one too handsy, or I’ll have to fly into a jealous rage.”

“You?” Chloe says. “Jealous? Never.

He gives her a look. She laughs. A smile tugs on his lips, and after giving her a fond once over and then kissing her on the top of the head, he turns away from her and heads toward a nearby door marked Exit.  

When he’s gone, Chloe gets to her feet and wanders over to the railing that outlines the lounge. She looks out over the club. In the distance, the pool is flickering with a purple and blue pattern of lights. Two shirtless guys are carrying a bikini clad woman toward the pool, and when they get to the edge, they toss her in and then fall over each other laughing. The dance floor is filled with a writhing mass of bodies. The music is still quieter up here, but Chloe can feel the beat thrumming through the metal railing beneath her hands. 

It’s much warmer in the club than it was on the beach, so she slips Lucifer’s jacket off and drapes it over the railing next to her. She’s watching a couple in the middle of the dance floor who are gazing into each other’s eyes like they’re the only two people in the world when Zatanna leans against the railing next to her. 

“I’m headed downstairs until your friend gets here,” she says. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to join us?”

Chloe smiles. “No, thank you.”

“Yeah I figured. Hell of a dress you’re wearing, and I’m really jealous of your shoes, but you don’t strike me as the clubbing type.”

“I’m not. It’s more Lucifer’s thing.”

Zatanna arches an eyebrow. “But you guys are together?”

Chloe lifts her shoulder. “Opposites attract, I guess.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think you guys are opposites.”

Chloe looks over at her in surprise. 

Zatanna smiles. “He likes to pretend he doesn’t care about doing the right thing, but it’s all for show. Don’t get me wrong, he’s immature and self-centered and reckless. But he’s not evil. Not even close.”

Chloe smiles. It’s nice to hear someone say something positive about Lucifer. All she’s heard all night is the opposite. 

“You’re right,” she says. “He’s a good man.”

“You’re in love with him.”

It’s more of an observation than a question, but Chloe answers it anyway. “Yeah.”

“And it doesn’t freak you out that he’s the Devil?”

Chloe looks out over the club as she considers the question. “He’s not,” she says at last. “Not to me. He’s just...Lucifer. He’s my best friend. My partner.” She looks at Zatanna. “He’s my soulmate.”

Zatanna studies her. “I’ve never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you,” she says quietly. “Like you’re…”

“A miracle?” Chloe suggests.  

Zatanna nods, and then she looks suddenly sad. “When you find something like that, you should hold onto it.”

Chloe wonders if the sadness in Zatanna’s eyes has something to do with whoever it is she claims she doesn’t love anymore, but she doesn’t ask. It’s still none of her business.

“I’m trying,” she says instead. 

Zatanna smiles and puts her hand on Chloe’s arm. “I’ll do whatever I can to help. Favor or not.”

It’s probably just the stress of the last few hours, but Chloe feels like bursting into tears at the gesture of solidarity. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

Zatanna squeezes her arm, and then turns on her high heel and disappears down the spiral staircase. As soon as she’s gone, the volume of the music in the club returns full force. Chloe jumps in surprise—it’s really loud—and then exhales.  

Now that she’s alone, she can’t ignore the signals her body is sending her. The harsh beginning of a headache is pounding between her eyes. She’s exhausted. Her feet hurt, and her dress is uncomfortable. She wants to be in something soft and oversized and cozy. She wants to go home. She wants to read Trixie a bedtime story and then sleep for a week. 

The thought of Trixie makes her heart twist. Her daughter’s screams at the beach echo in the back of her mind. You left your kid, a familiar voice whispers. You abandoned her. 

Guilt gnaws at Chloe’s chest, sharp and awful. She leans her elbows on the railing and looks out over the club, trying to focus on something else, but she can’t. Everyone on the dance floor beneath her is having the time of their lives. They’re happy and carefree and she’s up here in agony, missing her daughter and drowning in guilt and terrified that whatever’s happened to all the people she loves isn’t fixable. What if it’s permanent? What if there’s nothing Zatanna can do for them? Everyone that she and Lucifer know is—

Her train of thought screeches to a halt. That’s not true, is it? It’s not everyone they know. It’s everyone she knows. Lucifer isn’t the one getting ultimatums. He’s not the one being forced to choose between his soulmate and everyone else he loves. She’s the only one who’s trapped. How is that fair? Why does she have to sacrifice everything and everyone just to be with him? When is it his turn to pay a price?

Except that’s not true either. He already paid a price, and he paid it more than once. She knows that—she knows it—and she knows the deep, dark rabbit hole her brain just tried to take her down is a lie just like everything else that’s happened tonight. Maze tried to kill him. Dan too. Trixie screamed that he was a liar, and Linda told him he wasn’t worthy, and there’s no mistaking the pain in his eyes even though he’s trying to hide it. She’s not the only one who’s suffering. 

He doesn’t deserve this.


For a moment after the door clicks shut behind him, all Lucifer can do is stand on the fire escape in the chilly night air and breathe. 

He’s not accustomed to feeling this helpless. He’s trying to put on a brave face for the Detective, but it’s more difficult than it used to be. Perhaps she was right when she told him that he’s starting to lower his walls and let her in. Maybe it’s harder for him to pretend with her because he doesn’t want to pretend with her. 

Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe he feels helpless because for the first time in his very long life, he cares more about someone else than he cares about himself. 

He used to laugh at people who felt like this. He heard the Iliad for the first time and laughed. No one appreciated a beautiful face more than he, but there was no face on earth that would inspire him to launch a thousand ships. He sat in The Theatre when William’s company first performed Romeo and Juliet and scoffed. A beautiful piece of drama, to be sure, but that’s all it was. Drama. Fiction. Love like that didn’t exist. Time and again he listened to ballads and sat in theaters and visited hell loops where he was pummeled repeatedly by the human obsession with love. He scoffed and mocked and rolled his eyes and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the Devil would never, ever be so foolish.

And then there was her. His miracle. Those eyes that seemed to stare straight into his soul. That smile that soothed the eternal ache in his chest. The sound of her laugh, and the way she said his name like no one else ever had. 

Lucifer. 

The first night they spent together is burned into his mind. A thousand years from now, he’ll close his eyes and still be able to remember every second of it. The warmth of her skin. The way she tasted. The softness of her hair, and the elegant curve of her hips beneath his hands, and the arch of her body above his, stunningly beautiful in the moonlight. He wore her out and she fell asleep sated and smiling, but he stared at the ceiling long afterward, stroking his fingers through her hair. He knew then, lying there with her breathing quietly in his arms, that there was no coming back from this. No way to undo what she’d done to him. He’d fight a thousand wars for her. Die a thousand deaths. She was—she is everything. The only thing. 

And he’s hurting her. 

This isn’t your fault, she whispers in his mind, but he huffs at the vision of her and she evaporates. He curls his hands around the railing of the fire escape and glares out at the city, clenching his jaw in frustration. He didn’t cast this spell, but it doesn’t matter. It’s magic, and magic belongs on his side of the aisle, not hers. He brought this into her life. He did this to her.

He hurt her.

He closes his eyes. “Brother,” he murmurs. “Amenadiel. Answer me.”

But just like before, there’s nothing. No response. No rush of air as Amenadiel arrives with his wings unfurled. Just...silence. 

Fear wraps around Lucifer’s throat and squeezes. He doesn’t want to think about why his brother might not be answering him, and he doesn’t want to think about what’s going to happen if Zatanna can’t fix this, so he does the only thing he can do. He keeps trying.

He leans forward to rest his elbows on the railing and bends his head in supplication.

“Please,” he whispers. “She doesn’t deserve this.”


Chloe isn’t sure how long Lucifer is gone.

Time stretches out like it did when she first arrived at the beach. She stands at the railing, looking out over the club and the oblivious revelers dancing their hearts out, and tries not to drown in the hurricane of emotion swirling in her chest. At some point, she starts to wonder if she should get a drink. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe, just for a minute, she can pretend that she and Lucifer are here because they want to be, and they can go back home whenever they want, and no one will hate them for being together. 

She’s lost in a fantasy of things being normal again when she senses someone coming up behind her. She straightens, but a large pair of hands wrap around her wrists before she can turn around. 

“It’s me, love,” Lucifer says in her ear over the roar of the music. 

The sound of his voice makes her relax, and the pet name makes her exhale. She closes her eyes. She’s going to be really disappointed if he ever stops calling her that. 

Lucifer presses into her, and she can feel the buttons of his vest against the bare skin of her back. His thumbs stroke gently over the insides of her wrists, and then she feels his lips brush over her shoulder. His breath is warm, but she shivers anyway.

“No answer from my brother,” he murmurs.

Chloe isn’t disappointed. She didn’t expect there to be. She’s not feeling very hopeful right now. She’s not feeling anything right now. She’s just...numb.

Lucifer lifts his head and nuzzles his nose into her hair. When he inhales deeply, she can feel his chest rise against her shoulder blades. She’s pretty sure he’s smelling her hair, but she’s too tired to tease him about it.

“Are you alright?” he says in her ear.

No, Chloe wants to say. I’ve never been less alright. But she’s afraid that admitting it will shred the very tenuous hold she has on her feelings, and she’d rather not collapse into tears in the middle of a club called Deep Throat. 

When she doesn't answer, Lucifer turns her around gently to face him. She glances up at him. He steps closer to her, pushing her gently backward until she feels the smooth edge of the railing press into her back. He lifts his hands and curls his fingers around the railing on either side of her body, and then leans forward so that he’s towering over her and she has to tilt her head back to look at him. Their faces are close. He’s not touching her, but she’s surrounded by him. He searches her gaze, and she can see the request in his eyes even though he doesn’t verbalize it. Tell me you’re okay.

Chloe drops her gaze from his. She strokes her hands over his vest and swallows. Lucifer bends forward so that his ear is next to her mouth. 

“What if she can’t fix it?” Chloe says in his ear.

He leans back to look at her. She feels immediately guilty because she knows he feels guilty—it’s written all over his face. 

“Then I will,” Lucifer tells her. She knows he’s nearly shouting over the music, but his voice is a low hum against the bass. “I’ll fix this for you, Detective. You have my word.”

There’s ironclad determination in his voice, and Chloe’s heart aches in her chest because she knows he means it. He’ll do whatever it takes. He always does. 

The music in the club is building toward a crescendo. Would you believe me if I said we are here for a reason? a voice sings over a techno beat. This is our life, this is what counts, this is for us. 

Lucifer lifts a hand to her face and strokes his thumb over her cheek. Chloe tilts her head into his palm. 

I will go anywhere for you, the singer croons. I will go anywhere for you.   

Chloe slides her hand up Lucifer’s chest to the back of his neck and pulls his face down to kiss him. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t act like it. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss her back. Chloe threads her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck, and he slides his arms around her waist, and they sink into the kiss. It isn’t the best time, maybe, to get lost in each other. But Chloe doesn’t care. She needs this. They need this. 

She’s almost forgotten—almost—that her whole world has gone to hell when the volume of the music drops abruptly. She pulls back from Lucifer, surprised by the sudden quiet, and turns to see Zatanna standing at the top of the stairs. Lucifer loosens his arms from around Chloe’s waist, and she drops her hands to her sides.

“Sorry, guys,” Zatanna says. “But your friend is here.”

She steps aside. A moment later Ella climbs the last stair and steps into the lounge. She looks confused, but her entire face lights up when she sees Chloe. 

“Chloe!” she squeals. 

She scurries forward and throws herself at Chloe for a hug. She squeezes hard, and Chloe wraps her arms around Ella and squeezes back. She’s never needed an Ella hug more than she does right now.

“Hey Ella,” she says.

“Hey yourself!” Ella says brightly. She leans back and makes a show of looking Chloe up and down. “Damn, Decker. This dress is killer. And look at those heels! I bet you’ve had guys all over you tonight, huh? Girls too! I mean, shoot, I kind of want to kiss you myself. Haha, I’m just kidding. Or am I?” 

Ella wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, and Chloe laughs. “You look good too, Ella.”

“You think so?” Ella says, holding her arms out. “I wasn’t sure about the sequins.”

“You look great,” Chloe says. “Really.”

Ella grins. “Thanks. You know, I have to say, when you told me to meet you at a club called Deep Throat, I kind of…” She trails off because she’s finally noticed Lucifer. The smile drops off her face immediately.

“Good evening, Ms. Lopez,” Lucifer says politely. 

“Lucifer,” Ella greets in an uncharacteristically cold voice. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Zatanna materializes behind Ella and mouths keep talking as she makes a circular motion with her hands.  

Chloe clears her throat. “I figured it went without saying,” she says, refocusing on Ella. “You know, because we’re together now.” She reaches her hand out to Lucifer, and he weaves his fingers through hers and steps up next to her.

“Yeah,” Ella says, glancing down at their hands with a frown. “About that.” She leans toward Chloe. “Can I talk to you for a second? In private?”

Chloe glances at Zatanna, who shakes her head. 

“No,” Chloe says. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of Lucifer.”

Ella frowns. “Please?”

“No.”

Ella’s frown deepens. She glances at Lucifer, and then back at Chloe, and then straightens. 

“All right. Fine. I think this,” she gestures between Lucifer and Chloe, “is a bad idea. Like, really bad. Catastrophically bad. Almost as bad as when I had a charity bake sale in the lobby of my apartment complex to raise money for the polar bears.”

“Why on earth would you do that?” Lucifer asks incredulously.

Ella glares at him. “Because some of us care about other stuff more than we care about ourselves.” 

Behind Ella, Zatanna lifts her hand so that it’s hovering a few inches behind Ella’s head. Chloe sees her mouth move, but she can’t hear anything. 

“I don’t understand,” Chloe says to Ella, trying to play dumb and stretch the argument out to give Zatanna time. “Why is this a bad idea?”

“You’re joking, right?” Ella says. “He thinks he’s the Devil, Decker. Like, literally thinks that. Even the most method actor would have broken character by now. But not Lucifer. You know why? Because he’s loco and he thinks it’s all real.

“You’re a woman of faith, Ms. Lopez,” Lucifer says. “You also believe it’s real.”

“Nu uh, no way el Diablo,” Ella says, wagging her finger at him. “We are not the same. You don’t see me walking around claiming to be the Virgin Mary.” 

“Perhaps because you’re not the Virgin Mary,” Lucifer says dryly. 

Ella glares at him and then turns back to Chloe. “Chloe, come on. You’re smart. You’re, like, the best cop I know. You’re great at reading people. And I know he’s charming and rich and sexy and all that—”

“Oh, please, do go on,” Lucifer murmurs with a smirk.

“But he’s a walking red flag,” Ella finishes with a glare. “And I would know, because I specialize in red flags. I just recently broke up with one.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting I’m in the same league as your ex the serial killer?” Lucifer says. 

“I have no evidence that you kill people,” Ella replies, ever the scientist. She lifts her chin defiantly. “But I’ve got plenty of evidence that says you’re not boyfriend material for my girl.”

“You don’t mean that,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “You’ve been rooting for us since day one—”

“He’s slept with half the population of L.A.!” Ella cuts her off.

“Who cares?” Chloe challenges. “If he’s not sleeping with other people when he’s sleeping with me then it doesn’t matter.”

“Look, I’m not judging,” Ella says, holding her hands out. “If he wants to sleep with anything that breathes, that’s his business. But is this really the best you think you can do? Come on, girl. He has left you hanging so many times, including his recent months-long sabbatical, and he’s going to do it again.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Yes you do,” Ella insists. “You know he’s not good for you. You’ve told me that. You told me he’s the reason you said yes to Pierce. You told me that he pisses you off all the time, and that there are a ton of things about him that are too hard for you to accept.”

Chloe glances up at Lucifer. He’s trying to keep his face impassive, but it’s impossible not to see the hurt in his eyes. Guilt wraps around her throat and squeezes. 

“That was a long time ago,” she says, forcing herself to look at Ella again. “Things are different now.”

“Why?” Ella demands. “Because you guys are getting naked now? Listen, Decker, I get it. Sex is great. I’m sure the dude who has slept with half of L.A. knows some really great tricks. But just because he’s good at the horizontal hula doesn’t mean he’s good at relationships.”

“Ella,” Chloe starts.

“You’re too good for him, Chloe,” Ella interrupts firmly. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Lucifer stiffens at the words, and Chloe winces, and Ella doesn’t look even a little bit sorry. 

“Okay,” Zatanna says. “That’s enough of that.” 

She flicks her hand and mumbles some gibberish, and Ella’s eyes roll back into her head and her knees buckle. She collapses onto the floor in a heap. 

“Ella,” Chloe breathes, lunging forward to crouch next to her. She looks up at Zatanna. “What did you do?”

“She’s fine,” Zatanna answers. “Just taking a nap.” 

Chloe presses her fingers against Ella’s neck, and feels the unmistakably strong beat of a pulse. Her breathing is steady. She seems fine, other than the fact that she’s out cold. Chloe brushes Ella’s hair back from her face, mutters an apology under her breath, and then straightens.

Zatanna glances between Chloe and Lucifer. “You guys weren’t kidding,” she says softly. “That’s some awful shit she just said considering she’s your friend.”

“Wasn’t the worst we’ve heard this evening,” Lucifer mutters. 

Chloe turns toward him. “Lucifer—”

“No need, Detective,” he says, lifting his hand. “It’s quite alright.”

“It’s not alright,” Chloe says. “Nothing about this is alright.” She steps closer to him. “It was before,” she says quietly. “Before we were together, before you went back to Hell. Things were different.”

“I know, darling.” 

She steps even closer, and tilts her head back to look at him. “Do you?”

He gazes down at her. For a second, she can see it all on his face. How hard this is for him, and how much he’s struggling, and how desperately he wants to believe her. But then he smiles, and she can’t see it anymore.

“You needn’t worry,” he says, touching her arm. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

That’s not an answer. Chloe wants to call him on it, but he shifts his gaze to Zatanna before she can.

“Well?” he says. “What’s the verdict?”

Chloe turns to look at the magician, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. Zatanna looks grave. 

“It’s magic,” she says. “But not like mine. I’ve never seen anything like this up close. Her entire perception of reality has shifted. Her memories, her feelings, everything, all of it has been touched by whatever this is. It’s…”

“It’s what, Zee?” Lucifer presses when she doesn’t finish.

Zatanna exhales heavily. “This is ancient magic, Lucifer.”

“How ancient?”

“Let’s just say whoever cast this spell was probably around when your dad was trying to decide what to do with the primordial ooze.”

The color drains from Lucifer’s face. 

“What does that mean?” Chloe asks, glancing between them.

Zatanna meets her gaze apologetically. “I can’t fix it, Chloe. I’m sorry.”

Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat. This is exactly what she was afraid of. Now that it’s a reality, she’s finding it hard to breathe. What the hell are they supposed to do now?

“I’m calling in another favor,” Lucifer says, his voice hard.

Zatanna shakes her head. “You don’t need to, Lucifer. If I could help, I would. But I—”

“I want you to summon John.”

Zatanna stops talking abruptly. She stares at Lucifer, and he stares back. Chloe has a feeling they’re having an entire conversation without saying a word, but she doesn’t dare say anything.

“I know who did this,” Lucifer says eventually. “But I need confirmation and some information, and John is the only one who can provide both. Summon him.”

Zatanna’s expression hardens. “I can’t.”

“You can, and you will.”

“You’re celestial, Lucifer. You don’t need my help. You can find him yourself.”

“Not as quickly or as easily as you can. I’ve no idea which earth he’s even on at the moment, and I don’t have time to travel to them all and go in search of him.”

Chloe chokes on her breath. Which earth? There’s more than one? How many are there? 

“I can’t help you,” Zatanna repeats. “We haven’t spoken in months. I don’t know where he is.”

“That’s a lie,” Lucifer accuses. “The two of you are incapable of not keeping track of each other. He knows you’re here, just as you know where he is, and you’re going to summon him for me.”

“I’m not the only magician you know, Lucifer. Find someone else to summon him for you.”

“You’re the only person he’ll come running for with no questions asked. You know that. You’re the best option I have.”

Zatanna folds her arms over her chest. “And if I refuse?”

Lucifer’s eyes flare red. “I don’t believe that’s an option, Zatanna.”

Zatanna clenches her jaw, and Chloe is suddenly afraid that she’s about to find out what happens when an angel fights a magician. 

She steps between them before it can come to that. Zatanna looks at her. 

“You said you’d help,” Chloe reminds her. 

Zatanna’s expression softens slightly. She shakes her head. “Chloe…”

“Please,” Chloe murmurs. She told herself she wouldn’t cry in this club, but her eyes feel warm and her throat is tight. “I need my kid back. I need my life back.”

Zatanna looks torn. She glances at Lucifer, and then down at Ella’s unconscious form on the floor, and then back at Chloe. 

“Fine,” she says at last. She brandishes her finger at Lucifer. “But we’re even after this. I owe you nothing.”

“Deal,” Lucifer says without a moment’s hesitation. 

Zatanna sighs. “Give me a minute.”

She holds her hands out in front of her body, palms upward, and then closes her eyes and tips her head back. Before she can say or do anything else, though, one of her friends appears at the top of the stairs. He seems out of breath.

“Zee,” he calls, his voice sharp. “We have a problem.”

Zatanna frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

“There are cops at the front entrance.” He tips his head toward Chloe and Lucifer. “They’re asking about your friends. They’ve got a picture of them.”

Chloe’s stomach drops. Lucifer materializes by her side, his chest pressing against her shoulder. “Ms. Lopez played us for a fool.”

“Or they tracked Dan’s cruiser,” Chloe says. 

She crosses the lounge to stand at the railing and look out over the club toward the entrance. A moment later, the black curtains fly open and a dozen cops in tactical gear stream into the club. 

Zatanna appears at her side. “I can handle them. You guys go out the back exit.”

“And John?” Lucifer asks.

Zatanna gives him a look over her shoulder. “He’ll know how to find you. And if you’re smart, it’ll be somewhere outside the reach of the LAPD.”

“Zatanna—”

“You’re not the only one who knows how to keep your word, Lucifer,” Zatanna cuts him off. “I said I’d summon him. I will.” She looks at Chloe. “Go. Now.”

Chloe squeezes her arm. “Thank you,” she murmurs. 

Zatanna offers her a quick smile, and then she holds her hands out toward the dance floor and starts to chant words that sound completely foreign. Chloe wants to linger and see what, exactly, Zatanna means by I can handle them, but she knows she can’t. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. 

Chloe turns on her heel and heads toward him. He grabs her hand, and they stride together toward the exit he disappeared through earlier. 

Lucifer shoves the door open with a bang. Chloe follows him out onto the metal landing of a fire escape. They wind their way down several flights, their feet clanking on the metal. When they get to the final landing, Lucifer yanks on the ladder and it drops toward the ground with a clang. He starts the descent down to the ground and Chloe follows him. 

When Lucifer gets to the ground, he reaches up and grabs her hips. “Let go,” he commands. 

She lets go of the ladder, and her body lowers gently toward the ground in Lucifer’s grip. He grabs her hand once her feet are on the pavement, and they take off down a narrow alleyway. 

They’re ten yards or so from the end of the alley when half a dozen cops round the corner in full tactical gear. Chloe skids to a stop, reaches out to grab Lucifer’s arm to steady herself, and then they turn in unison and sprint the other way. 

“LAPD!” one of the cops behind them shouts. “Freeze!”

“Did they send half the bloody force?” Lucifer huffs. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Chloe says, glancing over her shoulder at her colleagues who are now chasing after them. “We don’t send this many officers out for a domestic dispute.”

“I’ve a feeling we’ve moved past domestic dispute,” Lucifer says dryly. “Left up here.” 

They reach the other end of the alley and veer to the left, but immediately run into a second group of cops. Lucifer plows through the two officers he runs into, but Chloe bounces off the chest of a third and Lucifer’s hand is ripped from hers. 

The cop she ran into wraps his fingers around her arms to steady her, but then he glances down at her face and his eyes widen. “It’s her!” he shouts. 

Chloe shoves him hard in the chest. He stumbles a few steps away from her. She lunges toward Lucifer, but someone grabs her from behind and yanks her backward. She tries to twist free, but another pair of hands wrap around her arms and tug them behind her back.

“Stop resisting, Decker,” someone says in her ear. “You’re outnumbered.”

She hears the unmistakable sound of handcuffs and then feels cold metal snap around her wrists.

“Get your hands off her!” Lucifer snarls.

He sounds furious. Chloe glances in his direction. The two cops he bowled over are getting to their feet and blocking his path to her. Lucifer punches the first one who steps forward, and Chloe is pretty sure the officer is unconscious before he even hits the pavement. Lucifer grabs the second by his tactical gear and tosses him against the warehouse like a frisbee. He hits the bricks with a smack and lands in a heap on the ground. 

Lucifer strides toward Chloe. The look on his face is murderous, but he gets intercepted by the group of cops who were chasing them before he can reach her. They swarm him, grabbing at his arms and his shoulders and his waist like hungry piranhas. Chloe struggles to move toward him, trying desperately to pull free, but she can’t. There are at least three sets of hands on her now, and her own hands are cuffed behind her back.

“Get her down,” someone says. Something smacks into the back of Chloe’s legs and they buckle. She slams down onto the pavement on her knees. 

“We’ve got them on the back side,” another voice reports. “All units converge. We need backup.”

Chloe tries to get to her feet, but the cops behind her are pushing on her hard, trying to force her to lie face down on the pavement. 

“Lucifer,” she calls, struggling to stay upright. 

Lucifer looks up from the middle of the crowd of cops trying to take him down. Their eyes meet. 

“Detective,” he breathes. The desperation that’s clear in his eyes creeps into his voice. 

Chloe isn’t sure what, exactly, happens after that. One second she’s struggling not to get body slammed onto the concrete, watching as half a dozen cops hang and tug and yank on Lucifer. The next second Lucifer roars, shoots his arms out wide and rears back, and light seems to explode out of him. 

It’s as if the sun itself has suddenly appeared five feet in front of Chloe. It’s so bright that she has to close her eyes and turn her face away. A gust of hot air rushes past her like a gale force wind. She chokes as it sucks all the breath out of her lungs.

When the rush of air dissipates, she opens her eyes. All the cops who were struggling to contain Lucifer only seconds before are now sprawled on the pavement at his feet, completely still. Lucifer is towering above them, and he’s…

He’s glowing.  

It is simultaneously the most beautiful and terrifying thing Chloe has ever seen. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of her chest. Lucifer’s eyes aren’t the brown she’s accustomed to or the red she’s seen flickers of, but are twin flames instead. Flames appear to be licking along the edges of his body too, though he doesn’t seem to be burning and neither are his clothes. His body is luminous, a bright and brilliant contrast to the black nighttime sky. The only description Chloe’s stuttering brain can seem to conjure up is that he looks like an avenging angel. 

He acts like one too. He strides toward her, lifting his hands as he moves, and what appears to be a beam of light shoots from his palm and slams into the chest of the cop to Chloe’s right. The cop goes flying backward with a scream. Lucifer dispatches the officer to her left the same way, and then he bends over her and reaches down to grab two more cops by their vests. He hauls them into the air, snarls in their faces, and then flings them in opposite directions as if they weigh nothing. 

He turns in a half circle, scanning the area for more threats, but there are none. His hands are in fists. He’s on fire. 

Holy shit, he’s on fire.

Chloe stares up at him from her position on her knees, her mouth open wide. She thinks she’s forgotten how to breathe. Her brain is short circuiting. What the hell is happening right now?

Lucifer glances down at her. His eyes are still flickering flames, and his body is glowing so brightly that it’s making her eyes water. He doesn’t seem to recognize her.

“Lucifer,” she whispers. 

And just like that, it’s over. The flames on his body evaporate. His eyes go back to the same deep brown she’s always known. Whatever seemed to be lighting up his body from the inside out extinguishes. He’s not an avenging angel anymore. He’s just...Lucifer. 

“Detective,” he breathes. He drops to a crouch in front of her and lifts his hands to her face. She flinches a little, the flames still fresh in her mind, but his skin is no warmer than it always is. 

“Are you hurt?” he murmurs.

She shakes her head. She can’t seem to find any words. It’s like the ability to formulate a coherent thought has completely deserted her. She can’t...she doesn’t…

“What the hell was that? ” she blurts out. 

“I...don’t know,” Lucifer murmurs. He drops his hands from her face and stares down at them in what appears to be confusion, turning them over to glance at his knuckles before rotating them back to study his palms.

“You don’t know? ” Chloe demands. “You mean you’ve never done that before?”

He shakes his head. “Never.”

“Lucifer, you were...you were on fire.

He looks up at her with a frown. “I was?”

“Yes. And you have laser beam hands!”

His frown deepens. “I beg your pardon?”

“Laser beam hands,” she repeats. She sounds a little hysterical, but he just shot light out of his damn hands. What else is she supposed to sound like? “You have laser beam hands!”

His frown turns into something disapproving. “I don’t have laser beam hands, Detective.”

“You shot light beams out of your hands. What the hell would you call it?”

He opens his mouth, but shuts it again. Sirens wail in the distance, and Chloe suddenly remembers where they are and what’s happening. They’ll have to discuss this later.

She struggles to get to her feet, which is a little harder than usual since her hands are handcuffed behind her back. Lucifer helps her, his fingers curling around her elbows. 

“I need to get out of these cuffs before we go,” she tells him. “We just need to...what are you doing?” 

“Hold still,” Lucifer says as he walks behind her.

She feels his fingers sliding over her wrists, and then she hears a faint snap, followed by another identical snap. The metal against her skin slips away. She pulls her arms forward, and stares down at her now bare wrists in surprise. 

She turns toward Lucifer, and finds him holding the handcuffs by the middle chain. Or, well, he’s holding what used to be handcuffs. They’re useless now. He snapped both of the cuffs clean in half. 

She stares at the broken metal in his hands. “Did you just…?”

“Indeed.”

She remembers the first time she put him in cuffs and how easily he got out of them without snapping anything in half. She glances up at him. “Can’t you get them off without breaking them?”

“Of course I can, darling,” he says, puffing out his chest a little. “I was making a statement. No one puts you in handcuffs but me.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes. “I never agreed to that.”

He smirks. “But you’ve thought about it. I know you have. Though I’ve a feeling your fantasies involve you handcuffing me rather than the alternative.”

“We are not talking about this right now,” Chloe says, brandishing her finger at him. “Let’s go.”

He holds his arm out. “After you, Detective.”

She strides past him with another eye roll. She doesn’t have to look at him over her shoulder to know that he’s staring at her ass. They’re being chased by her colleagues, everyone they care about is infected with ancient magic, they have no plan for how to fix any of it, and he’s still taking the time to stare at her ass. 

The temptation to turn the tables on him is too strong to ignore.

“Is it better in this dress than it is in jeans?” she asks when he falls in step next to her.

Lucifer frowns down at her. “Excuse me?”

“My ass,” she clarifies. 

He blinks in surprise, but only for a second. He grins. “I’m afraid I’ll need more time to study the terrain, Detective. Such decisions call for careful consideration.”

Chloe rolls her eyes yet again but can’t help a smile. They get out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, and Chloe immediately starts scanning for an escape route. She knows one of the cops called for backup before Lucifer spontaneously combusted, so they don’t have much time. They need to get out of here, and she can’t run very far in these heels, so they need a getaway car. 

In the distance, an engine revs. Chloe turns her head and spots a motorcycle racing toward them. The rider is wearing black leather and a matte black helmet, and he’s hunched over the handlebars and driving way faster than he should be. His bike is a brilliant shade of red, and Chloe can tell by the purr of the engine that it’s expensive. 

Yeah, that’ll do, she thinks. 

She dashes out into the road to intercept him. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls after her in surprise. 

Chloe ignores him. She stops in the middle of the road and waves her hands frantically. The roar of the engine gets louder as the motorcycle gets closer. For a second, Chloe thinks the motorcyclist isn’t going to stop. But then he slows down, and he rolls to a stop about a foot away from her. 

He flicks the visor on his helmet up. He’s younger than Chloe expected, and his eyes are very, very green. He frowns at her. “Are you okay?”

“LAPD,” Chloe tells him. “I need your bike.”

He looks her up and down with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know cops wore dresses like that.”

Chloe sighs. She is so sick of people commenting on her dress. She’s going to burn it as soon as she takes it off. She never wants to see it again.

“Well we do,” she snaps. “Now get off the damn bike.”

The guy scoffs. “Yeah right lady. Get your own bike.”

He reaches up to snap his visor back down, but he doesn’t get the chance. Lucifer suddenly appears next to him, grabs a fistful of his leather jacket, and plucks him straight off his bike. The motorcycle crashes onto its side in the road as Lucifer lifts the man high in the air. 

“Now that’s not very polite, is it?” Lucifer says, frowning up at his prisoner. “When a lady asks for something, you should give it to her. Especially when it’s this lady.”

“What the hell, man?!” the guy says, flailing in Lucifer’s grip. “Put me down!”

“As you wish,” Lucifer says dryly. He flings the motorcyclist down the street the same way someone might throw a garbage bag into a dumpster, and the guy lands in a leather-clad heap about twenty yards away. 

“If you’d like to file a formal complaint, my name is Detective Daniel Espinoza,” Lucifer calls out. 

Chloe snorts. She bends forward and grabs the bike, pulling it upright again, and then she swings her leg up and over so that she’s sitting astride the seat. She glances at the dials as she adjusts her grip on the handlebars, trying to quickly memorize where everything is. It’s not the first motorcycle she’s driven, but it’s been a while. Hopefully she remembers enough.

When she glances up at Lucifer to ask him why he’s just standing there like an idiot when they need to go, she finds him staring at her with his mouth open. He’s got that look on his face. Not the I-found-water-in-the-desert look she loves, but the other one. The I’m-going-to-rip-your-clothes-off-and-make-you-come-so-many-times-you’ll-forget-your-own-name look.

He tilts his head. “Well I just discovered a new fantasy,” he says with a smirk. 

“We don’t have time for this,” Chloe tells him. “Let’s go. Get on.” 

He frowns. “You mean behind you?”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no? Since when do you have a problem with being behind me?”

He grins. “I’m not the only one who enjoys that particular position.” Chloe feels her face flush. “But I can’t possibly ride behind you on a motorcycle, Detective. You’ll have to let me drive.”

“What? Why?”

“Well I can’t cling to you like a Prada-clad barnacle while you drive us to safety,” he says, gesturing at the motorcycle. “I have a reputation to maintain. I’m the Devil. I don’t cling. People cling to me.

“For god’s sake,” Chloe sighs.

Lucifer frowns. “Dad has nothing to do with this.”

The sound of wailing sirens goes from distant to deafening as four cop cars skid around the corner behind them and start to race in their direction. 

Chloe glances over her shoulder at them and then narrows her eyes at her boyfriend. “You better get your ass on this bike right now, Lucifer, because I swear to your dad if we get caught because of your stupid man ego I will kill you.”

Lucifer blinks at her for a moment in surprise, and then he climbs obediently onto the back of the bike. His chest presses against her back and his arms wrap around her waist. He’s warm. Not surprising, considering he was on fire not long ago.

Chloe smirks as she revs the engine to life. “Good Devil.”

“Oh, I am going to do unspeakable things to you when we’re finally alone,” Lucifer mutters in her ear.  

Chloe laughs and then flicks her wrist and sends the motorcycle shooting forward into the night. 

The four cop cars follow. The sirens are almost deafening, and when Chloe glances in the rearview mirror she can see the blinding flash of blue and red behind them. She leans forward on the bike and accelerates. 

They get out to Central Avenue, and Chloe hangs a left in front of an oncoming SUV that slams on its brakes and narrowly misses hitting them. The driver slams his palm on the horn, and the sound slices through the night over the squeal of the motorcycle’s tires skidding. Chloe straightens the bike and then whips it onto the right side of the street. She weaves through a pair of sedans and cuts one of them off and then glances at the mirror. All the cruisers made it through the turn and are in hot pursuit. She waits a few seconds until they’re gaining on her, and then yanks the handlebars into another hard left turn. The motorcycle darts in front of oncoming traffic and down another side street. A moment later, tires squeal and there’s a deafening crash. 

“Lost one,” Lucifer reports in her ear a second later. 

“Three now, yeah?” she asks. 

“Five,” he replies. “We seem to have picked up a few.”

Chloe curses under her breath and speeds up. She takes another right at a motorsports store, blowing through a stop sign in the process, and then guns it so the speedometer starts climbing fast. 

“You just ran a stop sign,” Lucifer says in disbelief. “I’ve never been so turned on in my life.”

Chloe laughs. The bike’s speedometer is still climbing as she weaves between slower traffic. There’s a parking lot up ahead on her right, and an idea suddenly strikes her. She darts into the right lane and jumps the curb. Lucifer’s arms tighten around her. She steers into the parking lot, and then whips the bike in a tight circle until they’ve done a complete 180 and are now racing toward the cops who are chasing them. 

The cops slam on their brakes, tires squealing and cars rocking with movement as they screech to a halt. Chloe can see one of them staring open mouthed at her from the driver’s seat. She grins at him as she guides the motorcycle between his cruiser and another, around a third, and then tears back out into the street.

Lucifer whoops behind her. “Well done, Detective.”

Chloe’s grin widens. Adrenaline is roaring through her veins. She merges the bike into traffic and then accelerates quickly, whipping around a delivery truck. She glances in her mirror and sees lights. 

Lucifer says in her ear, “Just two now.”

“I can lose them,” Chloe replies. She takes a left at the motorsports store she passed earlier, and then leans forward over the handlebars and guns it. The speedometer starts to climb again, and by the time she takes a left onto Central, she’s going so fast she nearly loses control of the bike. Lucifer’s left leg shoots outward, and he kicks off the pavement and straightens them out. 

Chloe lays off the accelerator, her heart shooting into her throat. They could’ve crashed because of her recklessness. They don't even have helmets on. What the hell is she—

“It’s all right, Detective,” Lucifer murmurs in her ear as if he can read her mind. “I’ve got you. Drive.”

Chloe swallows around the fear in her throat and accelerates again. They roar down Central until she takes another left. The two cruisers follow her. She glances in her rearview mirror at them. She was the best evasive driver in her class at the academy. If she drives smart and fast enough, she can probably lose them in the maze of side streets without getting her and Lucifer killed. 

She whips the bike through the side streets like her life depends on it. Lucifer only has to catch them once more. Chloe comes close, but every time she loses one cruiser, another appears as if out of nowhere. There are too many of them to shake. They’re outnumbered. 

And then the helicopter shows up. 

The whirring sound of helicopter blades drowns out the noise of skidding tires and wailing sirens. A spotlight shines down on them. 

“This is the LAPD,” a voice shouts through a megaphone. “Pull the bike over and surrender peacefully. We have you surrounded.”

Chloe ignores the command and turns left onto Central. She weaves in and out of traffic, narrowly avoiding a collision with a pickup truck. The spotlight follows her every move. The cruisers are still hot on their heels. 

“I have an idea,” Lucifer says in her ear. 

Chloe cuts off a Buick and gets an earful of car horn. 

“Turn right up here,” Lucifer says, pointing at the street up ahead. “Head for the bridge.”

Chloe slows the bike just enough to make the right turn onto 7th Street, and then accelerates again. “Where are we going?” she shouts at Lucifer over the roar of the engine.

“Do you trust me?”

Chloe frowns. That’s not an answer and it doesn’t give her much confidence in his plan, but she answers his question truthfully. “Yes.”

“When you get to the middle of the bridge, I want you to crash into the parapet.”

“You want me to do what?

They’re closing in on the middle of the bridge. Lucifer’s arms tighten around her. “Do you trust me or not?”

“Lucifer—”

“Yes or no, Detective.”

Chloe clenches her jaw. The wind is whipping through her hair and it’s cold as hell on her skin. There are at least five cop cars behind them and the helicopter is still overhead. Lucifer is warm and solid behind her, and his arms are like a vise around her body. 

“Now or never,” he says in her ear. 

Chloe takes a deep breath and then yanks the handlebars to the left. They cut across traffic and pass through the headlights of an oncoming delivery truck. Chloe tries to jump the curb, but she doesn’t quite make it. The front tire slams into the concrete. The bike starts to flip, and her body goes airborne above the handlebars. 

She can see the cement parapet looming beneath her. She’s going to land on it. She’s going to crack her head open and break her neck and shatter every bone in her body. This will kill her. There’s no way it won’t kill her.

She’s never going to see Trixie again. 

And then, just as she’s closing her eyes and sucking in a breath to prepare for impact, her body is forcibly twisted in midair. Lucifer’s arm is suddenly sliding beneath her knees, and his other arm is wrapping around her shoulders, and he’s holding her just like he did when he carried her out of that burning restaurant what seems like ages ago. This time, though, there are no flames. 

There’s just air.

Chapter 15: Fifteen

Notes:

Whew. Y’all, I am not going to lie, I am a little overwhelmed by all the comments I got on the previous chapter. Listen, let me tell you something you probably already know but might need to be reminded of: Writing is really hard and very personal, and sharing what you’ve written can be downright terrifying. This fic encompasses all those things for me. But y’all have been very, very kind, and I am very, very appreciative. Whether you comment or kudos or just like to lurk in the background and shake your fist at the sky over all my angst (yes, yes, I know it hurts), I appreciate you.

I like to keep my author’s notes short, usually, but I want to share some things with y’all because you’ve been so lovely. Imma just bullet point list them out for you:

-If you’re worried I’m going to stop updating every Tuesday, don’t be. The entirety of this story is already plotted. Most of it is already written. (It’s the revisions that make it necessary to wait a week before posting. Revisions are hard, and ya girl is a perfectionist.) This is not my first long fic, and I don’t leave things unfinished. Like, I am physically incapable of not finishing what I start. So don’t worry. I gotchu.

-I promised you fluff, angst, and Deckerstar in the summary. You’re going to keep getting all that, though each chapter will have varying degrees of each. If you’re feeling angsty about the angst just...hold on. That’s all I’ll say. Though I should also warn you that we’re not even close to being done. So...do with that what you will.

-Laser beam hands are going to become a ~thing, so I’m glad y’all liked them.

-I am going to try to respond to a few comments every chapter. When I wrote my last long fic (under a different pen name, for a different fandom), I responded to comments all the time because I had waaaaay fewer of them. And it was really, really fun to more or less exchange essays with people about the characters and the plot and all that. But the Lucifer fandom seems to be very active, and there are a lot more of you, and as much as I’d love to, I just can’t write y’all essays *and* keep my schedule. So I’ll try to respond to a few but don’t be offended if it’s not you and don’t be mad if it’s not every week. Imma do my best.

K, that’s all. Love you boos.

Chapter Text

Chloe is no stranger to the sensation of flying.

She’s been on airplanes. She’s been in helicopters. She went paragliding with Jed once. Trixie begged to go ziplining the last time they went camping, and Dan hates stuff like that, so Chloe took her. 

None of that even remotely compares to flying with an angel for the first time. 

Well, okay, it’s not the first time. She knows that after Pierce’s goon shot her in the chest, Lucifer flew her up to the roof. But she doesn’t remember that, so it doesn’t count. And okay, fine, Michael briefly flew her above a car a few weeks ago. But it happened so fast she doesn’t really remember that either, and even if she did she wouldn’t count it, because it was Michael and Michael is a dick. 

This, though—this counts. 

It takes a few seconds for it to sink in. She turns her head and sees the glittering L.A. skyline in the distance, and then her gaze trips downward and she sees the bridge below them. The police cruisers are parked around the bike, and the cops themselves appear to be staring over the edge of the parapet. They must think the collision sent her and Lucifer over the side of the bridge and down to the concrete below. 

Except they didn’t go over the side of the bridge. They went up. They’re two hundred feet in the air, and his wings are making a soft fwap fwap fwap sound, and holy fucking shit they’re flying. 

A strangled cry rips out of Chloe’s throat. She flings her arms around Lucifer’s neck, curls inward, and buries her face in his chest. 

“Detective?” Lucifer says, his voice tinged with concern.

“Oh my god,” Chloe mutters, clinging to him. “Oh my god we’re flying right now.”

She feels a laugh rumble through his chest. “My father isn’t the one preventing you from falling hundreds of feet to your death, darling. Might I suggest Oh my Devil instead?”

Chloe punches him in his chest but doesn’t lift her head. “This isn’t funny, Lucifer.”

“It’s a little funny,” he says, and she can hear the smirk in his voice. “I had no idea you were afraid of heights.”

“I’m not.

“Then why is your face currently buried in my Prada suit instead of enjoying the view?”

He has a point. Chloe takes a deep breath, and then pulls her head back just far enough to glance up at him. 

His hair is flying loose in the wind. There’s a broad and brilliant smile on his lips, and his eyes are bright with joy. He looks so happy it steals the breath out of her lungs. He looks down at her, and the joy in his eyes doesn’t dim. If anything, it seems brighter. 

“My face is a sight to behold,” Lucifer says, his smile softening into something affectionate. “But I meant the city.”

He nods into the distance, and Chloe follows his gaze. 

The skyline is brilliant against the black sky. The highway snakes past the towers of downtown, littered with headlights and taillights. The rest of the city creeps outward, sprawling and huge and twinkling beneath them. It’s breathtaking.

“Wow,” Chloe breathes. 

“Spectacular, isn’t it?” Lucifer murmurs. “Everything looks different from up here.”

There’s something in his voice that draws Chloe’s eyes back to his face. “You like to fly,” she observes.

“I do.” He searches her eyes, and then says softly, “Do you?”

Chloe peers down at the ground. Her stomach clenches at how high they are, but Lucifer’s arms are solid around her. The wind is freezing and her dress is doing nothing to shield her from the chill, but Lucifer’s body is warm against hers. The city is stunningly beautiful beneath them, and they’re together. She’s never felt safer.

She looks back at him. “Yeah, I do.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, and if Chloe didn’t know any better she’d think he was trying not to cry. She looks closer, realizes his eyes are glassy, and furrows her eyebrows. Maybe he is trying not to cry. Was it something she said?

“Lucifer?” she murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he says quietly. His eyes flicker over her face as if he’s trying to memorize it, and then he grins. “If we’re going to get to where we’re going at some point in this millennia, though, I’ll need to move a little faster. Are you ready?”

She tightens her arms around his neck. “Uh...yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

He smiles. “I won’t drop you, Detective.”

“I know. I trust you.”

He studies her, that awed expression on his face once again. She’s opening her mouth to say something along the lines of Seriously, why do you keep looking at me like that? but she doesn’t get the chance. He tightens his hold on her, gives her a wicked grin, and then shoots forward into the night.

Chloe yelps in surprise and curls closer to him. They’re moving fast. The air is hard and cold as it streams past them. Her hair is whipping wildly around her face and her dress is fluttering against her legs. She has to squint against the wind, and her eyes are watering a little, but she doesn’t dare close them. She doesn’t want to miss a second of this. Not the glittering streets and glowing buildings beneath them, or the wide smile on Lucifer’s lips, or the gleaming white of his wings behind him, rising and falling and filling her ears with a steady fwap fwap fwap.  

Eventually, when they’re close to the outskirts of the city, Lucifer slows down. He comes to a stop over a dark and empty parking lot behind a battered looking building, and then descends toward the ground slowly. His feet hit the pavement, and his wings flap once more and then stretch out and hover. 

Chloe stares. Now that they’re still, she can’t get over how huge they are. His wingspan is...it’s got to be at least fifteen feet. 

Lucifer leans forward, lowering his arm beneath her legs to put her down. Her high heels hit the pavement with a sharp click. Once she’s on her own two feet again, she finally manages to tear her gaze away from his wings. 

She flushes when she realizes he caught her staring. “Sorry,” she murmurs. 

He shakes his head and smiles. “You’re a detective by trade, darling. Truth be told, I’d be concerned if you weren’t curious. You’re curious about everything.” 

He doesn’t sound offended, and he’s smiling, so she lets her eyes wander back to his wings. 

They’re beautiful. She wonders if the elegant top curves are bone or cartilage or something else, something celestial, but doesn’t ask. The feathers at the top are smaller, almost delicate. They grow in size as the wing descends downward, and the ones at the bottom are long and large. There are so many of them and they’re so stunningly white that they seem to light up the dark parking lot. 

She lifts her hand without thinking, wanting to touch them to see if they’re as soft and glossy as they look, but she catches herself. 

She stops with her hand stretched out halfway to his wing and glances up at him. He’s standing ramrod straight, and the smile is no longer on his lips. He hasn’t recoiled from her, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be touched. She thinks about that day in his penthouse early in their partnership, when she saw his scars and tried to touch them. She still remembers the tightness of his fingers around her wrist and the way his voice sounded. 

Don’t. Please.

She searches his eyes, wondering if he’ll repeat the same thing to her now, but he doesn’t. 

“Can I…?” she asks softly.

He shifts from one foot to the other, swallows hard, and then nods.

That’s not a firm enough confirmation for her. She drops her hand to make it clear that she means what she’s about to say. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

He glances down at her hand hanging by her side. She waits for him. He takes a deep breath and then lifts his chin. “You’re more than welcome to touch me in whatever way you please, Detective.”

She studies him. She’s still unsure, but it’s the knowledge that he doesn’t lie to her that helps make up her mind. He wouldn’t say she was welcome to touch him if he didn’t mean it. 

She lifts her hand slowly, trying to give him plenty of time to change his mind and recoil, but he stands as still as a statue before her. She looks away from his face and toward his wing, and then closes the last bit of distance and strokes her fingertips lightly over the feathers next to his elbow.

He flinches. She yanks her hand back and snaps her gaze up to meet his. 

“Sorry,” she says.

He shakes his head. “No, I…” He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, and then opens his eyes and lets his breath out in a short burst. “Go ahead.”

She hates that he seems to be steeling himself to be touched. He used to be like this before, back when he asked her to sleep with him every five minutes but froze every time she offered any semblance of meaningful physical affection. He’s been different ever since she told him that she loves him. He doesn’t just tolerate physical affection anymore—he welcomes it and even seeks it out. She loves that. And she doesn’t want to jeopardize it by crossing a boundary he wants to keep. 

“Lucifer,” she starts.

“It’s all right, Detective,” he interrupts. “Go ahead. I want you to.”

“Are you sure? Because your body language is saying that’s the last thing you want.”

He sighs. He rolls his shoulders a little, though his wings don’t disappear. He adjusts the collar of his shirt, and then his cufflinks. He’s fidgeting. Which isn’t unheard of—he is Lucifer, after all—but this seems different than his usual busyness. He seems...uncomfortable. 

She made him uncomfortable. 

Guilt flares in her chest. “I’m sorry, Lucifer,” she says, folding her hands together in front of her. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” he says, lifting his hand. 

Chloe presses her lips together. 

Lucifer rolls his shoulders again. She wonders if it’s a nervous tic. She’s never seen him do it like that before, but she’s also never seen him with his wings out for this long. She’s dying to look at them again but she doesn’t want to stare, so she forces herself to focus on his face. 

“I have a complicated relationship with my wings,” he says eventually, finally meeting her gaze. “I don’t particularly enjoy exploring the feelings they inspire, and I certainly don’t wish to discuss those feelings with the vast majority of humans, so it’s easier to pretend they don’t exist. Which means, of course, that I’m not...I’m not accustomed to being touched.” 

Chloe frowns. “What about Eve?”

“What about her?”

“You never...I mean, she didn’t touch them?”

Lucifer smiles sadly. “She never asked, and I never offered. Quite frankly, I don’t think it was the angelic side of me that she cared for.” 

A tidal wave of sadness crashes over Chloe. Every time she thinks she understands how lonely he’s been, she’s confronted with something else that makes her realize she has no idea. 

Her first instinct is to touch him. She’s always been a toucher with people she loves. But Lucifer isn’t like her, and she doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable again, and her wanting to touch him is what brought about this entire conversation in the first place. Then again, she knows how often he overthinks things. If she avoids touching him, he’ll notice that too. She doesn’t want to give him a reason to question her feelings for him or her faith in their relationship. Not after the hell they’ve been through tonight. 

She wavers, undecided, and then makes up her mind. She reaches forward—slowly, so as not to startle him—and grabs his hands, because she knows that’s a touch he won’t mind. His hands animate in hers immediately, and he strokes his thumbs over her skin. 

“I care about all your sides, Lucifer,” she murmurs, tipping her head back to look him in the eye. “I love all of you. But that doesn’t mean you owe me, okay? You don’t have to do things you don’t want to do. I only want what you’re willing to give. So if you don’t want—”

“That’s just it, Detective,” he cuts her off, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I do. I want it very much.”

She frowns. “Then why…?”

He rolls his shoulders again. “This is all very new for me. I’ve never…”

He swallows and seems unable to finish.

“Let someone this close?” she supplies.  

He nods. The look on his face is so earnest that Chloe’s heart shoots straight into her throat. She loves him so much, more than she’s ever loved anyone she’s been with, but somehow it doesn’t feel like enough. How can she give him everything he’s lacked for millennia? How can she possibly make him see that he deserves so much more than what he believes?

“I’ll be as close as you want me, Lucifer,” she murmurs, her voice catching. “Just tell me what you want.”

He tilts closer to her. “Touch them.”

She searches his eyes for any trace of indecision. There isn’t one. So she lifts her hand slowly, keeping her gaze locked with his, and strokes her fingertips gently over the feathers by his elbow. He shivers a little, but doesn’t move. She licks her lips, and then glances at his wing and watches as her fingers stroke over his feathers again. They’re like silk beneath her skin. She lifts her hand up to the small feathers at the top, rubbing them gently between her fingers, and then flattens her hand against his wing and trails her palm down to the larger ones. 

When she glances up at him, his jaw is clenched and his eyes are closed. She freezes, her hand hovering close to his wing but no longer touching him, and he snaps his eyes open. 

“Is this okay?” she asks.

“More than,” he says quietly. 

She strokes her fingers over his feathers again. “What’s it feel like?”

He seems to consider the question, and then he lifts his hand and buries it in her hair, his fingers threading through the strands on the nape of her neck. “Like that, I’d imagine.”

“So good then.”

He smiles. “Yes, Detective. It always feels good when you touch me.”

She strokes her fingers over him again. His wing quivers beneath her touch. She’s opening her mouth to ask him if his wings have different nerves than the rest of his body because he seems even more responsive to her touch than usual, but she gets cut off by the distant sound of angry shouting. 

She drops her hand and turns, starting to slide between Lucifer and the edge of the parking lot on a cop reflex, but he seems to have the same idea and tries to shield her. Their shoulders collide. He’s solid—like, angel solid—and far bigger than her, so she bounces a little off him. He catches her elbow to steady her. She hears a faint woosh, and when she glances at him, his wings are gone. 

More shouting erupts, and they turn in unison to see a group of men sauntering by on the sidewalk. They either don’t notice or don’t care that Lucifer and Chloe are in the parking lot. Chloe waits until they’re out of earshot and then turns toward Lucifer.

“Where are we?” she wonders. Being hundreds of feet above L.A. is more than a little disorienting, and she doesn’t recognize her surroundings.

“Just south of the 105,” Lucifer replies. 

“Why’d you bring us here?” 

“Because we need to get out of L.A. undetected, and the man who will help us do that works out of the motel around the corner.”

Chloe arches an eyebrow. “I’m guessing this guy isn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen?”

Lucifer grins. “Neither are we at the moment.”

“Right,” Chloe says. She’d almost forgotten that a few minutes ago, she was on the wrong end of a high-speed chase. “Well, then, lead the way.”

Lucifer offers her his arm with a smile. Chloe loops her arm through his, and then he leads her out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk toward a semi-busy street. He hangs a left at a store front with a boarded up front door and windows, and they walk past an overgrown lot that’s partially enclosed by a chain link fence that’s definitely seen better days. 

“It’s this building here,” Lucifer says, nodding at the yellow building to their left. Up ahead, a tall, bright blue sign proclaims that the building is a motel. Beneath it are the words color TVs and king beds.   

“Color TVs, huh?” Chloe says. “Fancy.”

Lucifer leers at her. “And king beds.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. Lucifer leads her into a small parking lot that’s empty and dotted with potholes. They climb three steps, and walk past the empty front office and down an open-air hallway until they get to a room marked by a chrome number four. Lucifer pounds on the door with his fist. 

A moment passes, and then the door swings open. A thin man with jet black hair and a goatee answers. His jeans are ripped stylishly, and his black t-shirt bears the bedazzled forms of two naked women—one with devil horns and a tail, and the other with a halo. 

“Good evening, Javier,” Lucifer says with a smile.

“Lucifer,” Javier greets, sounding surprised. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Yes, well, it’s a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.”

Javier glances at Chloe and then double takes. His eyes travel slowly over her body as his mouth falls open. “Damn,” he murmurs. 

Chloe isn’t sure if she should be flattered or offended. 

Lucifer seems offended. “This is my girlfriend,” he says stiffly. “I suggest you stop undressing her with your eyes if you wish to keep your skull attached to your spine.”

Javier immediately snaps to attention. “Sorry. I uh…” He frowns. “Did you say girlfriend?”

“Indeed,” Lucifer says. “Now are you going to invite us in, or have you lost every ounce of your discretion since last we spoke?”

Javier straightens. “Right. My bad.” He scurries out of the doorway and swings the door open wide. “Come in.”

Lucifer slides his hand along Chloe’s lower back and guides her across the threshold of the motel room and then follows her inside. She pauses a few feet inside the door, but Lucifer continues past her toward the bathroom, where he hovers in the doorway and fusses with his windswept hair.

Chloe watches him with a smirk. She never thought she’d end up with a man who cares more about his hair than she cares about hers. Then again, she never thought she’d end up in love with the actual Devil, either. 

She turns away from him and surveys her surroundings. For the most part, it’s exactly what she expected based on the outside of the building: faded carpet, neutral walls, and a king sized bed with a bedspread that was last in fashion a few decades ago. A half-empty pizza box is on the bed, and a six pack of cheap beer is sitting on the bedside table next to a bong. Mounted on the exterior wall across from the bed, though, is a massive and very expensive television that’s definitely out of place in a motel like this. The screen is paused on a video game. She has no idea which one. 

Behind her, the front door shuts with a thud. She turns toward the sound. Javier meets her gaze and offers his hand with a sheepish smile. “Hi. I’m Javier.”

“Chloe,” she says, shaking his hand. 

Javier glances at Lucifer, who is still focused on his hair, and then back to her. “Sorry about that,” he says quietly, jerking his thumb toward the door. “You’re just uh…” 

“Painfully beautiful?” Lucifer supplies, turning to face them. “Yes, she’s aware. She’s also very modest, which means you’re probably making her uncomfortable. I suggest you stop that before I get cross.”

Javier swallows. “Right. Sure. My bad.” He casts an apologetic look at Chloe. “Sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe says. “Really.”

Lucifer crosses the room to stand next to her, and then glances toward the TV. “I assume you’re not busy?”

Javier frowns. “Actually I was kind of in the middle of…” 

He trails off when Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. 

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head. “Not busy. Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“The Detective and I—”

“Wait, Detective?” Javier interrupts. He looks at Chloe in horror. “You’re a cop?

“Javier,” Lucifer says, holding out his hands. “Before you freak out—”

It’s too late. Javier is already freaking out. 

“Are you kidding me?!” he demands, backing as far away from Chloe as he can get in the small room. “What the hell is wrong with you, man? You brought a cop here? Here? This is my sanctuary, Lucifer!” 

Lucifer glances around the room with his lip curled in distaste. “I’m fairly certain this dump isn’t worthy of that moniker, Javi.”

“Probably shouldn’t insult the guy we need help from,” Chloe points out.

“Nevertheless,” Lucifer says, nodding at Chloe, “I understand the point you’re making. You feel betrayed.”

“Of course I feel fucking betrayed!” Javier scowls. “How would you like it if I brought a priest to your club?” 

“Actually, I’ve had a priest in my club,” Lucifer says. “Delightful fellow. Hell of a piano player.”

“Still adorable,” Chloe murmurs under her breath. 

Lucifer frowns at her. 

Chloe shrugs. “Just saying.” 

Javier glances between them incredulously and then gestures at the door. “You have to go. Now. Get out.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’m afraid we can’t do that, Javier. You and I have a contract, and I expect you to honor it. We require your services.”

“You ain’t getting shit from me, man,” Javier says. “You brought a cop with you. How could you do this to me? Haven’t I always done right by you? Haven’t I always gotten you what you want, when you want it?”

“Indeed you have. And now you’re going to do it again.”

“No way, man. Why would I help the guy who ratted me out?”

Lucifer sighs. “No one is ratting you out, all right? Calm down. We’re here because we’re trying to avoid the cops.”

“But she’s a cop!” Javier says incredulously, gesturing at Chloe.

Lucifer clenches his jaw, and Chloe knows he’s having a hard time keeping his temper in check. That’s her cue.

She holds her hands up in what she hopes is a disarming gesture. “Look, Javier, I don’t care what you do for a living, all right? I’m not here in a professional capacity. As far as I know, you’re a law-abiding citizen who enjoys video games and helping old ladies cross the street.”

Javier narrows his eyes at her. “How do you know about my abuela? You been watching us?”

Chloe frowns. “What? No. I didn’t…” She sighs. “Look, I’m not a cop right now, okay?” 

Lucifer smirks at her. 

She tilts her head. “Well, okay, I’m always a cop. But I’m sort of on the wrong side of the law at the moment.”

Javier frowns. “What?”

“We’re on the run,” Lucifer says impatiently. “We went rogue. We’re fugitives. Which, by the way, is quite an accomplishment for this one. You wouldn’t believe how much she loves rules and procedure. Goody two shoes is an understatement.”

“Hey,” Chloe says with a frown. 

“It’s true, darling,” he replies. “It’d be appalling if it wasn’t so endearing.”

“Endearing?” Javier repeats in bewilderment. 

Lucifer grins. “Truth be told, I find it rather attractive when she starts rattling off procedural codes. Oh, and when she sees someone breaking a rule but she’s trying to play it cool, her nose does this adorable little scrunching thing that…” 

He trails off when he realizes Javier is looking at him like he just grew a second head. 

“Nevermind,” Lucifer says, straightening. “Not the time to wax poetic.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Javier demands. “Are you high?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Lucifer says. He casts a hopeful glance at Chloe. “But that might be on the agenda later.” 

Chloe gives him a look.

He straightens obediently. “Right. We require your services, Javier. And since you’ll be helping us evade arrest, you needn’t worry about the Detective arresting you.”

Javier glances at Chloe.

She shakes her head. “I won’t arrest you. I swear. Couldn’t if I wanted to. I don’t have my handcuffs on me.”

“Pity,” Lucifer sighs.

Chloe shoots him another look. “Can you focus, please?”

He grins and gives her a once over. “I am.

Chloe rolls her eyes.

“How do I know you won’t call for backup?” Javier asks suspiciously. 

“Because if I did, they’d get here and arrest me instead of you,” Chloe replies. “I’ve resisted arrest multiple times tonight and I led them on a high speed chase. Speaking from experience, cops don’t really like that.” 

Javier frowns. “Wait. That was you guys?”

“What was us?” Lucifer asks. 

“The high speed chase,” Javier answers. “I got an alert on my phone from KTLA about it.“

“KTLA?” Chloe asks. “Like, the local news?”

“Yeah,” Javier says. He reaches into his pocket. “Here, I’ll show you.” He pulls his phone out and glances down at the screen, and then frowns. “Oh.”

“Oh what?” Lucifer asks.

Javier looks up. “Just got another alert. The LAPD is holding a press conference about a kidnapped detective.”

Lucifer and Chloe share a look.

“Is that you?” Javier wonders.

“Where’s the TV remote?” Chloe asks instead of answering. 

Javier points at the bedside table. “It’s there next to my...not bong. That is not a bong. It’s a...prop. For a movie. That I’m in. As an extra.”

“You’re clearly lying,” Lucifer says. “But just for the record, you should not go into acting. You’re terrible at it.” 

“Rude,” Javier accuses.

“Truthful,” Lucifer counters. “Not my fault if it hurts.”

Chloe ignores them both and snatches the remote off the table. She switches the television’s input until she finds live TV, and then flips channels until she finds KTLA. She immediately recognizes the navy background that the LAPD uses for press conferences, and the wooden podium with the LAPD seal mounted on the front and a dozen microphones arranged in a half-circle. The American flag and the California flag are positioned on either side of the screen, but there’s no one at the podium. 

“Maybe we missed it,” Javier says.

The words are barely out of his mouth when Jax walks onto the screen.

Chloe’s heart stops in her chest. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she understands why Jax is the one giving the press conference. But as she stares at him on the screen, she’s not thinking about how he’s her boss’s boss. She’s thinking about him standing next to her father’s grave, holding her mother while she cried at the funeral. She’s thinking about her wedding day, when he kissed her on the cheek right before he walked her down the aisle and said, You look beautiful, kid. She’s thinking about the day she got promoted to detective, and how Jax smiled at her from the other side of a high-top table at the bar where they were celebrating and said I’m proud of you, Hollywood. And your dad would be too. 

Jax isn’t smiling now. He looks tired. His salt and pepper hair is buzzed close to his head, and his uniform is pressed neatly. The two silver bars on his collar that identify him as a captain gleam under a sudden flurry of camera flashes. Lieutenant Keller and the Chief of Police appear behind him. Chloe’s stomach sinks. If the Chief is there, this isn’t going to be good.

“Good evening,” Jax says, looking straight at the camera. “My name is Captain David Jackson.”

“Wait a minute,” Lucifer says quietly. He looks at Chloe. “Is that your…?”

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “That’s Jax.”

Jax clears his throat. “This evening at approximately 10:34 pm, officers responded to a call about an officer in distress at the Lux Nightclub in downtown Los Angeles. The officer in question was Detective Chloe Decker, who serves under my command in the Robbery-Homicide Division as a homicide detective.”

“Under his command?” Lucifer repeats, frowning at Chloe. “You mean he’s—”

“Keller’s boss,” Chloe confirms. “And mine.”

“For the past few years, Detective Decker has been working alongside a civilian consultant by the name of Lucifer Morningstar, the owner and proprietor of the Lux Nightclub. Earlier this evening, the LAPD received a tip that Mr. Morningstar has been using the connections he’s established through his work with Detective Decker to bolster his extensive criminal network and enterprises.”

“Hey, way to go, bro,” Javier says with a grin. 

“That’s a lie,” Lucifer hisses. 

The grin drops off Javier’s face. 

“Our investigation into his illicit activities is ongoing,” Jax says. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of his specific crimes, though I can say that we’ve uncovered a considerable amount of evidence that points to some truly horrific acts. It is our belief that Detective Decker was alerted to these crimes, and confronted Mr. Morningstar in his penthouse apartment earlier this evening. His response to her confrontation was violent in nature, and triggered the distress call our officers responded to.”

Anger flares in Chloe’s chest. The idea that Lucifer would hurt her is so ridiculous it makes her want to throw the remote at the TV. 

“When officers arrived in the penthouse to assist Detective Decker, Mr. Morningstar resisted arrest and injured several of them,” Jax says. 

“That wasn’t me, that was her!” Lucifer sputters. 

“Since then, he has assaulted and injured an additional two dozen officers as well as several civilians.”

“All right, that was me,” Lucifer grumbles. “But they started it.” 

Javier snorts.

On the screen, Jax narrows his eyes into a glare and scans the room of reporters. “I would like to make it crystal clear that Detective Decker was not involved in or even aware of Mr. Morningstar’s illegal activities prior to this evening. Although she appears to be assisting him now, eyewitness testimony indicates that Mr. Morningstar may be forcing her to do so by threatening to harm her young daughter and other family members.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. His jaw is clenched, and his hands are curled into fists. 

“As most of you in this room are aware, officers were involved in a high speed chase not long ago,” Jax continues. “I can confirm that they were in pursuit of Detective Decker and Mr. Morningstar, who have—for the time being—avoided capture. As we speak, the LAPD is collaborating with neighboring jurisdictions, the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, and state and federal authorities to conduct a manhunt. Citizens should expect to see a considerably stronger police presence throughout the city and county in the coming days. We believe such efforts are necessary, given the threat posed by Mr. Morningstar.”

Jax clears his throat, puts his hands on either side of the podium, and looks straight into the camera. “I’d now like to speak directly to Detective Decker in case she’s watching or listening.”

Lucifer and Javier glance at Chloe. She keeps her eyes glued to the TV.

“Chloe,” Jax says, his voice softening. “The evidence against Mr. Morningstar is significant in both size and scope. I know—we all know—that the only reason you’re helping him now is to protect your daughter. But she’s safe. She and the rest of your family are in protective custody and will remain there, under my watch, until Mr. Morningstar is apprehended. You have my word. So if you’re listening...do whatever you need to do to come home. Your daughter needs you.”

He stares at the camera for a beat longer, and then scans the room. “Thank you. That will be all. We won’t be taking questions at this time.”

He walks off screen, followed by Keller and the Chief. The camera lingers on the empty podium for a moment, and then it cuts away and a brunette news anchor appears on screen. 

The news anchor starts talking, but Chloe doesn’t hear what she says. She’s not listening. All she can hear is Jax’s voice, deep and familiar and filled with concern. Come home. Your daughter needs you. 

Trixie’s face flashes through her mind next, her cheeks streaked with tears and her arms outstretched. Don’t leave me! 

Dan follows. You either dump that asshole or I’m suing for full custody. 

Chloe thinks of the voicemail on her phone from her mom, and the colleagues she hurt at the penthouse. She thinks about how every law enforcement officer within a hundred miles is now focused on hunting her down and separating her from Lucifer, and there’s nothing she can do about it. She can’t stop any of this. She can’t fix it.

She’s helpless.

It’s suddenly hard to breathe. She feels like she’s underwater, and she can’t tell which way is up, and her lungs are screaming for oxygen but she can’t get any. 

She can’t breathe. 

She faintly registers the feel of Lucifer’s hands on hers, pulling the TV remote gently from her grasp. He steps between her and the TV and ducks forward to look at her. 

“Detective?” he says softly. 

She sucks in a breath. It’s not enough. Her lungs are screaming. Her vision is swimming and dotted with black spots. She sucks in another breath.

“Chloe,” Lucifer says, sounding worried. He lifts his hands to her face. She flinches at his touch. He freezes, his eyebrows furrowing. 

Chloe suddenly remembers how guilty he looked at the club when she admitted that she was afraid Zatanna wouldn’t be able to fix this. He looks that way now, too, and she hates that. The motel room feels increasingly small and stiflingly hot and she’s still struggling to breathe, but she doesn’t want to fall apart in front of him. He’ll blame himself, and he shouldn’t. None of this is his fault. It’s better for him—kinder of her—if she breaks down alone.

She swallows hard and wraps her fingers around his wrists to pull his hands down from her face. “I…” she starts. Her voice comes out sounding like a croak. She clears her throat and tries again. “I need to get some air.”

Lucifer frowns. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, it’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. She gestures at Javier. “You guys, uh...you do your thing so we can get out of here. I’ll just be outside.”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. “Detective—”

“I’m fine,” she cuts him off. “I just need a second.”

She stumbles toward the door before Lucifer can try to argue with her again. He doesn’t follow her. She reaches for the handle with shaking hands, swings the door open and steps outside, and then pulls it shut behind her. 

Her vision starts to blur with tears the second she gets outside. She inhales a ragged breath and staggers down the corridor, her heels clicking on the pavement. She gets as far as the steps outside the front office, and then her knees give way. 

She doesn’t fight it. She just sinks down on the steps, curls in on herself, and cries.


For a moment after the door slams shut, a heavy silence hangs in the air.

Lucifer stares at the closed door that the Detective exited through, frozen and choking around the icy fingers of guilt wrapping around his throat. He thinks he can smell the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air. Usually, that scent brings him pleasure. Right now, though, all it does is remind him that she’s gone. She left him. She was upset and struggling not to cry, just like that night he told her about Uriel, only this time she wouldn’t let him hold her. She flinched when he touched her. She pulled his hands away from her face and she stepped away from him and left because she didn’t...

She didn’t want him to be near her.

“Uh, Lucifer?” Javier says, interrupting the silence. “Aren’t you going to go after her?”

Lucifer clenches his jaw against the hurt and guilt warring in his chest and clears his throat. “No,” he says, brushing an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt sleeve. “I am not.”

Javier frowns. “I’m pretty sure she’s out there crying.”

The guilt returns with a vengeance. Lucifer struggles with it for a moment before he finally manages to wrestle it into submission. “The Detective asked for some space,” he says stiffly. “I intend to honor her wish.”

Javier shakes his head. “Nah, man, see, women don’t always mean what they say. Sometimes—”

“No means no, Javier,” Lucifer cuts him off. “She said no. End of discussion.”

Javier nods. “Right. Okay.”

An awkward silence ensues. Lucifer tries not to glance longingly at the door. He wants to go after her so badly, but he’s terrified that she’ll recoil from him. He can’t bear that. 

“So,” Javier says eventually. “I’m guessing you want to hang out in one of my safehouses until all this blows over?”

“No,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. “It’s not safe for her in L.A. We need a vehicle.”

“You got a preference, or…?”

“I’d like an SUV. She’ll be more comfortable that way. Make sure it has tinted windows.” He thinks of the Detective shivering at the beach, and then again in his arms while they flew here. “And heated seats.”

Javier strides toward the bed and plucks an iPad off the bedside table. “All right,” he says, his finger tapping the screen. “I’ll pull up some options for you. You want cash too?”

“Yes. The entirety of my initial deposit with you should suffice.”

Javier looks up in surprise. “You want that much?”

“Yes,” Lucifer says, folding his hands behind his back and pacing across the room. “Small bills, obviously.”

Javier snorts. “Obviously. Identities?”

“Two sets, I think,” Lucifer says. “Better safe than sorry.” He glances at Javier. “Unless doing so in such a short amount of time isn’t feasible?”

Javier grins. “Come on, man. There’s a reason you have a contract with me and not some other guy, right?”

Lucifer nods. “Indeed.”

“I can make them married couples if you want.”

Lucifer’s steps hitch.

“I know you’re not actually married,” Javier says, sounding apologetic. “But when I do pairs I usually make them legally married because it’s easier to—”

“That’s fine,” Lucifer cuts him off. He’s trying not to think about what it would be like to see a ring on the Detective’s fourth finger and know that he’d placed it there. “Married is fine.”

“Okay. Let me make some calls—”

“Not so fast. There are a few additional things I require.”

Javier lifts his eyebrows. “All right. What do you need?”

Lucifer slides his hands into his pockets. “I’m going to make a list of food and drink that I’d like one of your lackeys to purchase and bring with the car.”

Javier grins. “Got the munchies?”

Lucifer doesn’t return his smile. “I also need a gun. A Glock 19, to be exact. Untraceable, fully loaded, and with plenty of extra ammunition available.”

“If you want something bigger, I’ve got—”

“I want a Glock 19,” Lucifer says firmly. 

He thinks about the way the Detective stands when she’s got her badge and her gun on her hip, and the way she’d been standing a few minutes ago when she watched the press conference. His chest aches. 

“Nothing else will do.”

Javier nods. “You got it, man.”


Chloe isn’t sure how long she sits outside. 

Long enough to cry out all the tears she’s got. Long enough to wish that she hadn’t left Lucifer’s jacket back at the club too. She’s cold. 

She’s getting to her feet to go back to Javier’s motel room when a black Escalade pulls into the parking lot. The windows are tinted, so she can’t see who’s driving. It’s not the kind of car a cop would drive, but Jax’s press conference is still fresh enough in her mind that she turns her face away so that the driver can’t see her. She starts to walk down the hallway, but stops when Javier’s door swings open and Javier steps outside. 

Lucifer follows and closes the door behind him. Chloe’s heart shoots into her throat when their eyes meet. His gaze flickers over her body as he walks toward her, but there’s no desire in it. He seems to be assessing her for injuries. 

“Ride’s here,” Javier says brightly as he passes her. 

Chloe ignores him. She reaches for Lucifer as soon as he’s close enough and grabs his hand. He stops next to her.

“All right?” he murmurs.

She nods. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” 

His voice sounds...off. She studies his face, but she can’t read his expression. That worries her. “Are you okay?” she asks, tilting closer to him. 

“Of course,” he says, flashing her a smile. “You needn’t worry yourself over me, Detective.”

“But—”

“Come along. We need to get out of the city before your colleagues get their bearings.”

He brushes past her without another word. He doesn’t let go of her hand, but Chloe doesn’t find that reassuring. 

“Slick, right?” Javier says before she can say anything else. “Who says you can’t evade arrest in style?”

Chloe tears her eyes away from Lucifer to see Javier gesturing at the Escalade with a proud smirk. The door on the driver’s side opens, and a tall man in a red stocking cap gets out. He gives Chloe a once over, casts an uninterested look at Lucifer, and then holds out the keys to Javier. 

“Wait, this is for us?” Chloe asks in surprise.

“Yep,” Javier says with a grin. 

Lucifer seems unimpressed. “I chose the Mercedes.”

Javier sighs. “You also requested tinted windows, heated seats, and a shit ton of other stuff, and you only gave me half an hour to get it all done. You got everything except the car brand, my dude. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

“Given the price tag of our current exchange, I think it’s clear I’m anything but a beggar,” Lucifer says stiffly. “What about the other items I requested?”

Javier looks at the guy in the red hat, who jerks his head toward the back of the SUV and says, “Trunk.”

Javier fumbles with the key fob until he finds the right button. The trunk lifts slowly, and Lucifer leads Chloe by the hand to the back of the car. There are two black gym bags and a pair of white plastic bags sitting in the trunk. Javier reaches for the first gym bag, unzips it, and then tips it toward Lucifer. 

Chloe’s mouth falls open. There are stacks and stacks of cash inside. 

Javier glances up at Lucifer. “Small bills, unmarked and untraceable. You want to count it? I’ve got a machine inside.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “No.”

Javier drops the cash bag, reaches for the second gym bag, and unzips it. He shoves his hand inside and pulls out four passports. “Two identities for each of you, just in case one set gets compromised,” he says. “Matching drivers’ licenses are in there too. Oh, and cell phones.” 

“You created new identities for us in half an hour?” Chloe says incredulously. 

Javier grins at her. “Wasn’t even hard.”

“Javier is the best at what he does, Detective,” Lucifer says. “That’s why we’re here.”

“And I’m not done yet,” Javier says, his grin widening. 

He snatches one of the white plastic bags and holds it out to Chloe. She lets go of Lucifer’s hand to take the bag from Javier and peer inside. It contains a box of Club crackers, a giant bag of assorted chocolate, and two bottles of the brand of iced tea that she sometimes drinks on stakeouts. She looks up at Lucifer. 

“There should be healthier options in the other bag,” he says. “If that’s what you would prefer.”

Chloe blinks at him. “You asked him to get me snacks?”

He looks uncomfortable. “Well, I assumed you’d be a bit peckish and I didn’t think you’d be too keen on going through a drive thru, given our current predicament. But if you’d prefer something more substantial, I can—”

“No,” Chloe cuts him off. “That’s not…” 

She trails off and holds his gaze. She wants to step into his space and lift her hands to his face and ask him why he’s so worried she’ll disapprove, and why he seems so far away when he’s standing right in front of her. But Javier and the guy with the red hat are staring at them, so she reaches out and squeezes Lucifer’s arm instead. 

“Thank you,” she says.

 He smiles at her and then looks at Javier. “And the final item?”

Javier glances at red hat guy, who lifts his shirt and pulls a Glock out of his waistband. Chloe stiffens, but he offers the gun to Lucifer with a bored expression. 

“It’s for her, actually,” Lucifer says, nodding at Chloe. “I’m more of a fisticuffs man myself.”

The driver offers the gun to Chloe, still wearing the same bored expression. Chloe blinks at him in surprise for a second, and then hands the plastic bag back to Javier and takes the gun. 

It’s stupid, maybe, but she feels like the familiar weight of it in her hand eases just a little of the heaviness that’s been sitting on her chest since she left Trixie. She wonders if Lucifer knew that would happen. She glances up at him. He’s watching her closely, like he’s trying to gauge her reaction, and she knows he did. Warmth flickers in her chest and spreads. 

She slips beneath his arm and folds herself into his side, her arm tight around his back. He looks down at her in surprise, but doesn’t hesitate to drape his arm around her shoulders. 

“Well?” Javier says, holding his arms out. “How’d I do? Awesome, right?”

“Yes, well done, Javier,” Lucifer says. “I never doubted you for a moment.”

“You sure you guys don’t want to stay at one of my places until this blows over? I got a sweet ass place out in Malibu that no one will find you in.”

Lucifer snorts. “Mazikeen will.”

Javier frowns. “Who?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Lucifer says. “Keys?”

Javier tosses him the keys. The guy in the red hat shuts the trunk. Chloe walks around to the other side of the SUV and climbs into the passenger seat, content to let Lucifer drive. 

Lucifer gets in the driver’s side and slams the door, and then presses a button to roll the window down when Javier steps toward the car. 

“At least tell me where you’re going,” Javier says. “That way if you send me an SOS signal, I can send someone to get you.”

“That would be foolish,” Lucifer replies as he starts the car. 

“Foolish?” Javier repeats with a frown. 

Lucifer sighs. “Yes, Javier. Mazikeen won’t be far behind us. If I tell you where we’re headed, you’ll tell her. And then we’ll be back to square one, and I have no patience for that.”

Javier frowns. “I’m not a snitch, Lucifer.”

Lucifer smiles. “That’s what everyone says before they meet Maze.” 

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, reaching out to touch his arm. “Won’t he tell her the names on the IDs?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “He doesn’t know what they are. I altered them from what he selected just before the physical documents were rendered, and they’ve been deleted from his system. We’re untraceable, darling, I assure you.” 

He puts his hand on the gear stick and turns back to Javier. “Thank you again, Javier, but we won’t be needing anything else. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He grins. “Well, until Maze shows up anyway.”

Lucifer rolls the window up in Javier’s face, and then shoves the gear stick into drive and guides the SUV toward the parking lot exit. 

Chloe glances in the rearview mirror at Javier, who is frowning at them as they drive away, and then turns toward Lucifer.

“Where are we going?” 

He looks suddenly uncomfortable. He shifts in his seat and clears his throat. “Somewhere no one will think to look for you.”

Chloe frowns. “Where’s that?”

Lucifer doesn’t answer her. He glances both ways and then pulls out onto the street. Chloe waits, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Lucifer,” she prompts, dropping her voice into her detective tone. 

He shoots her an apologetic look. 

“Vegas.”

Chapter 16: Sixteen

Chapter Text

The word Vegas makes Chloe feel like she’s been slapped. 

For the record, it’s not because she’s still upset about Candy. Nope. She is totally, completely over that. It’s ancient history. Sure, her chest still aches whenever she remembers how Lucifer’s furniture looked covered in sheets. And sure, it still stings like hell every time she thinks about seeing a ring on his finger and hearing him say the words Meet Candy Morningstar, my wife. But she is definitely not upset about it anymore. Nope. She is fine. Totally and completely fine.  

“I know that Las Vegas has some unpleasant connotations,” Lucifer starts. “But—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts him off. She looks out the window. “You’re right. No one will look for us there.”

Lucifer doesn’t say anything else. The silence between them balloons, stifling and suffocating and broken only by the muffled sounds of cars and the city. Chloe’s brain won’t stop replaying that moment in the precinct. Hearing his voice after weeks of nothing, and feeling her heart leap. Being shushed, and feeling a flash of rage. And then…

Candy.

Chloe wants to ask him about it. She wants to ask him why he told her he was trying to prove himself if he didn’t mean it, and why he ghosted her after she almost died, and why he married a stripper and then got it annulled and never spoke of her again. She wants to ask him if he regrets it. She wants to ask him if he has any idea how much it hurt her. 

Mostly, though, she wants to ask him if he’s going to bail on her again. She wants to know if the fear that’s currently creeping up into her throat like vomit is warranted. She wants to know if she can trust him not to rip her heart out of her chest and stomp it under his red-soled shoes the way he did that day he waltzed into the precinct with a wife. 

But she doesn’t. She’s exhausted and emotionally fragile, and she knows that discussing something so painful when she feels like this is a bad idea. She’s waited this long to ask him about it. She can wait a little longer. 

She stares out the window, but there’s nothing to look at. It’s late so there are fewer people out. Lucifer is driving exactly the speed limit and their windows are tinted, so no one is looking twice at them. He doesn’t turn the radio on. Neither does she. 

The silence stretches. She picks at one of her nails just for something to do. She can’t scroll on her phone because she can’t turn her phone on. There are snacks in the back, but she’s not hungry. There’s just...nothing. Nothing but her and Lucifer and the oppressive silence that she wants to break but doesn’t know how or even if she should. 

By the time they get on the 210, her eyelids are starting to feel heavy. She can’t remember the last time she was this tired, and she wants to sleep so bad, but she can’t. She’s not going to sleep while Lucifer drives. That’s selfish and unfair. 

She straightens in her seat and refocuses on the window. A pickup truck zooms past them. Chloe’s eyelids start to droop and she blinks heavily. Her head tilts forward. Her chin hits her chest and she snaps back to attention, clearing her throat and blinking hard. Maybe she should eat a snack after all. At least it’ll give her something to do. 

“You can go to sleep, Detective,” Lucifer says gently. 

Chloe looks over at him in surprise. 

He smiles briefly at her. “You can barely keep your eyes open. Go to sleep.” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not tired.”

He gives her a disbelieving look, but doesn’t call her on her lie.

“I’m okay,” she insists, sitting up straighter. 

He adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t need as much sleep as you, you know.”

She frowns. “What?”

“I’m not human,” he clarifies. “I don’t need as much sleep as you. I appreciate that you’re trying to stay awake out of solidarity, but it isn’t necessary. I’m perfectly fine.”

“You’re not tired?”

“I’m tired. But not the way I would be if I were human.”

Chloe suddenly remembers that one time he showed up at the precinct a disheveled mess and told her he hadn’t slept for a week. At the time, she thought he was just being overdramatic. Apparently she was wrong. So does that mean there are other things that he needs less of? Are there things he needs more of? What, exactly, does being an angel entail?

“Detective,” Lucifer calls, interrupting her thoughts.

She turns to look at him. “What?”

“Do you trust me to keep you safe?” 

She frowns. “Of course I do.”

He reaches across the center console and puts his hand on her knee. “Then go to sleep. I’ve got this.”

She studies him, trying to decide if he’s just putting on a show for her. “Will you wake me up if you need a break?” 

He shakes his head. “I won’t need a break.”

“But if you do?”

He smiles. “You have my word.”

His voice is firm but gentle. Chloe presses her lips together, thinking it over, and then makes up her mind. She turns toward him, shifting in her seat so that she’s facing him. She wraps herself around his arm that’s still stretched out toward her, curling a little in the seat and pulling her knees up toward her chest, and then rests her head against his shoulder. 

She feels him stiffen in surprise, but he relaxes almost immediately. His hand shifts on her knee, warm and familiar, and then his thumb strokes gently over her skin. 

Chloe closes her eyes. The soft hum of the car settles over her like a blanket. She focuses on the steady caress of Lucifer’s thumb on her skin, and then sleep swallows her whole.


Chloe wakes to the smell of Lucifer’s cologne. 

It takes her a few seconds to realize that she’s not in the car anymore. She feels like she’s moving, but she’s not sure how. She nuzzles closer to the smell, and realizes that her face is buried in his chest. She wonders, briefly, how that’s possible—how can he drive and hold her at the same time?—but sleep pulls her back under and she succumbs.

She wakes again a few minutes later, or maybe a few hours. She doesn’t know. Her limbs feel heavy with exhaustion, and she can’t bring herself to open her eyes. Lucifer sets her down on a cushioned surface and slides his arms out from beneath her, and she misses his warmth immediately. She sighs and squirms and then realizes she’s on a bed. She wonders where it is and how she got here, and then she realizes Lucifer must have carried her from the car. 

Sleep is trying to pull her under again. She’s so tired. There are warm fingers brushing over her right ankle. Her high heel slips off her foot. She hums in approval—her feet are aching from these damn shoes—and then the fingers dance over her other ankle. 

Lucifer, she realizes. Lucifer is taking off my shoes.

The other high heel slips off her foot. Chloe opens her eyes, but all she sees is blackness. Wherever they are, it’s dark. Very dark.

“Lucifer,” she whispers, reaching out into the darkness for him. 

He catches her hand. She feels his lips brush along her knuckles, and then over her thumb joint, and then across the inside of her wrist. His breath is warm on her skin. She cups his face. His stubble is rough beneath her palm. She sees him leaning toward her, a shadowy form looming over her in the darkness, and then his mouth presses against her forehead. 

“Can you sit up for me, love?” he murmurs against her skin. “The zipper’s beneath you and you shouldn’t sleep in this dress after everywhere it’s been.”

She feels drunk and disoriented. Maybe that’s why she says it.

“Say it again,” she whispers.

“Say what?”

“Love.”

He goes still. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant voice is hissing that she should stop talking before she humiliates herself by begging for something he doesn’t want to give. But she’s half asleep and warm and safe and she just wants to hear him say it again. Just once.

“Love,” he whispers. She shivers. His lips brush along her forehead, trace down over her temple, and then skim across her cheek to her jaw. “Let me take this dress off you, my love.”

My love. She’s his. 

She fists her hand in his shirt and pulls herself up slowly toward him. He only asked her to sit, but she rises from the bed and stands. She wobbles a little, still feeling disoriented, and he steadies her. He brushes a few more kisses over her face and then his fingers find her zipper. 

It’s nothing like the last time he took this dress off her. There’s no desire this time, no lust. He’s just taking care of her. And god, does she love it.

Once the zipper is undone, he slips the dress off her body and then drops it onto the floor in a heap. He reaches for something on the bed next to her, and then tries to guide one of her arms through the sleeve of what must be one of his dress shirts. 

She frowns. “Wait,” she whispers. 

He stops instantly. “What is it?”

Rather than explain, she reaches behind herself and unhooks her bra. She hates sleeping in a bra, especially a bra designed for a backless dress. She slips it off her body with practiced ease, and then drops it carelessly onto the floor at their feet.

She expects him to try again with the shirt, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move. She glances up at him and realizes that her eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness. She can see his face now, and that means she can see the way he’s staring at her. 

His gaze sends the last remnants of sleep sprinting from her mind. No one has ever looked at her like he does. Her previous partners all thought she was beautiful. But none of them looked at her the way Lucifer does. 

For a moment, she thinks he might initiate something. If he does, she’ll reciprocate. It’s not the physical release she’s after, though god knows he’s great at giving her that. It’s the intimacy. She wants to feel close to him. She knows him well enough to know that he‘s thinking about it too, but he doesn’t act on it. He stares at her for a second longer, and then snaps his gaze away. He fumbles with the shirt he’s holding, and then starts to put it on her. 

She watches his face as he concentrates on dressing her. He guides one of her arms through a sleeve, and then the other. He fastens a few of the buttons. His fingers hover over the one above her chest after he fastens it, and then he lifts his gaze to hers. He swallows when he realizes she’s staring. His throat bobs, and then he reaches past her to pull the sheets back on the bed. 

She follows his lead and turns away from him to climb under the sheets. She nestles into the mattress, her head on a pillow. It isn’t until he pulls the sheets up and over her body and then leans down to press a kiss to her temple that she realizes he isn’t going to join her.

She darts her hand out and grabs his wrist before he can straighten and pull away. “Where are you going?”

He goes still. “I was going to try Amenadiel again.”

He doesn’t lie, but something feels off. It reminds her of that moment back at the motel when she knew something was wrong but he brushed her off. Fear unfurls in her chest. 

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispers. 

He stares at her. She wonders if she should be mortified by the fact that she sounds like she’s begging, but decides she doesn’t care. 

“Stay,” she whispers, tightening her fingers around his wrist. “Please.”

He searches her gaze. She lets him. A moment passes, and then he pulls gently out of her grasp. Her heart shoots into her throat until he starts to unbutton his shirt, and then she exhales in relief. 

He sheds all his clothes until he’s only in his boxers. She scoots back toward the middle of the bed to make room for him. He lifts the sheets and slides beneath them, and she immediately folds herself into his side. 

He wraps his arms around her. She settles her head on his chest, and he strokes his fingers through her hair. She loves when he does that. She closes her eyes and listens to his heart beat. It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to start pulling at her again. 

“I love you,” she whispers into the darkness.

And then sleep consumes her.


Trixie’s hands are small but fierce as they grip Chloe’s hand like a vise. 

“You said I was the most important thing to you,” Trixie says, staring up at Chloe with an earnest expression. “You said I would always be the most important thing to you.”

“You are,” Chloe says, bending down to look at her daughter. “You are, Monkey. I promise. You have no idea how much I love you.”

Trixie scrunches her forehead the way she does when she’s angry. “But you left me.”

Chloe can barely breathe around the guilt in her chest. “I didn’t want to.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because it wasn’t you, baby. Something is wrong, okay? Something is wrong but I’m going to fix it. I promise.”

“What about me?” Lucifer’s voice asks.

Chloe straightens and turns to see him standing behind her. 

“You said you loved me,” he says, sounding wounded. “You said you wouldn’t lose faith.”

“I didn’t,” Chloe says, turning more fully toward him. “I haven’t. I love you.”

“How much?” he demands.

She frowns. “What?”

“How much do you love me?” he repeats. “Are you sure it’s enough?”

“Enough?” Chloe echoes. “What are you…?”

“You can’t love us both,” Trixie says. She tightens her hold on Chloe’s hand. “Mommy, listen. You can’t love us both.”

Chloe glances down at her daughter. “Of course I can.”

“No,” Lucifer says. He grabs her other hand and brushes his thumb over her fourth finger. “You have to choose, Detective.”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I don’t want to choose.”

“Choose,” Lucifer repeats. 

“Choose,” Trixie echoes. 

Trixie tugs hard on Chloe’s hand, and Lucifer pulls on the other, and pain suddenly explodes in Chloe’s chest. Lucifer and Trixie’s voices get louder—choose choose choose—and they’re pulling harder and harder, and then a deafening ripping sound fills the air. Chloe screams when she looks down and realizes that she’s the one who’s ripping. Her chest is splitting open. They’re tearing her in half. She’s going to—

She snaps awake.

She bolts upward in bed, a strangled scream caught in her throat. Her hands fly up to her chest and she claws at her collarbone, yanking her shirt open, certain that she’s going to look down and see a jagged tear down the center of her body. 

But there’s nothing. Her chest is heaving and her skin is slick with sweat but she’s whole. 

It was just a dream.

She blinks into the darkness for a second, trying to get her bearings. When it finally sinks in that it was all a dream, the panic bleeds out of her in a rush. She feels hollowed out. Her eyes flood with warmth, and she doesn’t bother trying to keep the tears at bay. She exhales and curls forward, burying her head in her hands. 

She feels the mattress dip a little behind her, and then Lucifer’s arms wrap around her. His chest is warm against her back. She’s always been aware of how tall and broad he is, but it’s moments like this, when he envelops her completely in his embrace, that she realizes how much smaller she is than him. 

He nuzzles into the curve of her shoulder. “You had a nightmare,” he whispers. 

She opens her mouth to say yes, but her voice catches in her throat and it comes out as more of a sob. 

He holds her tighter. “It’s part of the spell,” he murmurs. “It wasn’t real. None of it is real.”

She doesn’t know how he knows it’s part of the spell. Under normal circumstances she would ask, but she can’t bring herself to care about the details right now. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. And unlike every other nightmare she’s ever had, the reality she’s waking up to isn’t better than what she dreamed. Trixie hates her, Dan pulled his gun on her, her colleagues are hunting her. She’s living a nightmare. 

She twists toward Lucifer and buries her face in his chest. His skin is warm against hers. He presses his lips against the top of her head and rubs his hand comfortingly over her back.

“I’m going to fix this for you, Detective,” he whispers into the darkness. “I promise.”

Chloe closes her eyes and breathes him in. 

“I know,” she whispers back.


Lucifer doesn’t go back to sleep.

The Detective does, though not immediately. He holds her for a little while, letting her catch her breath, and then he gently pulls her back down onto the bed. She curls her body into his. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly. She nuzzles closer to him, her nose nudging his collarbone. Her eyelashes flutter against his neck. She lifts her hand to wipe her eyes, but it’s too late—he can feel the wetness of her tears against his skin. 

He spent thousands of years in Hell, wandering hallways of ash and darkness with only his memory of her to keep him company. He often spoke to her as if she were beside him. It’s absurd, maybe, but it made him feel less lonely. He could picture her facial expressions, and imagine her voice, and sometimes if he concentrated hard enough, he could smell the scent of her perfume. On his darkest nights, he would promise her that if he came back to Earth—back to her —he’d make sure she never had a reason to cry again. The tears she shed that day he said goodbye on his balcony would be the last tears she’d ever cry. 

He broke his promise. 

She falls asleep eventually. Her breathing evens out, and her body relaxes against his. The room is pitch black and silent and he’s tired. She’s warm against him, and the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breathes is a siren song calling him to sleep, but he can’t. His brain won’t turn off. 

Zatanna’s pronouncement that this was ancient magic helped him narrow the list of who might be responsible for their current situation. The Detective’s nightmare has whittled that list down to one. He hasn’t been sleeping with her long, but she has never had a nightmare when he’s been beside her. She’s never spoken of nightmares either. It’s possible that it was a result of stress, or that she has always struggled with nightmares and never mentioned it to him, but he doubts it. He is almost certain that this was new for her, and he is almost certain that he knows who did this to them. To her.  

The Detective shifts in his arms. She murmurs sleepily and then cuddles closer to him, and his throat tightens. She trusts him. She knows who he is, what he is, and she’s not afraid to sleep in his arms. He should take comfort in that, maybe, but all he can think about is how all of this is his fault. 

He knows her well enough to know that she’d disagree. He has seen her comfort enough grieving families to know how her voice sounds when she says this isn’t your fault. But it is his fault. If he’s right about who did this, then there’s no question that this was his doing. For once, at least, he can say that what he’s caused was born out of a genuine desire to do the right thing. To do good. But that’s no consolation. What is the point of doing right if it wounds the only person he cares for? Is goodness actually good if it inflicts pain? 

Back in L.A., Doctor Linda told him that being in a relationship meant putting the Detective first. She said that if he loved the Detective, then he needed to do what was best for her. But what’s best for her? What does she need?

Not you.

His throat tightens again. His eyes are suddenly and inexplicably warm. It feels as though a massive boulder is sitting on his chest, pressing him down against the bed, and he can’t breathe under the weight of it. All he can think about is what she said all those years ago when Malcolm took her offspring.

Trixie is all that matters.

He hated Malcolm. He hated him for so many reasons, but he hated him most for the darkness he’d put in the Detective’s eyes, that haunted look of fear and pain. It’s the same look she had in that beach parking lot, and inside the club, and at the motel. She didn’t look him in the eye after her nightmare, but he knows he would’ve seen it then too. 

This time, though, there’s no Malcolm to blame. This time, there’s only him. Lucifer Morningstar, Devil himself, partner and lover and root cause of every single tear she just shed. She’s too kind to tell him that she holds him responsible, but he knows she does. She has to. How could she not? He took her away from everyone she loves. Her child. Daniel. The Doctor, Ms. Lopez, the list goes on. Everyone she loves, everything she knows, all of it is gone, and all he gave her in return was…himself.

Not much of a trade.

But he can fix this. He told her he would. He gave her his word, and he intends to keep it, but he also intends to make sure that she doesn’t suffer in the meantime. There’s no reason for her to be on the run. She’s not the one everyone hates. She can go back home, be with the people she loves and do the job she’s so good at, and he’ll take care of the rest. He’ll fix what he broke, and then he’ll return to her and they can pick up where they left off.

If she still wants him after all this.

He pushes the thought away. He’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. Right now, his focus should be on precisely what the Doctor said—doing what’s best for the Detective. He went back to Hell because it was his responsibility to rule, and abdicating his responsibility would have hurt her more than leaving her on that balcony. This is no different. It will hurt him to be away from her, but that’s what she needs. It’s what’s best for her.

And that’s all that matters.


When Chloe wakes again, she’s alone.

The room is pitch black and silent. She blinks into the darkness, confused. She doesn’t know what time they got here because she was asleep, but it had to have been in the early hours of the morning. She doesn’t know how long she slept, but surely the sun should have risen by now. Why is it so dark?

She picks her head up off a pillow that smells like Lucifer and squints at the numbers on the bedside clock nearby. She rubs her eyes and squints again just to be sure she’s seeing things correctly. 

It’s 5:30 pm. 

She slept all day. 

A sliver of light catches her eye, and after blinking blearily at it for a minute or so, she realizes it’s from a very large window covered by blackout curtains. She pushes the sheets away and stumbles out of bed and toward the window. 

She yanks the curtains open when she gets there and regrets it immediately. She winces and sighs at herself—what the hell did she expect, flinging curtains open like that?—and rubs her eyes against the sting of too much light too fast. When she drops her hands and gets a good look at what’s outside the window, though, her mouth falls open.

“Holy shit,” she croaks. 

She’s standing in a house that’s up on a hill. And not just any hill—a hill that looks out over all of Las Vegas. In the distance, rearing up in front of a jagged backdrop of mountains, are the skyscrapers of The Strip. The rest of the city sprawls outward in lines and curves of streets and buildings. The sun is starting to set, so the sky above is a gorgeous blend of orange and pink. 

Her eyes trace over the cityscape stretched before her, and then she spots an absolutely massive house nearby. Its roof is covered in solar panels the size of basketball courts. She’s marveling at the sheer size of it until she realizes that the house she’s currently standing in might be even bigger. 

That’s when she finally notices that the window she’s peering out of is actually half of a set of French doors. She hesitates for a second, her hand hovering over the handle, and then pushes the door open. She steps outside and onto a huge terrace that appears to wrap around the entire second floor. The stone beneath her bare feet is cool and smooth. She walks out toward the edge, which is framed by a glass panelled railing, and looks down. 

Her mouth falls open again. 

Beneath the terrace is the largest private pool she’s ever seen. The far end has an infinity edge that overlooks the stunning view of the city in the distance. A paved walkway cuts directly through the middle of the pool. Glass walls on either side of the path hold the water at bay, and it leads to a sunken seating area in the center of the water. The edges of the seating area are lined with deep, cozy-looking couches covered in blankets and pillows. A fire pit sits in the middle, flames flickering merrily. And standing next to the fire, wearing a well-cut black suit and looking out at the city with a glass of whiskey in his hand, is Lucifer. 

Even with his back to her, he looks handsome as hell framed by the vivid colors of the sky. Longing aches in Chloe’s chest, a desire to be close enough to smell his cologne and feel the stubble on his jaw and taste the whiskey on his lips. She lingers for a second, wanting to memorize the way he looks with the setting sun and the city lights framing his body, and then turns away and heads back inside. 

She’s halfway across the bedroom when she notices the clothes. A heather gray t-shirt and a pair of dark navy jeans are folded neatly on an arm chair across from the bed. A black bomber jacket is hanging on a hanger nearby, and a pair of sensible black boots like the ones she wears to work are tucked beneath the chair. When she gets closer, she realizes there’s underwear and socks and a bra too, all folded neatly and apparently brand new. The tags are still on them. She checks the tag of the bra and discovers that it’s exactly the right size. She smiles. She doesn’t have to check the rest to know they’re all her size too. 

She runs her fingers over the satin fabric of the bomber jacket absently. She wants to get dressed and go downstairs and be with Lucifer, but she could really use a shower. If she’s honest with herself, part of the reason she’s in such a hurry to get to him is that she’s afraid he’s going to leave her. She doesn’t like that. It’s okay that she’s afraid to lose him, but it’s not okay for fear to control her. She’s never let it control her before. She refuses to start now, no matter how messy her life is at the moment.

So, shower it is.

It takes her a few tries to find the bathroom. The first door she opens is a huge closet. Like, huge. She thinks it’s the size of her entire bedroom at home. The next door she opens is a sitting area. There’s a large sectional facing a TV mounted over a beautiful stone fireplace. The couch looks extremely comfortable, but all she can think about is how fast Trixie would stain the white fabric. The thought makes her ache. 

On the third try, she finally finds the bathroom. Just like the rest of the house, it’s beautiful. The walls and floor appear to be marble. The bathtub is huge—it could easily fit two adults—and the walk-in shower is even bigger. There are multiple shower heads and a long bench also made of marble. 

She does a double take when she realizes that the shampoo and conditioner she uses are sitting on a shelf inside. Her heart flutters in her chest. There’s only one reason shampoo that cheap is sitting in a shower this expensive, and that reason wears tailored Prada suits and drinks whiskey like it’s water. 

God, she loves him so much. 

She has to fiddle with the faucet for a while before she figures it out, but then she sheds Lucifer’s shirt and steps beneath the spray. The hot water feels amazing. She washes her hair and shaves her legs and forces herself to take her time and trust that Lucifer won’t leave no matter how long she takes. She smiles while she brushes her teeth because he bought her brand of toothpaste. There’s a small leather pouch with all her typical makeup choices inside too. She finds a hair dryer and dries her hair, then pulls it back into a ponytail. By the time she finally puts on the clothes he left out for her she feels much better, but she’s even more desperate to see him than she was before. 

Finding her way to the pool is another adventure. The house is absurdly large and absurdly beautiful. It has to be worth tens of millions of dollars. There’s a library filled with shelves and shelves of books. There are multiple bathrooms and multiple bedrooms and more than one sitting room. There’s a gym, and a gleaming Steinway piano near the dining room. The kitchen has not one but two islands, a wall filled with dozens of bottles of very expensive wine, and a refrigerator that could hold enough food to feed the entire precinct. 

The whole back wall of the kitchen is made of accordion-style glass doors. They’re all pushed open to reveal the pool just beyond a covered patio. The sunset is in its final stages, and the city is glittering in the distance.  

Lucifer is still standing in the same spot. 

Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She makes her way toward him, forcing herself to walk at a normal pace, and descends the three steps down to the walkway that cuts through the pool. The glass holding the water back is as tall as her waist. It looks even cooler up close than it did when she was upstairs on the terrace. She’s never seen a sitting area sunken into the middle of a pool before. She wonders how much it cost to do this. Probably more than she makes in a year.

When she gets to the end of the walkway, Lucifer turns to face her. His glass is empty, and there’s an almost empty bottle of whiskey sitting nearby on a small table. He smiles when he sees her and sets his glass down next to the bottle. 

“Well good morning, Detective,” he greets. “Or good evening, as it were.”

“Hi,” she replies with a smile. She walks around the edge of the firepit to get to him. “Sorry I slept all day.”

“No apology needed.” His eyes flicker over her body. “I see you found your clothes. You look lovely.”

She stops in front of him. “I guess I should be grateful it was a normal bra and sensible boots instead of lingerie and heels,” she teases.

He arches an eyebrow. “Would you have worn lingerie if that’s what I left for you?”

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Probably.”

He seems surprised, and then pleased. “Duly noted,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering briefly over her body again. 

Chloe lets him look for a moment, and then she steps into his space. She slides her arms around his torso and tips her head back to look at him. “Thank you.” 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “For?”

“The clothes that are all my size. My shampoo in the shower.” 

He reaches behind her to tug lightly on her ponytail. “I thought I smelled it.” 

She thinks about that night a week ago when he told her that he liked the way her hair smells. Things seemed complicated then, but she’d give just about anything to go back to that type of complicated instead of what they’re dealing with now. 

She swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. “Thank you for last night too,” she adds in a whisper. “When I had that dream.”

Emotion shivers across his expression but she can’t decipher it. Sadness, maybe? Or is it something darker? 

“I don’t have much experience in that arena,” he says quietly, almost apologetically. “As I said before, this is all quite new to me. So if I—”

“You were great,” she cuts him off. “Exactly what I needed.”

He lifts his hand to her face and brushes his thumb over her cheek, and she tilts her head into his palm. His eyes flicker over her face. “What did you dream of?” 

She thinks about how her chest cracked open in the dream, and how painful it was to be asked to choose between her soulmate and her kid. But she doesn’t dare tell him that. He’ll feel guilty, and she doesn’t want that.

“Trixie,” she says instead. 

That expression she can’t decipher shivers across his face again. “Are you worried for her?”

“She’s safe. Jax would never let anyone hurt her. And between Dan and my mom, she’ll be okay until I come back.”

Lucifer smiles sadly. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

Chloe exhales a heavy breath. “I’m always worried about her,” she admits. “Twenty years from now she’ll be grown and have kids of her own and I’ll still worry about her. I’m her mom. That’s how it works.”

“Would you worry less if you were with her instead of here?”

There’s something about the tone of his voice that makes her suddenly wary. “I don’t know,” she answers truthfully. She searches his eyes and doesn’t like what she sees there. “Does it matter?”

He reaches behind himself to unwrap her arms from around his body. “I’ve been thinking about our next move,” he says, squeezing her hands and then letting go. He’s smiling at her, but it doesn’t soften the blow of him shying away from her touch. 

She frowns. “Okay?”

He gestures at the couch closest to them. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She folds her arms over her chest. “No. I’m fine.”

“Please?”

Her wariness kicks up a notch. She doesn’t want to sit down—it feels like a mistake, somehow—but she doesn’t know how to refuse his polite request without coming across like a petulant child. 

She sits. He casts a longing glance at his empty glass and the bottle of whiskey, but sits next to her without refilling his glass. He’s at least two feet from her, but it feels like miles. It’s like the motel all over again, and she’s starting to worry. This is how he acts when he’s about to push her away.

“Lucifer,” she says, leaning toward him. He scoots back like she’s got some type of contagious disease, and it stings. “What’s wrong?”

“I gave you my word that I would fix this for you,” he replies. “And I want you to know that I meant it. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right again.”

“I know that. What I don’t know is why you’re sitting so far away from me right now.”

He tugs at his jacket and avoids her gaze. “The dreams aren’t going to stop. Every time you fall asleep, you’ll have one. Perhaps more than one. And I believe they’ll grow worse with time.”

Chloe feels an icy shiver drill down her spine. They’re going to get worse? How could they possibly get worse? But she doesn’t say that out loud.

“Okay,” she says instead. “You want to tell me how you know that?”

“Because I’m fairly certain I know who’s doing this.”

She waits, but he offers no further explanation. 

“Who?” she prompts. 

Lucifer leans back and crosses his legs. “He goes by many names. You may know a few of them, though much like me, his actual identity is far more complex than the stories you’ve likely heard.” 

“What kind of stories?” 

Lucifer folds his hands in his lap. “Have you heard of The Sandman?”

Chloe frowns. “The guy who puts people to sleep?”

“That’s the one,” he confirms with a nod. “I’ve never called him that myself, of course. Ridiculous name. I prefer his given name.”

“Which is...?”

“Dream.”

Chloe blinks at him. “His name is Dream? "

“Yes.”

She folds her legs up underneath her. “I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence that he’s named Dream and I had a bad dream last night.”

“No.” 

“Is he celestial?”

Lucifer tilts his head. “Not in the way I am. He’s not one of my siblings, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“So then what is he?”

“Endless.”

Chloe stares at him. Lucifer stares back.

“What the hell does that mean?” she asks when it becomes clear he’s not going to elaborate.

Lucifer exhales heavily and looks out toward the city in the distance. “The Endless are, in simplest terms, the physical embodiment of natural forces. They’re immortal. They’ve existed for billions of years—long before this earth was created—and though they have their own realms in which they are sovereign, they also exist here on this earth in various capacities.”

“So they’re like...another race? Like, I’m human, and you’re celestial, and they’re Endless?”

“They are distinct from other beings, yes. But there are only seven of them.” He ticks their names off on his fingers. “Death, Destiny, Destruction, Desire, Delirium, Despair, and Dream. They’re siblings. And, if I’m being frank, they are even more dysfunctional than my siblings and I. You would not want to be invited to an Endless family dinner.”

Chloe blinks. She didn’t think it was even possible to be more dysfunctional than Lucifer’s family.

“They embody the forces for which they are named,” Lucifer continues, oblivious to her thought. “Dream, for instance, is the master of dreams in all of their manifestations. Fantasies and nightmares, obviously. But his control also extends to sleep and insomnia and a few other areas.”

“That’s how you knew my dream was part of the spell,” Chloe realizes.

Lucifer nods. “Yes. When Zatanna said she sensed ancient magic, I suspected it could be Dream’s handiwork. Your nightmare confirmed my suspicions.”

“Wait, Dream is magic?

“In his own way, yes. A dream, by definition, is something that isn’t real. So if he controls dreams, then he controls anything and everything that’s not reality. In doing so, he can shape and warp actual reality. All he needs to do is create a dream and plant it in someone’s mind, and their behavior will shift in response.”

Chloe frowns. “So everyone we thought was infected by a spell…”

“Is actually dreaming,” Lucifer finishes. “You remember how Zatanna said that Ms. Lopez’s entire perception of reality had shifted?”

Chloe nods.

“She was correct. Ms. Lopez is living in our reality, the true reality, but she’s seeing it through the lens of a dream. She’s responding to memories and feelings and fears that don’t actually exist. It’s the same with the others. Doctor Linda, Daniel, your offspring, all of them are behaving in response to a dream.” 

“But they’re not asleep.”

“They don’t need to be. The Endless are extraordinarily powerful, Detective. Dream is no exception. He could have cast a waking dream over the entire state of California if he so desired.”

“Is that why Zatanna couldn’t undo it? Because he’s so powerful?”

“Zee is incredibly talented,” Lucifer says. “I’ve seen her do remarkable things. But on her own, she doesn’t stand a chance against someone like Dream.”

“What about that John guy you asked her to call?”

Lucifer flicks a piece of lint off his knee. “John Constantine.”

“Yeah. Who is he?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Lucifer says with a smirk. “Conman, sorcerer, and occult detective are all apt descriptions. I have a friend on another earth who insists that the term jackass was invented solely to describe Constantine. I tend to agree.” 

“Another earth?” Chloe repeats dumbly. She suddenly feels like her brain is short circuiting. 

Lucifer’s smirk fades into a kind smile. “I can attempt to explain the multiverse, if you wish. But I’ll need some paper and a pen. I find it’s better to have visual aids when discussing dimensional theory.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No, I...I think the multiverse can wait for another day.”

Lucifer nods. “Of course.”

Chloe struggles for a second to find her way back to the original thread of their conversation. “So this Constantine guy, is he powerful enough to get rid of what Dream planted in everyone?”

“No,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. “Constantine is powerful, but not to that extent. The only beings who can undo what Dream did without causing bloodshed or a massive cosmic incident are my father and Dream himself.”

“So then why do we need Constantine?”

“Because I need to be sure that my theory is correct. And then I need Constantine to deliver a message to Death.”

Chloe gapes at him. “Death?

“Dream’s sister,” Lucifer says. “Delightful woman. Her brother will do whatever she asks. And she’ll do what I ask, if I ask in the right way. Which I fully intend to do, I assure you.”

Chloe is pretty sure her brain has stopped short circuiting and is now melting out of her ears. 

“Okay,” she says slowly. “So let me just...let me summarize this to make sure I’ve got this right. We’re going to ask a conman, who is also a sorcerer, to call the personification of Death, and ask her to ask her brother to stop making all the people in our lives dream that they’re living in an alternate reality where you’re evil and I need to be saved from you.”

“That’s what I’m going to do, yes.”

“Right,” Chloe says, scratching the back of her head. “Okay. That’s really…” She frowns. “Wait. What do you mean that’s what you’re going to do? Why do you keep saying I instead of we? ” 

Lucifer lifts his chin. “Because I believe it’s best if I do this alone.”

For a second, all Chloe can do is stare at him. She’s hoping she misheard, but it’s obvious she didn’t. There’s determination in his eyes, the same determination she saw the night he went back to Hell, and a tidal wave of fear and frustration and hurt washes over her.

“So what am I supposed to do?” she asks, trying to keep her voice even. “Sit in this giant house and twiddle my thumbs until you come back?”

“If you’d like to stay here, you’re more than welcome to,” Lucifer replies. “No one will bother you. But I assumed you would wish to return to Los Angeles. I’d be happy to arrange a flight if you aren’t interested in driving.”

Chloe gapes at him. “You...you want me to go back to L.A. without you?”

“I think that would be best for you, yes.”

Chloe’s temper flares. “Why the hell would that be what’s best for me?”

Lucifer looks unsure of himself for the first time since they started this conversation. “Well you said you were worried about your offspring, did you not?”

“Yeah, because she’s under a spell.” 

Lucifer opens his mouth, but she waves him off. 

“Dream,” she corrects. “Whatever. The point is, she’s not herself. None of them are.”

“And I intend to fix that. But you needn’t suffer in the meantime.”

“Suffer?” Chloe repeats. “You think sending me back to L.A. alone is going to prevent me from suffering?”

“You wouldn’t be alone, Detective. Everyone you love is—”

“Not everyone.”

Her voice is sharp, and that seems to catch him off guard. He stares at her, his mouth hanging open slightly. Chloe can feel frustration simmering in her veins, but she takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. He’s still learning how to be in a relationship. She needs to be patient with him. 

“Lucifer,” she says gently, reaching out to put her hand on top of his. “I get that you’re trying to make this easier for me, and I appreciate that. But we’re partners, okay? We’re together. This is happening to both of us, and I—”

“No,” Lucifer says, yanking his hand away. “This is happening to you, Detective. This is hurting you. I won’t stand for that when it is in my power to ease your pain.” 

“But going back to L.A. without you won’t do that,” she says, struggling to tamp down her frustration. “And it won’t ease your pain, either.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not in pain.”

Her temper finally snaps, and so does she. “Don’t lie to me.”

He blinks at her in surprise, and then his expression hardens. “I don’t lie.”

“You don’t always tell the truth, either. Not to me, and definitely not to yourself.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”  

“You do this all the time. You’ve done it as long as I’ve known you. You think if you just ignore how you feel then it means the feelings don’t exist. But that’s not true, Lucifer. It’s not healthy. Stop pretending like this isn’t hard for you.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw. “Any emotion I might be feeling pales in comparison to what you—”

“Bullshit. I was there, remember? I saw the look on your face when Trixie went after you. And what Linda said was—”

“The Doctor spoke the truth,” Lucifer interrupts harshly. “As did Daniel and Ms. Lopez and Mazikeen and your child. You want the truth, Detective? The truth is that the alternate reality of this dream is predicated on actual reality. It wasn’t hard to convince your loved ones that I’ll hurt you because I already have. And now I’m doing it again.”

“How are you—” 

“Dream came after you because of me,” he says, pointing at himself. “If you weren’t associated with me, none of this would have happened. Can’t you see that? I put you in this position. I forced you to walk away from your child. And for what? For nothing.

Chloe reaches for him again. “That isn’t true, Lucifer.” 

“Yes, it is,” he insists, recoiling out of her reach. “You’re too kind to say it, but I’m not. Keeping you with me despite what I’ve caused would be the height of selfishness, and I refuse to be more selfish than I already have been. I refuse.” 

He gets to his feet and stalks toward the whiskey bottle before she can say anything. She watches him empty the rest of the bottle into his glass and then guzzle it. When he’s finished, he glares at the glass as if he’s angry it’s no longer full and then slams it down onto the table. He mutters a curse and then shoves his hands in his pockets and stares out at the city in the distance.

Chloe’s heart aches for him. She gets to her feet. “Lucifer,” she calls gently. 

He ignores her. She takes a step toward him.

“This isn’t your fault.”

“Now who isn’t telling the whole truth?” he spits, whirling around to face her. “Every heartbreak you’ve endured over the last few years has been my doing in some way, shape, or form. I turned your life upside down long before we got stuck in this bloody nightmare, and now I’ve cost you what matters most to you. You’re better off without me.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true.” 

“It is true.” 

“No, it’s not. It wasn’t that long ago that I actually was without you, remember? You went back to Hell, and I had to live without you, and it was awful, Lucifer. I hated every second of it. And I know you felt the same.”

He glares at the skyline. “Who cares how I felt?” 

“I do.”  

He snaps his eyes toward her. She holds his gaze until he looks away. For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence between them.

“You haven’t cost me anything,” she points out eventually. “I didn’t walk away from Trixie forever. It’s only until we make things right. This isn’t permanent.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw and says nothing.

Chloe takes another step toward him. “I know you don’t want me to go back to L.A. without you,” she says softly. “I know you want me to stay. And I want to stay, Lucifer. I want to help you fix this. So stop trying to push me away.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Detective,” he says, turning toward her. “The Doctor was right. You must come first. You deserve to come first. If I care about you as much as I profess, then all that should matter to me is giving you what you need.”

Chloe lifts her chin. “Fine. Then ask me what I need.”

He hesitates, and she knows it’s because he knows what she’s going to say. “I don’t need to,” he says eventually, shaking his head. “I already know. You need your child. You need your job. You need your friends and your family and the life you’ve built for yourself.”

“That’s not my life right now,” she says, gesturing into the distance and trying not to sound exasperated. “It’s not real. I don’t want something that isn’t real.”

“The only thing that isn’t real is the way they feel about me. Their feelings about you haven’t changed. There’s nothing stopping you from going back.”

“Really?” she demands. “Nothing?”

He sighs at her as if she’s working his last nerve. “Detective,” he starts. 

She doesn’t let him finish. “How come you never ask me what I want?”

He blinks at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“You ask everyone else,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “You’ve asked half the population of L.A. at this point. But you never ask me.”

He frowns. “Yes I have. Our first case—”

“That’s not what I mean, Lucifer. I mean recently. I mean now. Ask me what I want right now.”

He presses his lips together and says nothing. She waits, but he doesn’t speak. Her temper flares again.

“You won’t do it because you’re scared,” she accuses.

He scoffs at her.

“You’re scared,” she repeats, pointing at him. “You’re terrified. Because you know what I’m going to say, and you know it’s true, and we both know it’s exactly what you want to hear. You’re trying to be noble, and I love you for it, Lucifer, I really do, but that’s not what I want, okay? I don’t want a knight in shining armor to save the day for me. I want a partner. I want my partner.”

“Your partner is a monster,” he says, his eyes flashing briefly red. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Detective. You accept what you’ve seen, but you haven’t seen it all.”

“Then show me the rest!” she says, holding out her hands. “Let me in. Please.

Longing shivers briefly over his expression and then evaporates so fast she isn’t even sure she saw it. “Now’s not the time for that. I need to fix this for you. And you need to go home.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“What you want and what you need are two different things.”

“And you don’t get to decide either of them.”

He frowns at her. “Come again?”

“You said I have free will, remember? You said I get to choose.”

“Detective—”

“I choose you, Lucifer. I’m not going back to L.A. without you. I’m staying with you, and we’re going to fix this together, because that’s how relationships work. That’s how love works. You don’t quit when things get messy and hard.”

Lucifer seems stunned. He stares at her, apparently speechless. Chloe holds his gaze, unrepentant and unfazed. 

“You’re making a mistake,” he says eventually, his voice quiet. “I’m not worth all this.”

“I disagree. It’s my choice. And I choose you.”

He stares at her for a long time, and then he lifts his chin defiantly. “And what if I choose differently?”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What if I choose to fix our current predicament on my own?” He rolls his shoulders back, and his wings suddenly unfurl with a soft whoosh. He straightens, towering over her. “You’re not the only one with free will, Detective. What if I choose to do what’s best for you whether you like it or not?”

It takes Chloe a second to realize what he’s saying. When she does, though, it feels like a punch to the gut.

“You…” Her voice catches and she can’t finish. She clears her throat and takes a deep breath and tries again. “You mean you’d leave me?” 

“To give you what you’re too bloody selfless to take for yourself? Yes. In a heartbeat.” 

The Vegas skyline in the distance suddenly seems like a taunt. Chloe thinks of his furniture covered in sheets and all the calls and texts he never answered. She thinks of the first time he ever stood before her with his wings unfurled like they are now. She thinks of last night, when she had to beg him to stay with her, and a million other times when all she wanted was him and he was nowhere to be found. 

Her chest feels like it’s cracking open. Her nightmare is becoming a reality, and it hurts even worse than she thought it would. 

“You’re just going to keep doing this, aren’t you?” she whispers.

Lucifer frowns. “Doing what?”

“Leaving me. Breaking my heart.”

His expression softens. “Detective, I’m not trying—”

“But you are.” Frustration is welling up in her throat and tears are welling up in her eyes. “You’re standing there with your wings out, telling me that you’re going to leave me whether I like it or not, because what you want matters more than what I want.”

He looks agonized. “Detective...”

“It always has,” she forges on, tears spilling down her cheeks. She swipes at them angrily. “No matter what I say, or what I do, or what I ask for, you just keep doing whatever you want.”

“Detective,” he repeats softly, stepping toward her.

“That’s not my name,” she snaps, stepping away from him. “If you’re going to leave me again, the least you could do is say my name.”

Guilt shivers across his face. “I know it upset you when I left you to go back to Hell—” 

“I’m not talking about you going back to Hell. I’m talking about you ghosting me and marrying a damn stripper.”

Lucifer looks stunned. “What?”

“You said you wanted to prove yourself to me,” she says, brandishing her finger at him. Her hands are shaking. “You said we were real. And then I almost died and you just...you just left. You let me fall in love with you and then you married someone else. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?”

Her tears are coming so fast now that he’s a blur standing in front of her. She wipes her eyes and tries to get control of herself but she can’t. Her chest has cracked wide fucking open, and Lucifer has her heart in his hands, and he’s breaking it all over again. It’s going to shatter in his fist just like that whiskey glass in his penthouse. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, sounding devastated. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? ” 

He doesn’t answer her. 

“Is that what you think you’re doing right now? You’re hurting me to protect me? Because this hurts, Lucifer. And this isn’t like the dream. You’re doing this. You’re choosing this.”

He still doesn’t answer her. He won’t look at her either. He’s staring at the ground and he won’t fight with her—he won’t fight for her—and something inside of her shatters. 

“You know who else does this?” she asks through her tears, curling her hands into fists because they’re still shaking. “You know who makes decisions for people regardless of what they want because he thinks he knows what’s best? Your father. You’re treating me exactly like he treats you. And you know what? You’re right. It feels like shit.”

The words hang in the air. Lucifer stares at her, his eyes wide and his hands clenched into fists just like hers, and for a second she thinks he’s going to explode at her for suggesting he’s like his dad. 

But he doesn’t. He blinks at her. His chest rises and falls slowly. And then he just...deflates. His wings wilt, dropping gracefully toward the ground until the bottom feathers brush the stones. His shoulders curl forward. He hangs his head and closes his eyes.

“You’re right,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. 

He rolls his shoulders and his wings disappear with a soft whoosh. He staggers toward the nearest couch. He collapses onto the cushions, his elbows resting on his knees, and then buries his head in his hands. 

Chloe stares at him, stunned. The sun is starting to sink past the horizon, and the fading light combined with the flickering flames of the fire pit make shadows dance around him. She wonders if this is what he looked like in Hell—surrounded by shadows and flames, broken and alone on a throne he never wanted. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes. 

He shakes his head but doesn’t look at her. 

She couldn’t stay away from him if she tried. She closes the distance between them, steps into the space between his legs, and reaches for him. Her vision is blurring with tears again. She slides her hands over his shoulders. He stiffens beneath her touch but doesn’t pull away, and she doesn’t pull back. She leans forward until his head is pressing against her sternum, and then buries her face in his hair as she wraps her arms around him. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, closing her eyes and breathing him in. The scent of his hair is familiar and comforting. “I’m so sorry, Lucifer.”

She feels him shake his head against her chest. “Don’t apologize,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “You didn’t...” He trails off and his body shudders like he’s trying to contain a sob. “I’m sorry,” he chokes. “I’m sorry for all of it.”

She leans back a little and lifts her hands to his cheeks. “Look at me,” she whispers. 

He raises his head. His eyes are glassy and rimmed red. She thinks it’s the first time she’s ever seen him cry. Her whole body aches with the urge to soothe and comfort him. 

“Do you remember when you told me that there was a Hell loop like Lux?” she asks quietly. 

He nods. 

“That’s L.A. for me right now. It looks like home, but it’s not. Those aren’t my people. You said that, remember? At the beach, you said that Trixie wasn’t Trixie, and you were right. They aren’t the people that I love. And if you make me go back there without you, I’m going to feel just like you did in that loop.”

He curls his fingers around her hips and squeezes. “I don’t want that.” 

“Then tell me what you do want,” she murmurs, threading her fingers through his hair. “Not what you think you should want, or what you think I need. What do you want, Lucifer?” 

“You,” he says without hesitation. He releases her hips and wraps his arms around her instead, pulling her closer and clinging to her with his chin pressed into her stomach as he gazes up at her. “I want to do this with you. I want to keep you.” 

She smiles and scratches her nails lightly along the back of his head. “Well then I guess we want the same thing, don’t we?” 

He stares at her like she’s just offered him the world. “How can you want me after all this? After everything?” 

She cups his face in her hands. “How could I not?”

His eyes are brimming. He sucks in an unsteady breath.

She bends forward. “I see you,” she whispers, holding his gaze. “And I love you. You and me, Lucifer. That’s what I believe in. Even if you don’t.”

He breathes her name—her first name—and it sounds like the prayer of a broken, desperate man. She aches all over again. She searches for something else to say, something that will make him understand just how deeply, irrevocably in love with him she is, but she can’t put it into words. There aren’t any words strong enough to contain it. 

She ducks forward and kisses him instead. He’s hesitant at first but she kisses him purposefully, exactly the way he likes, and his mouth grows more insistent against hers.

He pulls her into his lap, his palms smoothing upward over the curve of her waist. She settles on top of him, bracketing his hips with her knees, and drapes her arms around his neck. He whispers her name again. She’s pushing the jacket from his shoulders when a faint pop echoes behind her. 

Chloe pulls back from Lucifer’s lips, frowning, and then a British voice she doesn’t recognize cuts through the night.

“Well, Zee did warn me that I might find you two in flagrante delicto.

Chloe scrambles off of Lucifer and whirls around, her hand flying to her empty hip where she usually has a gun. 

Standing on the other side of the fire pit is a scruffy looking blond man. He’s wearing a white shirt, a loose crimson tie, and a tan trench coat. When their eyes meet, he sizes her up with a smirk. 

“You must be the Queen of Hell I’ve heard so much about.”

Chloe sputters at him, shocked.

Lucifer materializes at her side, tall and imposing. “She has nothing to do with that place,” he growls. “Don’t associate her with it in name or deed.”

The man pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds them in the air. “All right, mate. Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I wasn’t trying to insult her honor.”

“Who the hell are you?” Chloe says, finally finding her voice.

The man grins at her. “I’m the answer to your prayers.”

Chloe looks at Lucifer because that doesn’t answer her question.  

Lucifer sighs. “Detective, allow me to introduce John Constantine.”

Chapter 17: Seventeen

Notes:

Thanks for all the love guys :)

Chapter Text

“It’s Constantine,” John Constantine says, narrowing his eyes at Lucifer. “And you bloody well know that.”

“Do I?” Lucifer says with a sneer. 

Constantine seems unamused. “I’m here to do you a favor, mate. You might watch your mouth for once.”

“You’re here for Zatanna,” Lucifer corrects. “And you won’t leave until you know her debt has been paid. So spare me the threats, Johnny boy. You’re stuck here whether you like what I have to say or not.”

Constantine glares. “Now listen here, you—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off, stepping forward to slide between him and Lucifer before things get out of hand. “Can you guys just, like, not do this right now?”

“He started it,” Lucifer says petulantly. 

“Thanks,” Chloe says dryly, shooting him a look over her shoulder. “That’s exactly the kind of maturity I was looking for.”

Lucifer has the grace to look a little abashed. Chloe turns back to Constantine and finds him smirking. 

“Zee told me you had him on a leash,” he says. “Didn’t believe her, but clearly I should’ve.”

“He’s not on a leash,” Chloe says, putting her hand on Lucifer’s arm when he steps forward angrily. He stills beneath her touch. “And if he's going to watch his mouth, then so are you. Act your age, yeah?”

Constantine bows his head. “My apologies, love.”

“Don’t call me that,” Chloe says before she can stop herself. “He calls me that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe sees Lucifer snap his head in her direction. She doesn’t look at him, though she feels a slight flush rise to her cheeks. She thinks at some point, she’s going to have to tell him how much she likes when he calls her that. Though it’s probably obvious at this point, since she all but begged him to say it last night. 

“Does he now,” Constantine says quietly, glancing between them with clear interest. He smirks at Lucifer. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yes, that seems to be the consensus,” Lucifer says, straightening his jacket. “I assume Zatanna filled you in on all the pertinent details?”

“Was a bit of a show and tell, actually.” 

“And?”

“And you’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess, Luci.”

“That’s helpful, thank you,” Lucifer says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Whatever would we do without such insightful analysis?”

Chloe frowns. “Wait. What do you mean show and tell?

“I mean I met a few of your biggest fans,” Constantine replies. “They were quite insistent that you deserve better than the likes of him. I can’t say I disagree.”

For a second, Chloe has no idea what he’s talking about. Whenever she hears the word fans, she thinks of the creepy guys who recognize her from Hot Tub High School. But then she realizes who he’s talking about, and all the breath rushes out of her lungs. 

“You saw my daughter?” she demands, taking a step forward. “How? When? Is she okay?”

Remorse flickers across Constantine’s face. “No, I’m sorry, lo—” He catches himself and clears his throat. “I’m sorry, Detective. Your daughter is under the careful watch of the LAPD, and it would’ve been close to impossible to get her alone. That, and Zee was quite insistent that we leave her be to avoid retraumatizing her. She wasn’t one of the people we sought out.”

Disappointment washes over Chloe, followed by a tidal wave of guilt. Retraumatizing her implies Trixie was traumatized. And she was, wasn’t she? Her fear of Lucifer might have been planted by a supernatural being, but she didn’t know that. To her, it was all real. She was afraid and upset and she wanted her mom, and Chloe abandoned her. 

Lucifer smooths his hand over her back the way he did last night after her nightmare. Chloe bites her lip and forces herself to swallow the emotion that’s welling up in her throat like vomit.

“Who did you see?” Lucifer asks Constantine, his hand still rubbing over Chloe’s shoulder blades.

“Tiny little brunette at Zee’s club,” Constantine answers as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his coat. “Talks a mile a minute. Helen, I think.”

“Ella,” Chloe corrects. 

Constantine nods at her. “Right. Ella.” 

“You can’t smoke here,” Lucifer says. 

Constantine freezes with a cigarette halfway to his mouth. “Why not?”

“Because the Detective doesn’t like the smell.”

Constantine glances at Chloe.

“It’s fine,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “I don’t mind.”

“It most certainly is not fine,” Lucifer says. “This is our home. No smoking.”

His emphasis on our home draws Chloe’s eyes up to his face, but only momentarily. 

“We’re outside for Christ’s sake,” Constantine says incredulously. 

“I don’t care if we’re on the bloody moon, ” Lucifer says, straightening to his full height. “She hates the smell and I won’t have her smelling it. Now you either put those away, or I’ll shove them down your throat one by one and then pull them out of your ass and feed them to you again.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe murmurs. 

“It’s all right, Detective,” Constantine says, shoving the cigarettes back in his pocket with a glare. “I can behave even if he can’t.”

Lucifer seems unfazed by the insult. 

“I paid a visit to Maze,” Constantine continues, still glaring at Lucifer. “She looked a little worse for the wear. Surprised to hear that was your doing, considering what you were willing to sacrifice on her behalf the last time I did you a favor.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer again. He avoids her gaze. “I was looking for answers.”

“Did you find any? Or was she too busy bleeding to speak?”

Lucifer’s expression darkens. “I wasn’t aware you cared for demons. In fact, last I checked, you made a living hunting them.”

“I make a living hunting evil,” Constantine corrects. His eyes flicker over Lucifer with disdain. “In all its forms.”

Chloe bristles at the implication, but Lucifer laughs. “I seem to remember you saying something similar the last time I was with you and Zatanna. Although, you two weren’t together for much longer after that, were you? Apparently she realized your judgment is suspect.”

It’s Constantine’s turn to bristle. “Don’t speak of what you don’t know, Luci.”

“You should follow your own advice, John. You don’t know Maze. She has a history of working with my enemies, and I had every right to assume she’d taken up with one again. I didn’t realize it was magic until well after I started questioning her.”

“Questioning her,” Constantine repeats with a snort. “Is that what they call it where you’re from? Where I’m from we have a different name for it. Lightbringer my arse. You’re nothing but darkness, mate.”

“Oh it’s light you want, is it?” Lucifer says. He steps away from Chloe and holds his hands up. “Let’s see if we can’t brighten this place up a bit then, hm?”

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses. She wraps her fingers around his forearm and squeezes. She can feel the heat of his body even through the fabric of his shirt and jacket, and she wonders how close he is to going supernova again. 

Lucifer huffs and looks down at her. “For Dad’s sake, Detective, why can’t you leash him instead of me? ” 

“Because I don’t care about him,” Chloe says, tightening her hold on his arm. “I care about you. And you’re not leashed, okay? Can we drop this sexist bullshit about who wears the pants or carries the leash or whatever? You want to light him up with your laser beam hands, fine. Be my guest. But he’s the best chance we’ve got at fixing this, and you said that’s what you wanted. You gave me your word.”

“Laser beam hands?” Constantine says incredulously. 

Neither Chloe nor Lucifer pay him any attention. Lucifer stares at Chloe, clearly frustrated, but she stares back unflinchingly. Finally, he sighs. 

“Fine,” he mumbles, dropping his arms. He fusses with his jacket and then huffs again as if to make sure she knows he’s annoyed. 

Chloe rises to her toes and brushes a kiss over the underside of his jaw. “Thank you,” she says softly.

He goes rigid. When she drops back down to her feet, he visibly relaxes and gives her a brief, half smile. 

Satisfied that he’s not about to barbecue their guest with his newfound light powers, Chloe turns her attention to Constantine. 

The sorcerer holds his hands up in a placating gesture when she narrows her eyes at him. “Detective—” 

“Stop talking.” 

Constantine closes his mouth. Chloe can see Lucifer smirking out of the corner of her eye, but she ignores him. 

“Look, you guys obviously don’t like each other. And normally, I’d feel bad about asking you to work together. But you know what? I don’t care right now. I don’t care what he did to you, and I don’t care what you did to him, and I don’t care how either of you feel about it. All I care about is fixing this damn spell and getting back to my kid. So are you going to help us or not?”

Constantine studies her for a moment, and then he smiles. “I can see why Zee likes you.”

“Is that a yes?” 

He nods. “Yes. I’m at your service, Detective.”

“Great. So did you see anyone besides Ella and Maze?”

“Your doctor friend,” Constantine replies. “Zatanna said that you thought she was fighting the spell. That intrigued me, and I wanted to see it for myself, so we paid her a visit.”

“Was I wrong about her fighting it?” 

“No, you were spot on. It’s quite remarkable, actually. I’ve only seen that kind of resistance a few times before. And never from a human with no magical ability.”

“Perhaps her resistance can be explained by the fact that she carried and gave birth to a celestial child,” Lucifer suggests. 

Constantine tilts his head. “It’s possible there are residual effects.” His gaze flickers to Chloe. “Wouldn’t be the first time that a touch of the divine made a human immune to something.”

“Did you see anyone else?” Lucifer asks.

“No. I saw all that I needed with those three.”

“And what’s the verdict? Who’s the culprit?”

“There’s no signature in the magic,” Constantine says with a sigh. “But it’s ancient and powerful, and that narrows the list considerably. As does the flicker in their eyes. I assume you noticed that?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “Blue and silver.”

Constantine nods. “Exactly. I’ve seen it before. It’s the work of Morpheus.” 

“Are you certain?” Lucifer asks.

“I’d bet my coat on it.”

“Your coat?” Chloe says incredulously.

Constantine grins and plucks at the edges of his trench coat. “I’m quite fond of this coat.” 

“Dad knows why,” Lucifer mutters, eyeing the coat with distaste. 

“Not all of us spend hours in front of a mirror every morning,” Constantine retorts.

Lucifer grins wickedly. “And it shows.”

Chloe sighs at them. They both look briefly sheepish.

“Who’s Morpheus?” she asks. 

“Dream,” Lucifer replies. “They’re one in the same. Morpheus is just another one of his names.” 

“Is he who you had in mind when you told Zee you thought you knew who it was?” Constantine asks.

“Yes,” Lucifer confirms. “The effects of the spell are very much in line with what he’s capable of. And he and I have a history that gives him a clear motive.”

Chloe remembers what he said a few minutes ago—Dream came after you because of me—and she turns to look at him. “What history?” 

Lucifer looks uncomfortable. He shifts from one foot to the other and fiddles with his cufflink “It’s a long story. The upshot is that we’ve had several interactions over the course of millennia, and they were all less than enjoyable.”

“That’s usually what happens when you put two blokes with egos the size of the universe in the same room,” Constantine mutters with a snort.

Chloe shoots him a look. He holds up his hands in an unspoken apology. She turns back to Lucifer. 

“So he’s doing this just because he doesn’t like you?”

“Not quite. Your involvement seems to indicate that he’s exacting his revenge for the last encounter we had.”

Chloe frowns. “What does that mean?”

Lucifer takes a deep breath. “Dream had a lover,” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Her name was Nada. She refused to join him in his realm for the rest of eternity, so he sent her to Hell.”

Chloe blinks at him, stunned. “Wait. She didn’t want to marry him so he sent her to Hell?

“Yes.”

“So you knew her.”

“I did,” Lucifer confirms. “I still do, I suppose. She’s still down there.”

“Was she evil when she was alive?” 

Lucifer shakes his head. “No. She has plenty of guilt, but it’s...well, it’s like the guilt you occasionally express. It’s misplaced. She’s taken responsibility for things that aren’t hers to claim. My father has a system for ensuring that such souls aren’t misplaced for eternity when they die, but Dream bypassed that when he damned her.” 

Chloe gapes at him. She thinks about what she knows of Hell—the ash and the darkness and the loops designed to torture—and a deep sense of horror wells up in her chest.

“That’s not fair,” she murmurs. “She doesn’t belong down there.”

“I agree.”

“Well can’t you, like, set her free? You’re the king.” 

“That’s not how it works, Detective. There are rules built into the fabric of Hell that are beyond my control. Only my father can break or bend them.” 

“But you said that it was possible for souls to leave,” she insists. “You said people could walk out of their loops.”

“They can. But only if they let go of their guilt. It’s never been done. And I can’t do it for her.” 

“So she just gets tortured for the rest of eternity because her boyfriend was a jerk?” Chloe exclaims. “How is that justice?”

“It’s not,” Lucifer says quietly. “But she isn’t being tortured, Detective. I made her as comfortable as possible, I promise you.”

There’s a faint hint of anguish threaded through his voice, and it gives Chloe pause. She stops focusing on her own anger and focuses on the man in front of her, and she immediately sees it in his eyes. 

Guilt. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes.

“I have absolute control over the loops. I tried to make hers as close to her version of Paradise as I could. I did my best, Detective.”

“I know,” she soothes, stepping toward him. “I know you did. I’m not blaming you.”

“She was happy last I saw her,” he insists, sounding increasingly desperate. “Not as happy as she would be if it wasn’t an illusion, I’m sure, but I—”

“Lucifer,” Chloe cuts him off firmly. “I know.” She reaches up and holds his face in her hands the same way she had just before Constantine showed up. “It’s not your fault, babe. None of this is your fault.”

He stares down at her, desperation still in his eyes, and Chloe holds his gaze and brushes her thumbs over the stubble on his cheeks and waits. He exhales slowly after a moment, and then he wraps his hands around her forearms.

“I like that,” he murmurs. 

Chloe frowns. “Like what?”

“When you call me that.”

Chloe blinks at him for a moment, confused. And then she realizes what he’s saying—the Devil likes it when she calls him babe—and she smiles. “Yeah?”

He smiles too. “Yes.”

Warmth floods through Chloe’s body. She feels like she’s going to melt into a puddle. God, she loves him so much. 

She’s pulling his face down toward hers when Constantine clears his throat. 

“Yeah, still here,” he says dryly. “If you could save the snogging for later, that’d be aces.”

Chloe presses her lips together as heat rises in her cheeks. She drops her hands from Lucifer’s face and scoots a more respectable distance away from him. 

“Sorry,” she says to Constantine. She clears her throat and glances up at Lucifer. “What were you saying?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he murmurs. His gaze trails down her body purposefully, and Chloe feels a different kind of heat flare deep in her body. 

“You were explaining why Morpheus hates you,” Constantine says pointedly. 

Lucifer sighs and looks away from Chloe. “Dream came to his senses after his sister, Death, pointed out the injustice of his actions. He came to fetch Nada and undo what he’d done. But she didn’t want to go. He appealed to me, and asked that I alter her loop to take the form of Hell rather than Paradise. He thought that might inspire her to leave with him.”

“But you refused,” Chloe guesses.

He nods. “I did.”

“Why couldn’t he just cast a dream over her like he did to everyone in L.A.?”

“Because it’s my realm, Detective. His powers are weakened in my realm, just as mine would be in his. He knew he couldn’t take her from me and get out unscathed, so he retreated. And now he seeks to take from me what he believes I took from him.”

He doesn’t say it, but Chloe hears it all the same. He’s trying to take you.

She shakes her head. “He can’t take me from you.”

“Yes,” he says quietly. “I’m starting to see that.” He gazes at her for a moment, and then he turns toward Constantine. “We’ll need your assistance to contact Death. She talked sense into her brother once, she can do it again.”

“She’s more likely to respond to a summons from a celestial than a human.”

“Yes, well, that may be true, but we don’t have much of a choice. I believe my channels for such communications are being blocked.”   

Constantine frowns. “What?”

“My brother won’t answer me when I pray,” Lucifer clarifies. “Neither will my father.”

Chloe looks at him in surprise. “You prayed to your dad?” 

He meets her gaze. “I told you, Detective. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“How do you know you’re being blocked?” Constantine wonders before Chloe can respond. “What if they’re just busy? No offense, mate, but your dad isn’t exactly the most responsive chap.”

“My brother always answers, even when he’s otherwise engaged,” Lucifer replies. He tips his head toward Chloe. “And my father has never ignored a request I’ve made on her behalf.”

Chloe wonders what requests he’s made on her behalf, but she doesn’t ask. 

“Something is interfering,” Lucifer continues. “Or, rather, someone. I can’t be sure I’m not being monitored, either. That’s why I visited Zatanna in person rather than summoning her. And it’s why I had her summon you rather than doing it myself.”

Constantine smirks. “And here I thought it was because you knew I wouldn’t answer you.” 

Lucifer matches his smirk. “That too.” 

Constantine slides his hands into his pockets. “So what is it you’d like me to say?”

“Tell her I’d like to speak with her regarding a matter of grave importance. She can name the time and place. I’m happy to submit to any other demands she might make as well. She can name her price, though I suspect she won’t have one. She’s not the type.”

Constantine nods. “All right.” He glances at the massive house behind him and the giant pool around him. “I can’t do it here, though.”

“Disappear wherever you like,” Lucifer says, waving his hand. “But don’t be gone long.” He glances at Chloe. “We don’t have time to waste.”

Constantine glances at Chloe too, and then nods. “Right. Back in a jiff.”

And then he disappears into thin air. 


The Detective visibly startles when John disappears.

She whirls around, glancing behind her, and then scans the rest of the patio with her mouth open and her eyebrows furrowed. Lucifer watches her, his lips pressed together in an effort not to smile. She’s adorable when she’s confused.

“Did he just…?” she asks.

“Teleport, yes.” 

She turns toward him with an adorable frown. “I was going to say apparate. Like in Harry Potter.”

“You really need to expand your magical horizons, Detective.”

She gives him a look. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

He laughs. 

She smiles. The sun is fully gone, and the soft lights on the patio along with the flickering fire nearby are casting an ethereal glow over her. She’s beautiful. 

“How long do you think he’ll be gone?” she wonders, oblivious to his admiration.

Lucifer lifts a shoulder. “Could be a few minutes, could be a few hours. Hard to say with him.”

She purses her lips and hums thoughtfully.

“Why? Is there something you’d like to do to pass the time?” A thought strikes him, and he makes a show of looking her up and down with a suggestive smirk. “I can think of a few things.”

“I’m sure you can,” she says, laughter threading through her voice. “But seeing as we don’t know when he’ll be back, I’d rather not get naked.”

“Modesty,” Lucifer scoffs. “Truly one of my father’s worst inventions.”

She smiles at him. “That should be your tagline.”

“Too wordy,” Lucifer says, waving his hand. “I think hashtag sex genius explains everything quite succinctly.”

The Detective rolls her eyes and turns toward the house. “I’m not even dignifying that with a response.”

She starts up the walk leading through the pool, and Lucifer follows her. 

“I don’t need a verbal response, you know,” he informs her. “Your body has responded on your behalf on more than one occasion. You needn’t confirm that I’m a fabulous lover when I’ve such ample evidence from you to prove it.”

“Mhmm,” she hums noncommittally. 

He takes the three steps up onto the patio in one stride. “Oh come now, Detective. There’s no shame in admitting it.”

She glances at him over her shoulder with a smile. “I thought you didn’t need confirmation?”

“I don’t.” 

“Then why are you fishing?”

“Fishing?” he repeats incredulously. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how hard you’re working to get me to say that you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He scoffs. “I don’t need you to say that. I know I am.”

She doesn’t reply. He frowns at the back of her head. 

“Aren’t I?”

She smirks at him over her shoulder. “You’re fishing again.”

He sputters at her and slows to a stop on the threshold between the patio and the kitchen. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows she’s teasing him. He knows it. Even if he didn’t know how many times he’s brought her to orgasm (yes, he keeps a running total, and no, that’s not weird—she’s so damned gorgeous when she comes and he waited so long to witness it that he intends to remember every single time it happens no matter how many there are), he can say with complete and utter certainty that there’s no way that Daniel or that ham-fisted neanderthal Cain ever gave her as good of a time as he does. 

But then he remembers Jed. Her first love. He said they had amazing sex. What if Jed is better at sex than him? What if she thinks of Jed when she’s with him?

The Detective is in the kitchen, studying the contents of the refrigerator with a slight frown. He wants to close the distance between them and kiss her senseless until he’s certain that he’s the only man she’s thinking about, but he feels sick to his stomach all of a sudden. What if, because she’s immune to everything else about him, he’s not as good with her as he was with everyone else?

She glances at him, and then double takes. Her eyebrows furrow. “Lucifer?”

“Hm?” he says, snapping to attention.

She studies him for a moment, and then her expression smooths out. She tilts her head at him the way she does when he’s done something she disapproves of. “Really?”

“What?”

She shuts the refrigerator doors. “Stop overthinking it. I was just teasing you.”

“I wasn’t overthinking it.” 

She arches an eyebrow at him.

“I wasn’t,” he insists. “In fact, I was under thinking it. Negative thinking. Very hard to do for you mere mortals, but I’m the Devil so I happen to be an expert.”

The Detective opens her mouth, but seems to think better of what she was going to say and presses her lips together. She studies him again with her hands on her hips, and for a moment he feels like a suspect in one of her interrogations, and then her expression softens. 

She crooks her finger at him. “Come here.”

He doesn’t know what she wants, but he never turns down the opportunity to be close to her. He crosses the room obediently. She reaches for him when he’s within arm’s length, her fingers dipping beneath the lapels of his coat to tug him closer. His hands find her waist out of habit.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, tilting her head back to look at him. “I forget, sometimes, that this is all new for you.”

He frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous, sex isn’t new for me. I’ve slept with—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” 

He swallows what he was about to say.

“I meant being in a relationship,” she clarifies. “Caring about someone enough to want to be the best they’ve had.”

“Ah.” 

He wants to make a joke, or an innuendo, or something that will make it clear that he is not at all insecure about his abilities in the bedroom, but the ability to form additional words seems to have abandoned him.  

She smooths her fingers down his lapels. “You are, by the way,” she says, her voice soft. “The best I’ve been with, I mean.”

The tension in his chest evaporates instantly. “I am?”

He’s embarrassed by how breathlessly relieved he sounds, but he forgets his embarrassment as soon as she smiles. He dreamt of that smile so many times in Hell. His memory didn’t do it justice.

“Yeah,” she says. “But that’s all I’m going to say about it, because if I keep talking your ego is going to get huge and blow the roof off this place.”

“My ego isn’t the only thing that’s huge,” he says automatically. “And speaking of blowing—”

“Okay, stop talking.” She drops her hands from his jacket with a sigh. “I regret everything I just said. I take it all back.”

He shakes his head. “No take-backsies.”

She cracks a smile, and then snorts out a laugh. He smiles, pleased with himself. He likes her laugh. He likes it even better when he’s the catalyst.

He nods at the refrigerator. “Were you scanning for something in particular?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I just realized I haven’t eaten in, like, forever. I’m starving. You think Postmates delivers out here?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If you’re hungry, I’ll make something for you.”

She arches an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Well of course. I’m an excellent chef. What is it you desire? Risotto? Coq au vin? Ooh, arepas.”

She crinkles her nose. “I was thinking something easy and quick. Like, comfort food?”

Lucifer mentally shuffles through all the recipes he knows by heart until he finds one she’ll love. “I know just the thing.” He slides his hand over the small of her back and guides her toward the pantry. “Be a dear and fetch me a loaf of brioche from the pantry. Oh, and an onion.”

“You have brioche in the pantry?” she says incredulously. 

“Well of course, darling. I’m not a barbarian.”

The Detective snorts and heads for the pantry. Lucifer eyes her ass for a moment—it really does look spectacular in jeans—and then turns back to the refrigerator and flings open the doors. He pulls out all the ingredients he’ll need, setting them on the island behind him. He closes the doors when he’s done and heads for the wall of wine bottles nearby. He scans his dozens of options, finds a Pinot from a good year, and plucks it from its place.

When he turns back around, he finds the Detective with the brioche and an onion in her hands and her mouth open as she stares at the cluster of food he left on the island. 

“Is that a ham? ” she asks, looking up at him.

“It is,” he confirms, striding toward her. 

She shakes her head. “Lucifer, I said easy.

“This is easy,” he says, pausing at a nearby cupboard to pull out two wine glasses. “Trust me.”

“I’m not sure I do given that you’re, you know, you. What are you making?”

“It’s called a croque monsieur.” 

“Crook what?”

“Croque monsieur,” he replies, unable to resist a smile. “It’s French. It loosely translates to Mr. Crunch.”

She doesn’t reply. He sets the glasses and the bottle of wine down next to the food he gathered from the fridge and turns to face her.

Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows are gathered in disbelief. “You’re making me something called Mr. Crunch?” 

He rolls his eyes. “You needn’t worry, Detective. I’m certain you’ll love it.”

“And you know this because?”

“Because you’ve never met a sandwich you didn’t like. Especially if there’s melted cheese involved.”

She perks up. “Oh, is it like a French grilled cheese?”

“More or less.” He brandishes his finger at her. “But your orange goop will not come within a thousand miles of what I’m about to create. Over my dead body.”

“Hey, come on,” she says, furrowing her eyebrows. “That stuff is great. It tastes good and it takes forever to expire.”

“That’s not exactly a point in your favor, Detective.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Okay. Fair enough. How can I help?”

He nods at a nearby drawer. “Grab the corkscrew and pour us some wine while I start the bechamel.” 

“I thought we were making sandwiches?”

“We are, darling. Just handle the wine, hm?”

She sighs but does as she’s told. Lucifer takes his jacket off and drapes it over a nearby stool, and then slips his cufflinks off and starts to roll his sleeves. When he’s done, he pours some milk into a saucepan on the stove. He drops a hefty dollop of butter into a second saucepan, and then turns the oven on to broil. 

He hears the cork of a wine bottle pop, and he glances over his shoulder at the Detective. His eyes get caught on the way her ponytail sways as she moves, and his heart does a funny sort of flip in his chest. 

He feels...lighter all of a sudden. Freer. They’re still in the middle of a nightmare—literally—and there’s still guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind, but something seems to have shifted since their discussion outside. He isn’t holding his breath anymore. He doesn’t feel like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, swaying at the slightest breath of wind, hoping that he doesn’t fall to his demise. Maybe it’s having third-party confirmation of who’s behind this. Maybe it’s knowing that there’s finally a plan in motion to correct it. 

Maybe it’s her. 

He knows it’s her. It’s always her. She has this way of soothing him, of seeing past the reflection that everyone else sees and wanting him, regardless of the shadows around his soul. He used to worry that his darkness would eclipse her light. And he still does, sometimes. But every time he steps toward that precipice, every time he sways in the wind, she yanks him backward and wraps her arms around him and whispers I love you.

Miracle doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

He doesn’t mean to stare. She’s hungry, and it’s not as though he hasn’t got plenty to do so that she’s properly wowed by his culinary skills. But he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her. He’s always admired the female form, but it’s been clinical. A means to an end. He sees, he admires, he wants, he takes, he moves on. 

But the Detective...there’s no moving on from this. Not even if he wanted to, and he doesn’t. He wants to bask in her. He wants to paint her and photograph her. He wants to write sonnets about her smile and compose ballads about the shade of her eyes. He’s become what he used to loathe, and he’s not even sorry about it.

He’s admiring the sharp angle of her jaw—he used to fantasize about tracing his tongue along that jawline, and now that he can without risking a fist to the face he does so as much as possible—when she looks up at him.

She must realize he was staring, because a smirk spreads over her lips. “See something you like?” she teases.

His heart does that funny flip in his chest again, but he tries to play it cool. “Don’t say we can’t get naked and then tempt me,” he warns.

She laughs. He adds it to the list of things he’d like to write poems about. 

She grabs the now full glasses from the counter, and closes the distance between them. She offers him a glass, and he takes it. He can smell her shampoo and her perfume, a medley that’s distinctly her. He forces himself to sip his wine so he won’t inhale her like a madman. 

“Do I want to know how much this wine costs?” she asks, swirling the red liquid in her glass.

“$13,000 or so, last I checked.”

She snaps her gaze up to his, her eyes wide. “Are you serious?”

“Quite serious, yes.”

“Like...per case?”

“Per bottle, darling.”

Her eyes get even bigger. “Holy shit,” she murmurs. 

She’s adorable when she curses. She’s adorable all the time, really. He can’t stand it. She’s turned him into a pile of bloody mush. He’d be annoyed if he wasn’t so gone for her. 

“Take a sip,” he says, nodding toward the glass in her hand. 

She glances down at the glass and then tilts her head. “I don’t…”

“Take a sip, Detective.”

She chews her bottom lip and then takes a sip. 

“Well?” he prompts. 

A slow smile spreads over her lips. “It’s good.”

“Better than your cheap stuff?”

Her smile deepens. “Maybe.” 

He’s not surprised that she won’t outright admit it. She’s quite stubborn when she wants to be. Another thing he adores about her. 

She sets her glass down on the counter with a soft clink. “So we’ve got French wine, and you’re about to make French food. You got any French music to complete the trifecta?”

“I could turn some on,” he offers, setting his own glass down. “But I think I’m in the mood for something else. Something better.”

“90s jams,” she says with a nod. 

He snorts. “No, Detective. Something that won’t make my ears bleed.”

She makes a soft sound of offense in the back of her throat. He presses a kiss to the top of her head and then brushes past her toward the screen embedded in the wall. He taps it to life, and scrolls through the many playlists he has programmed into the system until he finds the one he wants. He presses play, and the soft strains of a guitar emanate from the speakers hidden throughout the kitchen, followed by a crooning voice.

 

If I fall short

If I don’t make the grade

If your expectations aren’t met in me today

There’s always tomorrow 

 

He turns to face the Detective, and finds her watching him with clear interest. “Who is this?” she murmurs.

“Solomon Burke.” He crosses the kitchen to stand in front of her. “This is my blues and soul playlist.”

She tilts her head. “I didn’t know you liked blues and soul.”

“Of course I do. There would be no rock and roll without blues and soul, and we both know how much I love sex, drugs, and rock and roll.” He claps his hands together. “Now, let’s talk bechamel, shall we?”

She glances at the stove. “Sounds complicated.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s easier than a cheerleader on prom night.” He turns toward the stove and flicks on the burner beneath the saucepan containing butter. “We’ll start with the roux. Very simple. Put some butter on the stove, and while it melts, we grab some flour.”

He pulls a container down from a cupboard near the stove, pops the lid open, and dips a spoon inside. 

“Two tablespoons should suffice, considering it's just the two of us. We won’t add this until the butter is melted, though. Nab me that wooden spoon, would you?”

She reaches toward a crock on the counter nearby and hands him the spoon he requested. He takes it from her and prods the rapidly melting pile of butter in the saucepan. He watches it, waiting, and once it’s melted he adds the flour and starts to stir.

“It needs to be perfectly blended or you’ll have issues down the road,” he tells her, eyeing the mixture in the saucepan. “Even once it's blended, though, you’ll need to keep stirring for a bit. Make sure the gas is on low.” 

He follows his own advice and turns the burner down a little. 

“The worst thing you can do is turn the heat up too high. You don’t want a roux with color in it, either. You want it creamy white.”

He glances up at her because she hasn’t said anything in a while, and finds her staring at him with that same intent look she wears at work. 

“What?” he says, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Where’d you learn this?” 

He opens his mouth to answer her question, but she waves him off. 

“Nevermind, don’t answer that. I’m sure some ridiculously beautiful French model showed you after a marathon sex session.”

“Actually, his name was Jacques.”

The Detective’s eyebrows lift toward her hairline. 

“He was quite old and very much in love with his wife, so there was no sex.” He tilts his head. “He did have very pretty daughters, though, and they—”

“Yeah, don’t need to know that.” 

He smiles. “You needn’t be jealous, darling. They weren’t as pretty as you.”

“Yeah, and how many women have you said that to?” 

He shakes his head. “Only you.”

That seems to catch her off guard. The smile fades from her lips. She searches his gaze, and he feels suddenly exposed. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, which surprises him. He doesn’t particularly like being vulnerable. But he does like the way she looks at him when he confesses something to her. Like she’s awed, or maybe honored. He can’t for the life of him figure out why she’d view anything about him as a privilege, but he doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He swallows and turns back to the stove. “So, we’re just about done here,” he says, trying to find neutral ground again. Even after all this time, he’s still not used to how easily a look or a word from her can knock him unsteady. “So we’ll set this off to the side to cool, and focus on the milk. Flick that burner on.”

She obeys as he sets the roux to the side. He grabs a knife from the block nearby and then turns toward the island behind him. 

“There are several ways to season bechamel,” he explains as he grabs the onion and starts to chop it quickly. “You don’t have to season it at all, of course, but I prefer mine infused with some additional flavor. You’re not opposed to nutmeg, are you?”

“Uh...no?”

“Excellent.” 

He finishes with the onion, turns back to the stove, and carefully pushes the vegetable pieces off the cutting board and into the saucepan of milk. He adds nutmeg and a few other spices after that, and then turns the burner up.

“Now, you have to be careful here,” he tells her. “You want to bring it to a boil slowly, and then as soon as it starts to bubble you turn off the heat and let the flavors infuse.” 

“Okay,” she says. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration as she watches the milk. He wants to kiss her. He forces himself to watch the milk instead. 

When it starts to boil, he flips the heat off. 

“There. Now, as we wait, we assemble the sandwiches.” He wraps his hand around her elbow and pulls her gently toward the island, and then offers her a bread knife from the block on the counter. “You cut the bread.” 

She takes the knife from him with confidence, and then hesitates. “How thick?”

“How thick do you like it?” he says, leering at her.

She rolls her eyes. “I mean the bread, Lucifer.”

“An inch will do.” He leans toward her. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re terrifyingly sexy when you wield a knife?”

“Yes, actually.”

He frowns. “Who?”

She smirks at him. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Was it Jed? ” he asks, curling his lip in disgust.

The Detective puts her hand on her hip. “Are you always going to say his name like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s a contagious disease you’re afraid you’re going to catch.”

“Now that you mention it, he does bear a striking resemblance to photos I’ve seen of genital warts.”

The Detective sighs and rolls her eyes and slices into the brioche instead of replying. Lucifer grins at her, and then bends down to retrieve a baking sheet from a lower cupboard and sets it between them. 

“Put them here?” she asks, holding a slice of bread over the baking sheet. 

“Yes.” 

She plops the slice down, and he grabs it so he can spread dijon over it. 

“How many?” she asks.

“Eight total, I think. Two sandwiches each.” 

She cuts the bread with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He wants to kiss her again. He used to think that if he ever got to the point where he could kiss her whenever he wanted, then the novelty would wear off and he wouldn’t constantly long for the feeling of her lips on his. 

He was wrong. 

He forces himself to focus on the task at hand. He carves the ham once the dijon has been spread, and lets her arrange the thick slices on top of the bread and then cover them with cheese. 

“Hm,” she hums, watching as he sets the second slices of bread over the first so that they finally look like sandwiches. “So where’s the sauce go?” 

“On top,” he replies, walking away from her to grab a strainer from a cupboard on the other end of the kitchen. “Then more cheese.”

As he walks back toward her, he watches her rearrange the sandwiches on the sheet. A smear of dijon ends up on her thumb, and she lifts her finger to her mouth absently and sucks it clean. 

Heat tugs at his groin, and temptation flutters in his chest. He obeys the impulse. He stops next to her, wraps his fingers around her wrist, and lifts her thumb to his mouth. 

She snaps her eyes up to meet his. He purses his lips around her thumb and sucks. She lowers her gaze to his mouth, her own mouth falling open a little. Tension cracks through the air. When she lifts her eyes back to his, he strokes his tongue lightly along the edge of her thumb and then presses a soft kiss to her knuckles. 

“Had to make sure you got it all,” he murmurs with a smile.  

Her eyes dip back down toward his mouth. Her pupils are dilated. She wants him. He can tell. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” he whispers.

She purses her lips around a smile as she pulls her hand away from his. “Jerk.”

He grins at her. He turns back to the stove and puts the saucepan with the roux back on the burner and flicks it on. 

She appears at his side. “What now?”

“We’re going to pour the milk into the roux through the strainer.” He does exactly what he says, careful not to splatter any on his shirt. “Then we’re going to whisk—hand me the whisk, darling.”

She hands him the whisk, and he turns up the temperature of the burner and starts to stir the contents of the saucepan.

“We’re going to whisk—slowly, mind you—and let it thicken.” He glances up at her. “And that’s it. See? I told you it was easy.”

She smiles at him. “You know, you’re a pretty good teacher. Either that or you’re just showing off.”

“I’ve no need for showing off, Detective. My extraordinary abilities speak for themselves.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “You’re not good at everything you know.”

He scoffs. “Name one thing I don’t excel at.”

“Monopoly.”

“How dare you,” he says, turning the burner up a little higher. “I’m a marvelous Monopoly player when I’m not playing with two cheats.”

“You’re also a sore loser,” she points out with a smile. “And a sore winner, if we’re being honest.”

“Yes, well, nobody’s perfect. Of course, some of us are more perfect than others. And I think it’s clear I’m as close to perfection as they come.”

“You can add humility to the list,” she says dryly. 

He narrows his eyes at her. “I said one thing, Detective. No need to go overboard and make a list.”

She leans closer to him, her chest pressing against his arm. “You want me to tell you some stuff you’re good at before you start overthinking again?”

“Now there’s a list I wouldn’t mind hearing. I can even supply the first. I am very, very good at making you climax.” 

There’s a slightly pink tinge to her cheeks all of a sudden. It’s adorable. 

“I was going to say you’re creative. And resourceful. And very sweet when you want to be.”

“Yes, of course,” he says disimissively. “But also sex.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Lucifer. Also sex.”

“I thought so.”

She sighs at him.

He reaches for a nearby wooden spoon and dips it into the bechamel. When he pulls the spoon out and sees that the back is coated with thickened sauce, he nods.

“It’s done.” He offers her the spoon. “Would you like to try it?”

She wraps her fingers around his wrist instead of taking the spoon from him, and then leans forward and licks the spoon. Which, to be fair, is what he implied she should do. But he didn’t tell her to make eye contact while she did it, and he sure as hell didn’t tell her to flick her tongue over the wood like that. Her fingertips are applying just the slightest pressure to his wrist, and his mind flickers toward a fantasy of what that pressure would feel like elsewhere. His groin tightens painfully.

She hums under her breath. “Delicious.”

He swallows. “Glad you like it,” he manages to say. 

She licks her lips, still holding his gaze, and suddenly all he can think about is that one time when those lips were wrapped around—

“Penny for your thoughts,” the Detective murmurs with a smirk. 

Lucifer glares at her. “Minx.” 

She grins and tips her head toward the stove. “You gonna finish these sandwiches, or do you need a minute alone?”

He huffs at her and grabs the saucepan. “I’d need far more than a minute.”

She hums under her breath again, and for some reason he finds it incredibly sexy. He decides to keep that to himself. She’s already smug enough. No need to give her further proof of her power over him. 

“So now that the bechamel is finished,” he says, turning toward the island with the saucepan in hand, “we spoon it over the sandwiches.”

She follows him. “More cheese on top?” 

“Indeed.”

He spoons the sauce over the sandwiches, and she sprinkles some cheese over the tops. He sets the saucepan back on the stove when they’re done, flicks the burner off, and then reaches for the baking sheet. 

“And now we slide them in here to broil,” he says, opening the stove door and sliding the sheet in. “Only for a bit though. Just long enough to melt the cheese.” He straightens and turns toward her. “And that’s that.”

He expects to find her smiling, or maybe looking awed and impressed by his skill, but she’s staring at the stove with an odd look on her face. 

He frowns. “Detective?”

She snaps to attention. “Hm?”

“What is it?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

She’s lying. He lifts his eyebrows at her but resists the urge to call her on it. 

She exhales slowly and tugs on her jacket. “I was just thinking that Trixie would love this,” she confesses.

Guilt roars to life in Lucifer’s chest and threatens to swallow him whole. He can still hear the urchin screaming at him—Liar! I hate you!—and he can still see the tears streaming down the Detective’s face as she drove away. His chest aches. 

The Detective is watching him. He can tell by the look on her face that she’s worried about him. He doesn’t like that. He knows she’d disagree if he said it aloud, but she shouldn’t be focused on him when she’s the one who lost everything. 

He clears his throat. “Well, now you know how it’s done. As soon as this is over, you can wow her with your new culinary skills.”

The Detective shakes her head. “I meant with you,” she says softly. “She would love doing this with you.”

Lucifer stares at her, at a loss for words. She stares back, empathy clear in her eyes. His chest aches again. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve her or her offspring. The urge to wrap his arms around her and bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in is overwhelming, but he resists. 

He smooths his hand over his shirt. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Sadness flickers in her eyes. He can’t stand it, so he opens the door of the stove and peers inside. The sandwiches look perfect, so he grabs a dish towel to protect his hand and pulls the baking sheet out.

“Here we are,” he says brightly, setting the sheet on top of the stove. He tosses the towel onto the counter, and then gestures at the finished product with a flourish and a bow. “Croque monsieur, mademoiselle.”

She smiles. “Can I try one?”

“By all means. Just don’t burn your tongue. We’ll need it later.”

She gives him a look. He grins at her. She rolls her eyes, and then steps up to the stove. She picks up a sandwich gingerly, and then bends forward and takes a small bite. 

Her reaction is immediate. Her head tips back, exposing the line of her throat, and her eyes flutter closed. She moans, and though he’s guessing it’s supposed to be in appreciation of the food, his mind goes to far more sinful places. His pants suddenly feel too tight.

“Detective,” he whines. 

She smirks at him. “Sorry,” she says, covering her mouth. She swallows, and lowers her hand. “That’s unbelievable.”

Pride flares in his chest. “Is it?”

“Yeah. I mean it’s…” 

She takes another bite, and her eyes roll briefly back into her head. He decides he’s not going to sleep tonight until he’s pulled a similar reaction from her with something other than food.  

She swallows and sighs. “Wow.”

“So you approve?”

“Oh definitely.” She sets the sandwich back on the baking sheet and lifts her sauce covered index finger to her mouth. She meets his gaze while she sucks it clean, and then smirks. “You have my full-throated approval.”

He steps into her space, looming over her. “You’re a tease, Detective.”

“Am I?” she says innocently. She darts her eyes over his body in a quick once-over. “Pot meet kettle.” 

It’s hard to resist her when she’s looking at him like that, but he’s determined not to be the first to give in to the tension simmering between them. He gestures at the food on the stove. 

“Would you say this is the best thing you’ve ever eaten?”

“Not enough for you to be the best at sex, huh? Gotta be the best chef I’ve ever known too?”

“Is that a yes?”

She tilts her head. “I don’t know. Those fries you definitely didn’t make when we had dinner the night your stewardess interrupted us were pretty good.”

“She wasn’t mine,” Lucifer corrects immediately. And then he winces. “Still sorry about that by the way.”

The Detective lifts a shoulder. “Ancient history.”

The air between them sparks again. Lucifer glances down at her mouth. He wants to kiss her, and judging by the way she’s leaning toward him, she wants him to. If he does, he’ll lose the battle of wills they’ve got going on. He’s not sure he cares anymore. He just wants to taste her.

He’s leaning toward her when her words finally catch up with him.

Ancient history. 

He stops. That’s not true. It’s not ancient history. Not for her. For him, maybe, because it was thousands of years ago. But for her, that night on the penthouse balcony and everything that happened after—the beach, her near-death experience, his disappearance and then his return with Candy on his arm—is far more recent. It’s a wound that hasn’t yet healed. He knows because it wasn’t that long ago that she stood before him, tears streaming down her face, and said You let me fall in love with you and then you married someone else. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?

Shame washes over him. He knew he’d hurt her, but he didn’t know it was deep enough to still bleed. The pain in her voice out on that patio, though, made it crystal clear that it’s an open wound, not a scar. 

He can’t ignore that. Not if he wants to be good enough for her. 

“Detective,” he murmurs.

Her eyes flicker briefly down to his mouth. “Hm?” 

His chest aches. She has no idea what he’s about to say to her. He doesn’t want to say it. Maybe he doesn’t have to. It’s not like she asked him to. He could just...put it off. Pretend it doesn’t matter until she tells him it does. 

Tell the truth, a voice that sounds like hers whispers in the back of his mind. 

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he says before he can lose his nerve.

He watches as suspicion blossoms in her eyes. His clever Detective. She always knows when something is wrong.

“Okay,” she says quietly. Her eyebrows furrow. “What is it?”

He takes a deep breath and takes the plunge.

“It’s about Candy.”

Chapter 18: Eighteen

Notes:

Life got a little crazy last week so I didn't have time to respond to any comments, but I read them and loved them and y'all are great.

Chapter Text

“It’s about Candy.” 

For a brief, absurd moment, all Chloe can think about is candy. Like, actual candy. Snickers bars and Skittles and the gummy bears Lucifer loves. 

And then it hits her. He’s talking about Candy. 

His wife.

“Oh,” she says softly.

Lucifer is looking at her like he’s about to tell her something truly awful, and nausea roils her stomach and pushes up into her throat. She feels like she’s going to throw up. She swallows it down. 

It takes her a second to find her voice again. When she does, she’s ashamed of how small and scared it sounds.

“Please tell me you aren’t still married.”

He frowns at her. “No, no, of course not.” 

Relief washes over her, but it’s followed by a sense of dread. “Then what is it?”

He reaches for his cufflink, realizes that his shirt sleeves are rolled, and stares down at his wrist in surprise for a second before clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders. 

“Well you see, Candy and I…” 

He trails off. His eyes dart toward the stove, and then flicker to the island, and then glance toward a spot in the distance over her shoulder. He’s looking at everything except her. 

“She wasn’t actually...” he tries again. He doesn’t finish.

The sense of dread is building in Chloe’s chest, pressing against her lungs and leaving her breathless. “Lucifer,” she pleads. Whatever he’s got to say, it can’t be worse than standing here waiting for him to get the words out. 

“We weren’t real,” he blurts out.

He says it like it’s a grand revelation, but Chloe has no idea what he’s talking about. She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“She wasn’t what she appeared to be,” he tries to clarify.

Chloe frowns. “You mean a stripper?”

“Exotic dancer,” he corrects.

She gives him a look.

He winces. “Not the time for semantics,” he says quietly. “Apologies.”

Chloe folds her arms over her chest and waits for more of an explanation.

Lucifer shifts from one foot to the other and rolls his shoulders the way he does when his wings are out. She wonders if he’s tempted to unfurl them and fly away rather than tell her whatever it is he’s about to tell her, but she doesn't ask. She doesn’t want to know.

“She was playing a part,” he says. “She and I weren’t…” He waves his hand in a vague gesture between them that Chloe has no idea how to interpret. “It wasn’t a real marriage. I legally married her because I don’t lie, and I couldn’t say she was my wife if she wasn’t, so I made her my wife. But it wasn’t real.”

Chloe stares at him, dumbfounded.  

Lucifer blinks at her for a moment, and then seems to decide that she needs more information. 

“She was just a friend, Detective,” he says quietly. “There was no whirlwind romance. There wasn’t even sex. It was just…well, a business arrangement.” 

Chloe’s brain stutters over the words. She replays them in her head twice, three times, and then they finally sink in.

“You’re telling me you got fake married,” she says. 

He frowns at the stove. “Well that’s not exactly how I’d word it. It was, as I said, legally binding. But I…” 

He glances up at her. The expression on her face seems to rob him of the rest of his explanation. He swallows, and then nods. 

“Yes.” 

The word echoes in the air like a gunshot. Chloe’s brain immediately conjures up memories she’s tried to forget. Candy’s pink dress, and the giant rock on her fourth finger, and her incessant giggle. The shine of a wedding ring on Lucifer’s finger. The words my wife coming out of his mouth.

She spent that whole case with a permanent lump in her throat. Even at her angriest, even when she wanted nothing more than to punch Lucifer hard enough to smudge his eyeliner, she was only ever a breath away from tears. She feels that way now, too. She feels like someone is twisting her heart the way they’d wring out a soaked towel. 

She takes a step back from him, suddenly in desperate need of space, and curls her hand around the edge of the countertop to steady herself. Lucifer flinches a little when she moves back, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t try to recover the space. 

“You lied to me?” she whispers.

“No,” he says firmly, holding up a hand. “I didn’t lie. She was—”

“You lied, Lucifer. Technicalities might appease your millions of one night stands, but not me. Not about this.” 

Lucifer blinks at her, stunned. She tightens her hold on the counter. The stone is cold and hard beneath her fingertips. She wills herself to be the same.

“Why?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What?” 

“You married her, but it wasn’t real. Why?” 

He exhales. “Detective, it’s—”

“I swear to god if you say it’s complicated I’m going to scream.”

“But it was complicated.”

“God damn it, Lucifer,” she sighs, rubbing her forehead. 

She expects him to make a comment about his father, but he doesn’t. When she drops her hand, she finds him watching her with a slight wince, like he’s afraid of what she’s going to say next. Rage boils in her gut. He doesn’t get to act like she’s overreacting about this. He doesn’t get to make her feel stupid for being jealous and hurt and furious. He married someone else and broke her heart and it wasn’t even real.

She brandishes her finger and reaches across the distance between them to prod him in the chest. “You kissed me back on that beach.”

“Yes,” he agrees quietly.

“You saved my life. You went to Hell for me.”

“Yes.”

“And then you ghosted me and hired a stripper to pretend to be your wife.”

He closes his eyes briefly as if her words are physically hurting him. “Yes.”

“Why?” she snarls at him. “So you didn’t have to tell me to my face that you were having second thoughts about us?” 

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Was the idea of committing to me that awful for you?” 

“No, Detective.”  

“Then what was it? What would possess you to...I mean, you brought her to the precinct, Lucifer. To my job. You made me watch the two of you together when you knew that I—” 

Her voice catches and she stops talking abruptly. She swallows around the vise-like grip of emotion on her throat. Her eyes feel hot with tears, and she hates that. She’s so tired of crying. She’s so tired of getting emotionally bludgeoned every time she lets her guard down with him.

“How could you do that to me?” 

He looks devastated. “I was trying to protect you.”

“From what?

“From me.” 

That catches her off guard. She gapes at him, speechless.

“And my father,” he adds as an afterthought. His body tilts toward her like he wants to close the distance between them, but he doesn’t. “I meant every word I said on that beach, Detective. I wanted you. I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But then Mum told me about my father’s hand in your creation and I…”

He trails off. Chloe struggles to keep up, to change gears, and it takes her a second, but then she realizes what he’s saying. Her heart twists again.

“And you didn’t want me anymore,” she says, her voice wavering.

He blinks at her like he’s shocked, and then his expression hardens. “No. My feelings never changed. I just didn’t think you wanted me.

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“I thought you were being forced. I thought that if my father made you for me, then that meant he forced you to care about me. That you had no control, and you only wanted me because you had to. Because you were made to feel that way. I may be the Devil, Detective, but I’ve no interest in a relationship where one party hasn’t been given the opportunity to consent. No one deserves to be damned to a life with me unless they choose it.” 

The self-loathing in his voice as he spits the last sentence at her takes her breath away. “Lucifer,” she murmurs.

“I wanted to do right by you,” he forges on. “I wanted to protect you. So I left. But I couldn’t…” 

His voice breaks a little, and the determined expression on his face shivers just long enough for her to catch a glimpse of agony. 

“I couldn’t stay away from you,” he continues. “I tried to let you go, but I couldn’t bear it. So I thought if I put a barrier between us, if I gave you a reason to move on and find someone better, someone who actually deserved you, then I could spare you from being my father’s pawn and still get to keep some part of you for myself.”

Chloe stares at him. Everything makes sense all of a sudden. How insistent he was about them being just friends. How quickly he got an annulment and then never spoke of it again. How often he pushed her to go out and have fun and meet someone, only to turn around and be furious and jealous and hurt when she started dating Pierce. 

She can’t stop thinking about the awe in his voice when he whispered This is real, isn’t it? She remembers that day in the interrogation room not too long ago when he told her that he, too, had felt betrayed when he found out she was a miracle. She aches at the realization of how awful it must have been for him to realize that there was a chance it wasn’t real after all. 

The tears that have been sitting in her eyes finally spill down her cheeks. Lucifer lifts his hand like he wants to wipe them away, but catches himself. His hand hovers between them, and then drops. 

“I’m sorry that I hurt you, Detective,” he says, dropping his gaze to the floor. “I realize that my intentions don’t nullify the consequences of my actions. I recognize that the damage I’ve done to your trust could be irreversible. If this alters the way you feel about me or our relationship, then I...I understand.”

Chloe blinks at him for a second, stunned by such a sincere apology coming from a man who’s been so unwilling to admit fault in the past. She wonders if, like her betrayal with Kinley, this is another one of those things he came to terms with during his thousands of years in Hell. 

She wipes her tears away and steps into the space between them. “It does change things, Lucifer.”

He looks devastated. “I und—”

“It makes me love you more.”

He whips his head up to look at her. “What?”

“I was wrong before,” she says, leaning closer to him. “When I said that you always put what you want above what I want. That’s not true. You made yourself vulnerable again for me. You waited for me when I needed time to deal with finding out that I was a miracle. And now this.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Detective, I don’t think you understand what I’m saying.”

“Yes I do.”

He shakes his head. “No, I...I broke your heart.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “And I wish you hadn’t. I wish you would’ve told me everything. All of it. Who you are and how you saved me and what you wanted. But I understand why you didn’t. And I don’t blame you for it.”

“But I hurt you,” he insists. 

She lifts a shoulder. “I hurt you when I ran away after I first saw your face. And when I worked with Kinley.”

“That’s different.”

“Why? Because you think I deserve forgiveness and you don’t?” 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He looks baffled. It’d be adorable if it wasn’t breaking her heart. 

“I forgive you,” she says, just to make it crystal clear. “If you’re looking for punishment, you won’t find it here.”

She knows he recognizes that she’s using his own words because his eyes widen a little. He searches her gaze, and then lets out a soft, surprised exhalation. 

“Just like that?” he murmurs. 

She smiles. “What did you want me to do? Scream at you? Give you the silent treatment for a week?”

He tilts his head. “Well, you are very adept at speaking through silence.”

She laughs at that. “Yeah. But I’m not bad with words either.” She lifts a hand to his chest and presses it over his heart. “I love you, Lucifer.”

He stares at her in wonder, his mouth hanging slightly open, and then he finally reaches for her. His hands smooth over her hips. 

“I don’t want to break your heart again.”

She shrugs. “So don’t.”

“I’m not sure it’s that simple, Detective. I’ve always had good intentions when it comes to you, and yet I—”

“Really?” she cuts him off. “Your intentions for me have always been pure?”

“Well I don’t think I’d say pure.

“Mhmm,” she hums with a smirk. 

He smiles at her, affection clear in his eyes, but then his smile fades. “It’s not just Monopoly I struggle with. I’m afraid I’m not very good at being in a relationship. And I fear that my inexperience and ignorance will cause you additional pain.”

“Look, Lucifer, I may have more experience than you, but that doesn’t mean I’m great at this, okay? I’m divorced. I almost married an immortal crime boss. I’m not an expert by any stretch of the imagination. But I do know that if we want to be together, then we have to do things together.”

He frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“All of our lowest points, all the times when I hurt you, or you hurt me, it was because one or both of us was trying to deal with something alone. We were scared, or hurt, or angry, and instead of communicating that to each other we just…”

“Ran off to Vegas and married a stripper?” he offers with a smile.

“Exotic dancer,” she corrects with a smile of her own.

He laughs, short and surprised, and she grins. 

She brushes her hand over the stubble on his cheek. “I want this to work, Lucifer.”

“I do as well.”

“Okay, then, let’s make a deal.”

“You want to make a deal with the Devil?”

“I want to make a deal with my boyfriend.”

He looks thrilled. “Alright,” he says, smiling broadly.

“From now on, we don’t make decisions for each other. We make them with each other. We don’t just assume we know how the other person is feeling or what they’re thinking. We ask. When we’re upset or angry, we talk about it. And when we’re scared, we don’t run.” 

His arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer. “I think I can manage that,” he murmurs. “Though you may have to be patient with me.”

“I can do that.” She threads her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “No more running, Lucifer.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead against hers. “No more running,” he echoes.

Chloe closes her eyes and breathes him in. His hair is soft against her fingers. His chest is close to hers, and she can feel the heat of his body radiating outward.  

The upbeat song that was emanating from the speakers fades, and another one starts. It’s slower. A guitar strums gently, and then a soulful voice starts to sing.

 

Your precious love 

Means more to me 

Than any love could ever be

 

Chloe smiles. She thinks of the celestial karaoke jam they were stuck in last week, and how Lucifer’s father had said that music sometimes makes it easier to communicate feelings. She knows he’s in another universe and isn’t responding to Lucifer’s prayers for help, but she can’t help but marvel at the coincidence of lyrics like that coming on at this exact moment. 

“Who is this singing?” she asks Lucifer. 

“Otis Redding.” 

“Never heard of him.” 

Lucifer leans back to look at her with a smile. “Not surprising, considering your repertoire consists mostly of 90s jams by boy bands with ridiculous names like Ferocious Garden.”

Chloe blinks at him for a second, confused, and then she realizes what he means. She laughs. “They’re called Savage Garden, Lucifer.”

“Whatever. Complete rubbish.”

“They are not,” she says, sliding her hands down to his chest to shove him lightly. “You said you liked the song I played for you.”

“I said no such thing. I said it didn’t make my ear drums bleed as profusely as whatever song you’d played before that. Something about waterfalls.”

Chloe lifts her chin in defiance. “Well I don’t care what you think. I like it.” 

“What on earth for?”

“Because it makes me feel nostalgic. It was playing the first time I ever slow danced with a boy.” 

Lucifer’s expression darkens. “What boy?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just a boy, Lucifer.” 

“Well was he a good dancer?” 

Chloe shrugs. “My teenage self thought so.”

Lucifer harrumphs at her. Chloe rolls her eyes at him again, and then disentangles herself from his arms and turns toward the stove. She’s still starving. She grabs a sandwich and takes a bite, and then hums under her breath. They really are delicious. She has the sandwich halfway to her mouth for another bite when Lucifer plucks it out of her hand and drops it back onto the baking sheet.

Chloe looks up at him with a frown. “Hey.”

He ignores her. He dips her sauce-covered thumb and index finger quickly into his mouth to clean them, and then wraps his hand around hers. His other arm slides around her waist and pulls her close. And then, suddenly, they’re swaying.

Chloe stares at him, taken aback. He gazes down at her with a self-satisfied smile on his face. 

“Um,” she says when she finally manages to find her voice again. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says airily. He lifts his arm and pushes her gently away from him, spinning her in a circle, and then pulls her close again. “Just dancing with my girlfriend.” 

Chloe blinks at him, still stunned. He continues to sway with her, apparently unbothered by her shock. 

When she finally realizes what’s happening, she has to press her lips together to keep a grin at bay. He can say nothing until he’s blue in the face, but she knows exactly what he’s doing. She told him that another man was good at something, and now he wants to prove he’s better. God forbid he not be the best at everything.

A wave of affection washes over her. She tilts closer to him, and he holds her tighter and smiles. Otis Redding’s voice croons through the kitchen, low and soulful. 

 

For as long as you’re in love with me now

I know our love will grow wider

And deeper than any sea

 

Temptation flickers before Chloe’s eyes. She doesn’t resist. 

“You know,” she says, letting her voice lift into something innocent, “he was actually the first boy I ever kissed too.”

The smile freezes on Lucifer’s face.

“All my friends had terrible first kisses, but mine was actually pretty great,” she continues. “Just the right amount of—”

Lucifer’s mouth crashing down onto hers cuts off the rest of her sentence. Chloe smiles against his lips, a laugh bubbling up through her chest. He’s so easy to rile up. God, she loves him.

He palms the small of her back and holds her flush against him, and swipes his tongue along the seam of her lips. Her amusement fades as heat flares deep in her body. She opens her mouth for him. He hums, low and pleased, and drops her hand so that he can lift his to hold her face. His palm is warm on her cheek. 

They stop swaying. She curls her hands around his neck, holding his face against hers. He steps into her, pressing her backward and into the island, and the lightness of the previous moment dissolves into something headier. His mouth leaves hers and trails down her neck. She closes her eyes at the feel of his tongue on her skin. His hands slide along her hips, his thumbs dipping beneath the hem of her shirt to ghost over her skin, and she shudders.

“Detective,” he murmurs. He scrapes his teeth against her throat and then soothes the spot with his tongue. “I know you said you’d rather not—”

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, grabbing his face and lifting his mouth back to hers. 

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He kisses her hard, and then his hands tighten on her hips and he lifts her up onto the island. She wraps her legs around his waist the moment her ass hits the counter, pulling him closer to where she wants him. His hands slide up her thighs, his palms hot through the fabric of her jeans. 

A faint pop echoes through the kitchen.

“Blimey, you two are like a pair of rabbits, aren’t you?” Constantine’s voice cuts through the room.

Chloe startles and pulls back from Lucifer’s mouth in surprise. 

Lucifer seems far less surprised and far more annoyed. 

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, burying his face in Chloe’s chest. “Can we not just have one minute alone?”

Constantine, who is standing off to Chloe’s right with an amused smirk on his face, snorts. “Only need a minute, do you?”

Lucifer lifts his head out of Chloe’s chest to glare at the sorcerer. “There’s a special place in Hell for cock blocks, you know.”

Constantine grins. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Chloe bites her lip around a smile and taps her hands on Lucifer’s chest. “Later, yeah?” she says softly.

He turns back to her and drops his gaze to her mouth. “Or he could come back later once we’re finished.”

Chloe just smiles at him, waiting.

He sighs dramatically. “Fine.”

She leans forward to peck him lightly on the lips. “Love you.”

“Yes, well, you can prove that to me later,” he grumbles as he steps back from between her legs. “Repeatedly.”

“Deal,” she says, hopping off the counter and onto the floor. 

Lucifer arches an eyebrow at her. 

Chloe grins at him, and then turns toward Constantine. “So? How’d it go?”

Constantine slides his hands into his pockets. “There’s good news and bad news. Which would you like first?”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He gestures at her. 

“Good news,” she tells Constantine. 

“Death has agreed to meet with you. I don’t know her as well as you do, Luci, but she seemed troubled by what I told her. I’ve a feeling she’s going to side with you.”

Chloe and Lucifer share a look. He smiles at her, and she exhales a heavy sigh of relief. Nothing is fixed yet. They don’t know for sure that Death will agree to help them. But she feels lighter all of a sudden, the same way she does when she gets a break in a difficult case. They have hope now. Something to hang onto.

“And the bad news?” Lucifer asks.

Constantine sighs. “She won’t meet with you for another week. Sunday morning, to be exact. And she wants to meet in New York.”

Chloe’s heart plummets into her stomach. A week? She has to be away from Trixie for an entire week?

“Why New York?” Lucifer asks.

“You know her once a century schtick,” Constantine says, waving his hand. “Apparently next week is the day, and she’ll be in New York to do it. You’re to meet her in Battery Park at dawn after her day ends. She said she’d find you.”

“What do you mean, once a century schtick?” Chloe asks.

Lucifer turns toward her. “Once every century, Death inhabits the body of a mortal who is destined to die that day.”

Chloe frowns. “Why?”

“She says it keeps her grounded in her purpose,” Lucifer says, lifting his voice as if to mimic Death’s tone. “She thinks it helps her understand humans. I’ve tried to tell her there are far easier ways to understand humans than inhabiting a body as it hurtles toward its sticky end, but she never cared much for sex.”

“There’s more to living than just sex, you know,” Constantine observes.

Lucifer smirks at him. “Spoken like a man who’s bad at it.”

Constantine bristles. “You’re a right git, you know that? Here I am doing you a favor and you—”

“Okay,” Chloe interrupts, holding out her hand. “He didn’t mean that, Constantine.”

“I most certainly did,” Lucifer says.

Chloe gives him a look. 

Lucifer sighs and fusses with one of his rolled sleeves. “I suppose since I haven’t actually slept with you myself, I can’t speak of your abilities with authority.”

“Is that your idea of an apology?” Constantine asks incredulously. 

“Guys, come on,” Chloe sighs. “Can you behave like grown ups for, like, five minutes?”

Lucifer and Constantine glower at each other, but neither of them says anything else.

“So New York in a week,” Chloe says into the tense silence. “And there’s no wiggle room?”

Constantine shakes his head. “Afraid not, darling. Your boyfriend said she could name the time and place, and she has.”

Chloe turns toward Lucifer. “How are we going to get to New York? We can’t fly.”

“Why?” Constantine asks. And then he grins. “Luci, are you afraid of heights?” 

“I have wings, you imbecile,” Lucifer says in disgust. “I can fly.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not afraid of heights,” Constantine says with a shrug. 

“We can’t fly because we’re on the run,” Chloe clarifies before Lucifer can snap at him. “The guy leading the search for us has connections at the state and federal level and he’s personally invested in finding me. Our pictures are probably already posted in every airport, train station, and bus terminal in the western United States.”

Constantine whistles. “Doesn’t play around, eh?”

Chloe shakes her head. “Not Jax.” She looks at Lucifer. “Can you get us a private jet? Maybe through Javier?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “Mazikeen knows all of my air travel contacts. And I’m certain she’s already gotten to Javier, so she knows we’re no longer in L.A. She’ll be waiting for us to show ourselves. The fewer people we involve, the better.”

Chloe folds her arms over her chest. “Okay. Then I guess we’ve only got one option.”

Lucifer and Constantine frown at her.  

“Road trip,” she says with a shrug.

Lucifer gapes at her. “You’re joking.”

Constantine smirks. “I don’t think she’s joking, mate.”

“What other choice do we have?” Chloe asks Lucifer. “We have a week to get to New York. We can’t take an airplane, a bus, or a train. We already have the Escalade and IDs and cash. So we’ll drive. We’ll stay in places that are under the radar, keep our heads down, and get to New York without anyone noticing us.”

Lucifer opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

Constantine is grinning. “I’d pay a bloody fortune to see this prima donna in a roadside motel where he has to lug his own bags into a room without a view.”

“John,” Chloe warns.

It’s too late. Lucifer glares at Constantine. “I suppose you think Hell is a five-star resort then?”

Constantine shrugs. “You’ve got full control of the loops, don’t you? You can make it whatever you want.”

“Yes, but it’s not real,” Lucifer spits at him. “It’s like cotton candy when you’re starving.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe says gently, pressing her hand to his chest.

He ignores her. “You think you’ve suffered in this world, John, but you’ve no concept of what that word even means. You can’t even begin to fathom despair or isolation. You have no idea. Yes, I come to earth and indulge. But you bloody well would too if you were me and you had to spend millennia in that Dad forsaken place.”

Constantine blinks at him, taken aback. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe calls again. “Babe. Look at me.”

The pet name immediately draws his eyes to hers. 

“You don’t owe him an explanation,” she tells him quietly. “And you don’t need to justify yourself.”

Lucifer gazes at her. She watches as the anger dissolves from his eyes. He covers her hand with his, his palm warm on the back of her knuckles, and she lifts her other hand to rub gently over his back. 

“Sorry, mate,” Constantine says quietly into the silence. “I didn’t mean…” He clears his throat. “Sorry.”

Lucifer ignores him and keeps his eyes fixed on Chloe. She doesn’t break his gaze until she feels the muscles in his back relax beneath her hand.  

She looks at Constantine. “I have a favor to ask before you go.”

Constantine lifts his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“Can you keep an eye on my daughter?”

“Detective,” Lucifer starts.

“Dream wants to take me from you, right?” she cuts him off, meeting his gaze. “That’s what you said.”

“Well I don’t know that for sure. It’s just a theory.”

“But it’s the only one we’ve got. And it’s not working the way he wants it to. What if, at some point in the next week, he decides to up the ante? What if he goes after her?”

“I’m not strong enough to stop Dream on my own, Detective,” Constantine says.

“But you’ll know if something goes wrong,” Chloe insists. “You’ll know if things have changed, or if she’s in danger, and you can warn us. Right?”

Constantine nods warily. “Yes, that’s true.”

“Then do it. Please. Whatever you want from me in exchange, it’s yours. Just keep an eye on her.”

Constantine shakes his head. “I don’t—”

“You have a favor from me at your disposal if you agree,” Lucifer interrupts. “A blank check, to be cashed by either you or Zatanna whenever and however you please.”

Chloe looks up at him. “Lucifer, you don’t—”

“Do we have a deal or not, John?” Lucifer asks.

Constantine glances between them briefly, and then nods. 

“We have a deal.”


Unlike the first time the Detective watched Constantine disappear into thin air, the second time hardly seems to faze her. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, turning to face Lucifer when Constantine is gone.

Lucifer frowns. “Do what?”

“Give him an open-ended favor like that.”

Lucifer waves off her concern. “You needn’t worry, Detective. He won’t cash it in. He’ll give it to Zatanna in an attempt to win her back.”

“Yeah, but what if he doesn’t?”

“He will.”

“Lucifer,” she sighs, rubbing her forehead. “You can’t just...you can’t keep giving out favors for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re yours,” she says, gesturing at him impatiently. “That’s, like, your thing. You shouldn’t have to—”

“Detective,” he cuts her off, lifting his hands to her face. “I don’t do things I don’t want to do.”

“I know, but—”

“What’s mine is yours. Now and always. Alright?”

She stares at him, her eyes wide and her mouth open. Eventually, she nods. “Alright.”

“Splendid,” he says. He drops his hands and turns toward the stove. “Now, I’m starving, and I know you are, so let’s take these out to the patio and enjoy this beautiful night, hm?”

She smirks at him. “We have a road trip to plan, Lucifer.”

“Of course,” he says. “After we eat the best thing you’ve ever tasted and drink this entire bottle of very expensive wine. And maybe feel each other up a little.”

She snorts. 

He grins at her and presses a kiss to her hairline. “You get the wine. I’ll get the food.”

She shoots him an affectionate smile that makes his heart do that flipping thing in his chest, and then turns toward the wine glasses. 

It’s a gorgeous night outside. They settle onto one of the couches in the seating area sunken into the pool. The stars are glittering above them, and the Vegas skyline is gleaming in the distance. It’s a little chilly, so he grabs one of the cashmere blankets sitting crumpled nearby and drapes it over the Detective’s legs before he joins her.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, smiling at him over the rim of her wine glass. 

He can hear the fondness in her voice, and it makes him feel warm. He likes how touched she is by small gestures. He wonders if she knows how hard he works to seek them out and seize them. It’s one of the things he thought about most often in Hell during their separation—all the moments he’d wasted focusing on himself instead of on her. 

They eat mostly in silence. It’s comfortable, and he finds himself marveling at it. He’s always felt the need to entertain women. They’d have no reason to stay otherwise. But the Detective isn’t like that. Her desire to be with him doesn’t seem dependent on how clever or charming or funny he is at any given moment. 

Wonders never cease, he thinks, admiring the way her hair gleams in the glow of the fire. 

“Can I ask you something?” she murmurs.

He gestures at her with his wine glass. “By all means.”

“You might not like it.”

He chuckles. “Do your worst, Detective.”

She sizes him up for a minute, and then she says, “Why do people keep calling you Lightbringer?”

He freezes with his glass halfway to his mouth. That’s not what he expected her to ask. 

“Maze said it back at the penthouse,” she says quietly, almost apologetically. “And Constantine said it earlier.” 

He stares down into his glass, swirling the red liquid as a million memories fight for dominance. He’s spent millennia hardening himself against the trauma of his fall. But there’s something about the Detective’s presence that makes it all feel fresh. Her impact on his vulnerability isn’t just physical, it seems.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she murmurs. 

The softness in her voice makes him ache. He’s always admired this about her. She’s curious by nature and profession, and she’s demanded answers from him on more than one occasion, but he’s never felt as though her search for answers was a violation. Her deference to his comfort level has been particularly strong since they started sleeping together. When she said I only want what you’re willing to give in the shadow of his wings back in that dark alley in L.A., he knew she meant it. 

“I can’t speak for John,” he tells her, meeting her gaze. “But Maze said it because she knew it would upset me.”

The Detective frowns. “Why would it upset you?”

“Because that’s who I was before I fell. The Latin translation of Lucifer is Lightbringer. That’s why, when we first met, I told you that my name was God-given. It’s one of the things I was created to do. Father said let there be light, and I made it so.”

The Detective blinks at him. He can see the wheels turning in her head. She purses her lips sometimes when she’s trying to connect the dots. It makes him want to kiss her.

“So the sun,” she says slowly. “That was...that was you? You literally lit the sun?”

“I did, yes.”

She glances up at the sky, and then back at him. “And the stars?”

“Also me.” He glances upward with a wistful smile. “The stars are my favorite.” 

He studies the patterns in the sky he knows like the back of his hand, and then glances down at the Detective again. She’s gaping at him. 

“Impressed?” he teases. 

She leans toward him, a thoughtful look on her face. “Do you think that’s what happened outside the club?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you said you’re the Lightbringer. And that’s what you did. You brought light. Literally.”

He frowns at her, caught off guard by the connection he never made, and then he nods. “You know, Detective, I think you’re right. I must have summoned my old skills.”

“You said you’d never done it before.”

“Not on earth. Not like that.”

“So what changed?”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

She squints, studying him the way he’s sometimes seen her study a whiteboard full of case notes. “You should try it again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The laser beam hands thing,” she clarifies. “Try it again.”

He sighs. “They’re not laser beam hands.”

“Light beam. Whatever. You should see if you can do it again.”

He huffs at her and sets his wine glass down on a nearby table. “I’m not a bloody comic book hero, Detective. I don’t have superpowers that I can call upon whenever I please.”

She shrugs and sips her wine. “If you’re afraid to try it again, you don’t have to.”

He blinks at her, extremely offended. “Excuse me, I am not—” 

And then he notices the glint in her eye. 

He narrows his eyes at her. “I know what you’re doing.” 

“I’m not doing anything,” she says innocently. “I’m just saying.”

“Fine then,” he says, helpless against the urge to rise to her challenge. He straightens on the couch and holds his hands out in front of him. “Watch and be amazed.”

He narrows his eyes, takes a deep breath, and calls on the power that dwells deep within him. Light, he silently commands.

Nothing happens. 

He frowns. He glances between his hands, takes a deep breath, and makes his internal command more forceful, more like something he’d shout at an unruly demon. 

Light!

Nothing.

He huffs in frustration. He sits up straighter, scooting his ass toward the edge of the couch, and focuses on just one hand. He studies the lines of his palm, furrows his eyebrows, and focuses. Let there be light, he thinks. Let there be LIGHT!

Still nothing.

“Lucifer,” the Detective says gently. 

He can hear it in her voice—she thinks he can’t do it—and that annoys him. 

“I can do it,” he insists. 

She presses her lips together and doesn’t argue. 

He focuses on just one of his fingers, and summons the same well of pain and heartbreak that helped him ignite the flaming sword. When nothing happens, he reaches out for more. The hatred in the urchin’s eyes in the beach parking lot. The steel in the Doctor’s voice when she told him he wasn’t worthy. Ms. Lopez saying that he didn’t deserve the Detective. The fear and devastation in the Detective’s eyes inside the club.

His heart constricts. His eyes water. He feels that familiar weight sitting on his chest again, and he can barely breathe around it, but there’s still no light.

There’s nothing. 

“Light,” he mutters. “Light, damn it.”

He tries again, focusing in on the grief and the agony he felt when the Detective cried in his arms last night after her dream, but nothing happens. He’s just as helpless and useless now as he was then.

A sudden wave of fury crashes over him. He sweeps his arm out before he can stop himself and swats his wine glass, sending it flying across the seating area and into the glass wall around the pool. It shatters and splashes red liquid everywhere.

The Detective startles next to him, and he knows he’s frightened her. Shame heats his face. He wants to apologize, but the words wither and die on his lips. He buries his head in his hands. 

A moment passes. He hears rustling nearby, but doesn’t look up. The Detective’s fingers stroke through the hair on the side of his head all of a sudden, and he flinches. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers.

“Apologies,” he rasps. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.”

Liar, he almost says. He doesn’t. 

Her fingers stop stroking his hair. He misses the contact immediately but doesn’t say so. She’s too kind. If he asks for it, she’ll give it to him whether she wants to or not. 

He feels something bump the inside of his knee, and he opens his eyes but doesn’t lift his head. He sees her sensible boots standing between his feet, and her legs between his thighs. Her hands smooth over either side of his head. 

“Look at me, Lucifer.”

There’s gentle authority in her voice. He lifts his head to look at her. 

She smiles at him. It makes him hurt. Something so beautiful shouldn’t look at him with so much love. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

“You shouldn’t apologize when you’ve done nothing wrong,” he tells her. He sighs. “I was merely frustrated with myself. I can’t seem to make it work.”

“That’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” he growls. “What if you’re in danger again? What good am I to you if I can’t protect you?”

“Please tell me you don’t mean that.”

He frowns at her. “I can assure you, I do.”

She sighs at him. It’s not annoyance—he knows that sigh intimately. It’s something else. Like the way she reacts when she’s asked her offspring to do her homework several times but the child still hasn’t done it. There’s affection in it. Fondness. 

She curls her fingers around his shoulders and climbs into his lap without warning. He’s surprised, but he doesn’t complain. He’ll never complain about her being in his lap. 

She drapes her arms around his neck and ducks forward so that he has no choice but to look her in the eye. “I love you.”

It’s his turn to sigh at her. “Detective—”

“I,” she cuts him off, her voice firm. “Love. You. You, Lucifer. Not what you can do, or what you can give me. I love you for who you are. I don’t care if you never use your laser beam hands again.”

“I swear to Dad, if you don’t stop calling them that…”

She laughs. Her nails scratch along the back of his scalp, and it takes some serious effort for him not to purr like a contented cat. 

“I love you,” she whispers. She leans forward, and brushes her lips gently over his. “I love you so much.”

Say it back, he thinks. Say it.

But just like with his light, he can’t seem to bring the words to the surface. She kisses him again, and the fact that she’s clearly not expecting him to say it back makes him feel worse. He searches for something to give her, something to say, something to make her understand that he wants to say the words even if he can’t yet. 

Maybe someone else’s words will do until he can find his own. 

“My heart is full of you,” he whispers into her mouth. She starts to pull back but he holds her fast, his nose bumping hers gently as he presses his forehead against hers. “None other than you in my thoughts, yet when I seek to say to you something not for the world, words fail me.”

She doesn’t move except for her chest, rising and falling near his. 

“Emily Dickinson said that,” he tells her quietly, lifting his hand to her face. “But it’s…it’s an appropriate representation of how I feel about you as well.”

Her breath seems to catch. He kisses her before she can say anything. He kisses her the way he dreamt of kissing her for thousands of years down in Hell, where the only respite he had from the darkness and despair were the moments when he closed his eyes and thought of her. He kisses her like he wants to kiss her for the rest of eternity. Like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him. 

She is. 

He drops his hand from her face down to the couch to steady himself, and then wraps his other arm around her waist and pulls her closer. She shifts in his lap, her legs spreading to bracket his hips, and he feels a familiar heat start to build within him. He wants her. 

He trails his mouth across her jaw, and then down the column of her neck. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes.

He flicks his tongue over her throat and tastes her skin. He loves the way she tastes. 

“Lucifer,” she says more insistently. Her hands press against his chest as if to push him away. 

He leans back and finds her staring at his side with wide eyes. He follows her gaze, confused, and then he sees it.

His hand is on fire. 

He stares at it, stunned. No other part of him is alight. Just his right hand, which moments ago had been pressed against the Detective’s face. It’s glowing brightly in the darkness of the night, a mix of blinding white and golden yellow. There are flames flickering over his skin, but he can’t feel them. There’s no sensation of burning. He doesn’t even feel warm.

“You did it,” she whispers.

He frowns as he lifts his hand to get a closer look. “How?”

“You tell me.”

He doesn’t have an answer. He can’t stop staring at his hand. He twists it to scan his knuckles, and then turns it back over to study his palm. It’s strangely beautiful. It reminds him of the way he looked eons ago, before he fell. Back when his wings were a source of pride, and the sound of his given name didn’t fill him with despair. Back when he spread the stars across the sky, and was proud when his father told him they were good.

His memories fade when the Detective reaches toward him slowly. He goes still, his hand frozen in the air. He trusts her to pull her hand back when she starts to feel the heat of the flames, but she doesn’t pull back. Her hand inches toward his, and then her fingertips brush lightly over the slight curve of his palm. 

“I don’t feel it,” she whispers in wonder.

He looks up at her. “You don’t?”

“I mean, it’s warm,” she says, meeting his gaze. “But it’s not...it doesn’t burn.” 

She glances down at his hand again, and he follows her gaze. She strokes her fingers over his palm, her touch soft but sure, and he wonders why he can feel her so distinctly but she can’t feel the flames. 

She looks up at him. “Why did it hurt the cops in L.A. but it’s not hurting me?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and then weaves her fingers through his. He stares at their hands joined together, watching in awe as the flames lick over her skin but don’t burn her. 

And then, just as quickly as it happened, the flames disappear. 

“Oh,” she says quietly. She looks up at him. “Did you do that on purpose?”

“No.” He frowns at his hand, but it doesn’t ignite again. “I’m not sure how I did it in the first place, to be honest.”

“Well, the good news is we’re about to spend a week driving across the country,” she says with a smile. “You’ll have plenty of time to figure it out.”

“Indeed,” he hums, still frowning at his hand.

“Speaking of, we’ve got some planning to do. I’ll go grab that laptop I saw in the kitchen.”

She presses a quick kiss to his cheek, and then climbs off his lap and heads toward the house. He glances after her, and then turns his attention back to his hand. 

What the hell?


Chloe and Lucifer plot out their road trip with a bottle of wine, a pint of ice cream, and a laptop between them. 

They bicker over how far they’ll travel every day. They bicker about where they’ll stay and who will drive. He says ridiculous things. She rolls her eyes. They laugh a lot. 

At some point during a lull in conversation, Chloe glances up from the laptop and sees Lucifer watching the fire. He looks relaxed. His sleeves are still rolled up, and he’s slumped a little against the back of the couch. It’d make a hell of a photo, she thinks. Angel in Repose.  

He’s beautiful. Almost painfully so. His clothes look like they were made for him—and they probably were—but she knows he’s just as beautiful beneath those clothes. She’s traced the dips and curves of his muscles with her fingertips. She’s mapped the paths of his freckles with her mouth. She knows the way his body shudders when she flicks her tongue over his skin. She knows what he sounds like when he comes apart.

Desire throbs deep in her body. She wants him, and there’s nothing stopping her from having him, so she takes what she wants. 

He smiles against her lips when she kisses him, like he knew it was only a matter of time before she couldn’t resist him anymore. She doesn’t care if that’s what he thinks. It’s true.

They take their time, shedding their clothes slowly as they explore each other. When she finally sinks onto him, he sighs into her collarbone. It sounds like relief. She goes still for a moment, giving her body time to adjust. He brushes an open mouthed kiss over the bullet scar on her shoulder from their first case together. She wonders if he knows how often his mouth and his hands gravitate toward that scar. She’ll never ask him about it, though. She doesn’t want to make him self-conscious enough to stop. She likes it too much. 

His fingers curl around her hips and squeeze gently, an unspoken request. She hangs onto his shoulders, lifts her hips slowly, and then sinks back down. She does it again, and then again, until she’s set a slow but purposeful pace. 

She’s so focused on how good he feels that she almost doesn’t hear him whisper something into the hollow of her throat. 

“What?” she murmurs in his ear. 

His tongue traces a trail up the column of her throat and then he sucks lightly on her pulsepoint. “You feel like home,” he whispers against her skin.

The movement of her hips stutters to a stop. She goes still on top of him, breathless.

His palm smooths over her hip but he doesn’t urge her to move again. His chest rises and falls against hers, his skin warm even in the chilly night air. Her heart is thudding in her chest, pounding in her ears. 

She leans back to look at him, wondering if he realizes the magnitude of what he just said. He meets her gaze. There’s no regret in his eyes, but she’s still not sure. 

“Home?” she breathes. 

“It’s not L.A.,” he whispers, lifting a hand to her face. “It’s not Lux or Hell or the Silver City. It’s you, Chloe. You’re home.”

Emotion seizes her throat. Tears fill her eyes. “Lucifer,” she whispers. 

“I know those aren’t the words you want to hear,” he says, leaning toward her. “I know Shakespeare and Dickinson aren’t either.” 

“It’s okay.” 

And she means it. She wants to hear those words—she wants to hear them so badly—but not if he’s not ready. Not if they’re not real. 

“It’s like you said,” she tells him, carding her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. “No shortcuts. Take as much time as you need.”

That doesn’t seem to reassure him. He looks desperate, like a man searching for water in the desert.

“Tell me you know what you are to me,” he begs. “Tell me you know.”

She presses her forehead against his and closes her eyes. 

“I know, Lucifer,” she whispers. “I know.”

Chapter 19: Nineteen

Notes:

Man, you guys just keep saying the nicest stuff in my comments and I am so grateful for y’all. You’re turning me into a liar, though, because I said I like short and sweet author’s notes and yet here I am, giving you another long one so soon. Sorry. Imma be quiet the next few chapters, I promise.

When I decided I needed (yes, needed) to write this fic, I wanted it to accomplish two things. The first thing I can’t talk about because, like, spoilers. You’ll just have to wait for the climax of the story to see if I can pull it off (insert Lucifer innuendo about climaxing here.)

The second thing, though, was that I wanted to give Deckerstar an opportunity to develop into the couple I think they’ve always had the potential to be. Don’t get me wrong, I love the tension of will they/won’t they dynamics. But I think it’s just as interesting and sexy and angsty and funny to watch a couple learn how to actually *be* together. Especially these two, who are so complex. If you’ve always wanted to watch Deckerstar learn how to be a power couple, this is the fic for you.

But here’s the thing: Over the course of the next few chapters, you might be tempted to think that some of these Deckerstar moments are just filler, or fluff, or angst, or sex and nothing more. But that would be a mistake. In this fic, everything happens for a reason. I can’t pull off that first thing if I don’t do the second thing right. So pay attention ;)

Also, it probably goes without saying, but a Deckerstar road trip is a sexy road trip. It won’t all be NSFW and it won’t be every chapter, but some of this will definitely be adult. Mind the (lack of) rating from here on out.

K, that’s all. Love you boos.

Chapter Text

The Detective seems surprised when Lucifer offers her the car keys after breakfast the next morning.

“You want me to drive?” she says, frowning at him over the rim of her second cup of coffee. 

“Well of course. I have things to do.” 

“What do you—”

She stops abruptly when he snags the mug from her hands, and then sighs when he lifts it to his mouth. The taste of coffee floods his tongue, and he crinkles his nose. There’s not nearly enough whiskey in this. And by nearly enough, he means there’s none. He pulls his flask from his inside jacket pocket and adds a generous splash. She watches him with her eyebrows raised. He tastes the coffee, hums in satisfaction, and then offers her the mug again.

“Yeah, I’m not drinking that,” she tells him. “Especially if you want me to drive. Which, also, since when? Last night you were annoyingly insistent about driving the whole way.”

“That was before I was assigned homework,” he replies, tucking his flask away. “I am excellent at multitasking but there’s no need to tempt fate. Especially when your safety is involved.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to practice lighting my flame, darling.” 

She stares at him for a second, and then her nose scrunches adorably. “Please tell me that’s not a euphemism for pleasuring yourself.”

“What? No. My flame, Detective. Let there be light, remember?”

“Ohhh,” she says, her expression smoothing out. “Right. Your light. Duh.”

Lucifer sets the mug down on the island and steps closer to her. “I see someone woke up with her mind in the gutter.”

She smirks at him. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

“I did do a considerable amount of rubbing last night. You were very vocal in your approval.”

She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Walked right into that one.” 

“Indeed you did,” he says, grinning at her. 

She smiles and then presses her palm briefly against his chest. “Just let me use the bathroom and then we can go. Can you make me a coffee for the road?”

He beams at her. He likes when she asks him to do domestic things for her. She didn’t do that before they were together. “Of course, darling.”

“Don’t ruin it like you did the other one.”

He frowns. “I didn’t ruin it. I improved it. Substantially, I might add.” 

“No whiskey,” she warns, brandishing her index finger, and then she pats him on the chest affectionately and brushes past him toward the hall.

He waits until she’s rounded the corner and is out of sight to mutter, “Spoilsport.”

“Heard that,” she calls out. 

He sighs. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was the one in the relationship with preternaturally good hearing. He’s certain the urchin would agree if she were here.

The unexpected thought of the Detective’s offspring sends a bolt of pain through his chest. The child can’t agree with him because she’s not here. She’s back in L.A., probably crying about how much she misses her mother, and those tears are his burden to bear. The Detective’s ongoing nightmares—she had another last night after they went to bed, and she cried again—are his burden too. One of his enemies has forced everyone he cares about to dream terrible dreams and live a waking nightmare, and now he and the Detective are on the run, driving across the country like a modern version of Bonnie and Clyde. 

He can feel guilt starting to swell in his chest, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and reminds himself of what’s real. What’s true, even if it’s hard for him to wrap his mind around.

I choose you. I see you. I love you. 

He longs for the real version of the Detective instead of the figment whispering in his imagination, and immediately feels absurd. They’ve been apart for only a minute or so, and they’re not even really apart. They’re in the same house. She’ll be back before he knows it. There’s no need to be a bloody lunatic about it. 

But still, he aches for her. 

He busies himself with his assigned task in an effort to remind himself that he is the Devil, Lord of Hell and Prince of Darkness, and not a clingy, lovesick manchild. He makes her coffee the way she likes it—alcohol-free, dash of cream—and then refills his flask. He considers his liquor stash for a few moments after that, and then snags as many bottles as he can carry and hauls them out to the Escalade. He’s arranging them carefully in the trunk amidst their luggage when the Detective appears. 

“What are you...oh. Of course.”

There’s no judgment in her tone, but he feels defensive anyway. “I doubt I’ll be able to find what I prefer in the bowels of flyover country,” he says, turning to face her. 

She doesn’t seem to pick up on his defensiveness. “Will that be enough for a week, though?” she asks, frowning a little as her eyes dart over the bottles. “I can grab some more if you want.”

He stares at her.

Her frown deepens. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head at her. What could possibly be wrong? She’s standing there in a blazer and jeans and sensible boots, her hair pulled back in one of her sleek little buns, looking like some sort of gorgeous apparition from one of the millions of fantasies he had in Hell. She loves him. She’s not afraid of him, or of his newfound ability to spontaneously combust. She’s about to drive across the country with him to meet with Death, and she doesn’t mind if he drinks the whole way. 

She’s perfect.  

The Detective opens her mouth, but he’ll never know what she planned to say because he kisses her before she can get it out. Her body stiffens briefly in surprise, but relaxes almost immediately. He’s got her travel mug in his hand so he can’t touch her the way he wants to, but he slides his free hand around the back of her head to cup the base of her skull beneath her bun. He wants to tell her with his lips what he can’t seem to say with his words. 

She kisses him back for a minute or so, but then her hand presses against his chest. He reluctantly leans back just far enough to meet her gaze. 

“We said we’d leave by ten,” she murmurs, looking up at him from under her long eyelashes.

He smiles. His efficient Detective. Always so single-mindedly focused on the task at hand. He could complain, but he won’t. He likes her ability to focus because it extends to the bedroom. Her focus is divine in the bedroom. 

He dips his head forward and nuzzles into the curve of her neck. She smells good. “We did say that,” he breathes into her skin.

He darts his tongue out to taste her. She exhales into his ear, a soft breath that sends a shiver down his spine. She tilts her head to give him better access, and he wonders if he can convince her to follow him back inside, but then she takes the travel mug out of his hand.

“Come on, Casanova,” she murmurs with a hum of amusement in her voice. “Let’s hit the road.”

“I knew Casanova,” he says, grasping at her hip to keep her in place when she starts to step past him. “He wasn’t half the lover everyone said. I’m infinitely better.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” She turns her head to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “You can tell me all about it on the road.” 

She pulls out of his grasp and heads for the driver’s door, trailing her free hand over his ribs as she goes. He sighs at her. Loudly. She smirks at him over her shoulder. He glares at her retreating figure—her ass looks spectacular in those jeans—and then closes the trunk and stalks toward the passenger door, muttering under his breath about how, of all the women he could drive across the country with, he chose the only one who can resist him. 

When he climbs into the car and slams the door with a little more force than necessary, she shoots him another smirk from the driver’s seat. “Are you going to pout the whole drive?”

“I’m considering it,” he says, lifting his chin. “I’ve been told I’m very sexy when I pout.”

She laughs. He likes her laugh. He glances at her, and watches as she buckles her seat belt. His eyes get caught on her jaw momentarily—he’s fairly certain her jawline could cut glass—but then he notices how the seat belt is nestled between her breasts. 

He licks his lips and stares. It used to irk him when they’d run into a neanderthal who would recognize her from Hot Tub High School and then proceed to stare at her chest instead of her eyes. It still irks him, if he’s being honest. But it’s a little less irksome now that they’re together, because the neanderthals have to go home to a decades-old movie and their hands, and he gets to go home with her.   

“Stop looking at me like that,” the Detective says as she shoves the gear shift into drive. 

“Like what?” Lucifer asks, feigning innocence. 

“You know exactly like what.” 

He leans toward her. “Like I want to pull you into the backseat and christen the car?”

She purses her lips around a smile and doesn’t respond as she guides the Escalade down the long driveway. She does this sometimes when he’s being particularly lascivious—just refuses to respond. He used to think it was her trying to control her annoyance, but he knows now that she’s just trying to control her own libido. She wants him just as often as he wants her. She’s just better at resisting her urges.  

“That’s really the only proper way to start a road trip, you know,” he informs her, wondering if he can find a weak spot in her ironclad self control. 

She tilts her head. “Is it though?” 

“Yes.” 

She shoots him a look. “Have you ever even been on a road trip?”

“No. But I know things.”

She snorts. “You know things about road trips even though you’ve never been on one?”

“Well of course, darling. I’m nothing if not curious, and there are some very interesting results if you Google road trip sex.

She turns to look at him with wide eyes. “Why did you...you know what, I don’t want to know.”

“Afraid it might turn you on?” 

She laughs. “No.”

“The backseat in this vehicle is very roomy,” he observes. “I checked.”

“Of course you did.”

“And we’re both very flexible. Although, truth be told, I do enjoy when you’re on top. So if you’d like to just climb over here, I have no objections.” 

He gestures at his lap in invitation. The Detective turns her head to look at him as the SUV slows to a stop before the tall wrought iron gates that separate the driveway from the street. Her eyes flicker over his body as they wait for the gates to swing open, and he thinks he’s got her. They’re finally going to have car sex. He’s been fantasizing about car sex with her for years.

“No,” she says, shaking her head.

He frowns. “No?

She smirks. “No. Sorry, babe.”

The pet name makes him feel warm all over, which is pathetic and ridiculous and a little embarrassing, and he huffs at himself. Emotional pleasure is not what he’s after at the moment. 

“You’re right,” he says, holding his hands up as if he’s placating a very demanding mistress. “It was selfish of me to expect you to do all the work. Missionary in the backseat is perfectly acceptable. Oh, unless you’re interested in the hood of the car? I could—”

“Lucifer,” the Detective cuts him off, laughter threading through her voice. “I meant no sex. At least not right now.”

“It’ll be quick.”

She gives him a look. “You’re never quick.”

“That’s not my fault,” he protests. “You’re so pretty when you come that I can’t seem to limit myself to just one showing. And you’ve certainly never complained.”

A hint of a blush rises in her cheeks. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later.”

“And by that you mean multiple orgasms, yes?” he says, unable to stop a grin. For a woman who once stepped out of a hot tub topless and on camera, she can be adorably shy about sex. His greatest ambition is to make her comfortable enough to say and do all the filthy things that he knows are floating around in her head. 

“Yes,” she replies, shifting in her seat. 

He’d bet every whiskey bottle in the trunk that she’s shifting in her seat because there’s a sudden ache between her legs. He leans over the center console and slides his palm slowly up her thigh. 

“Come now, Detective,” he purrs. “You mean to tell me you’re not thinking about how good it would feel if I—”

“No,” she cuts him off, laughing again. “I’m not.” 

She’s lying, and he’s about to tell her so, but then she grabs his hand and deposits it on his thigh instead of hers. 

“We’re driving right now, Lucifer. Well, I’m driving. You’re going to try to do that thing with your whatever.”

“Such poetry.”

“Would you rather I say laser beam hands?”

“No.”

“Then hush.”

She hits the gas and guides the Escalade through the now-open gates and out onto the street. Lucifer sighs and slumps in his seat. His first ever road trip, and it isn’t starting with car sex. What did he do to deserve such a punishment? There she sits, looking all gorgeous and Detective-y, and he’s not allowed to bring her to orgasm. This is torture.

“Oh come on,” the Detective says, glancing between him and the road. “It was your idea to practice your powers while I drive, remember?”

“That was before I decided I’d rather practice you.” 

“You don’t need to practice me. You’re already good at me.”

He perks up. “Am I?”

“We’ve been over this.”

“Never hurts to hear it again,” he says, brushing away an imaginary piece of lint on his sleeve. 

She smiles, and then gestures at the screen embedded in the dashboard. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Be my guest. I refuse to listen to 90s jams during sex, but since there will be no sex for the foreseeable future, feel free to select whatever music your heart desires. It is Monday, after all.”

“Hey come on. That’s not fair. The 90s and early 2000s had some really sexy songs.”

He arches an eyebrow at her. “Name one.”

She considers the question. “Janet Jackson had one. I think it was called Anytime.

“It couldn’t have been that good since you’re currently failing to take her advice.”

She purses her lips at him. “Usher had a few.”

“Isn’t he the cretin who repeatedly sang the word yeah and called it music?”

“That’s a good song.”

“It’s a travesty.”

“Fine. Genie in a Bottle.

“You’re joking.”

“She literally says you gotta rub me the right way.

Lucifer leers at her. “I’d be happy to rub you the right way if you’d pull over.”

The Detective sighs. “I don’t suppose you’re interested in hearing about *NSYNC or the Backstreet Boys.”

“I would rather listen to Ms. Lopez discuss the finer points of analyzing tissue samples.” 

She snorts. 

“You still haven’t named one,” he points out. “And you know why? Because there isn’t one that wouldn’t ruin sex.”

“That’s not true,” she says. “One time I—”

She stops talking abruptly. Her cheeks flush a brilliant shade of crimson, and then she snaps her mouth shut and stares at the road and doesn’t say another word. 

Lucifer frowns at her, confused, and then he realizes what happened. 

“You were about to tell me about a song that was playing when you had sex with another man, weren’t you?” 

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“You’re lying.

Her cheeks flush again. She stabs her finger on the screen embedded in the dashboard instead of answering him. The radio turns on and a country song erupts through the speakers. She winces and turns the volume down. He jabs his finger against the off button and the car falls silent. 

The Detective glances at him out of the corner of her eye but doesn’t say anything. She wraps both her hands around the steering wheel. He narrows his eyes at her. She ignores him.

“What song?” he demands when it becomes clear she’s not going to speak first. 

She shoots him an apologetic look. “Lucifer…”

“What song?”

She sighs. “It’s called No Diggity.

“No what?

She tightens her hold on the steering wheel. “It’s just a dumb song, Lucifer. Forget it.”

“Absolutely not. I want to hear it. Play it.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

He tugs his phone out of his pocket, pulls up a new internet tab, and then frowns. “How does one spell no dickity?”

Diggity,” the Detective says. “Like with a G.”

He frowns at her. “Why would a sex song be about digging?”

She reaches for his phone. “It’s not about digging, and you really don’t have to—”

“Oh no,” he says, holding his phone out of her reach. “You’re driving, remember? I’ll take care of this.”

She sighs at him, but he ignores her. He types in the song title, taking his best stab at spelling, and a YouTube video immediately pops up. He presses play. He watches the first twenty seconds, and then someone starts rapping.

He looks up at the Detective in shock. “This is rap.”

“Not all of it,” she says defensively.

“You like rap?

“It depends.”

He studies her, fascinated by this new information and her clear embarrassment, and then turns back to the video. 

He watches for another minute or so until he finally hears the titular lyrics. As he listens, it slowly dawns on him that the rhythm is...well, it’s not the worst thing he’s ever heard. He can see why she likes it, given her taste in music. And honestly? He could work with this. He wouldn’t mind having this playing in the background if the Detective was on top of him, rolling her hips in time with the rhythm. Or, better yet, if she were beneath him and he was setting the rhythm while she gasped the way she does when he’s doing a particularly good job. Which, obviously, is every time.

He looks up at her with a grin. “I could make this work.” 

She looks uncomfortable instead of aroused, and at first he’s confused, and then he remembers. 

“Wait a minute,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Who did you have sex with while this was playing?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not answering that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re you.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “It was Jed, wasn’t it?”

She sighs. “If I say yes will you turn it off?”

Lucifer can’t shut the video off fast enough. Suddenly, all he can think about is the Detective and Jed, naked and…

He feels nauseous. 

“Lucifer,” the Detective says gently, reaching out to set her hand on his knee. “There’s no reason for you to be jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” he says, glaring at her hand. That hand was once wrapped around Jed’s dick. Of course, it was wrapped around his dick a few hours ago. Quite skillfully, too. But that’s not the point. 

He knows the Detective isn’t the cheating type. Even if Jed were to proposition her, she would refuse. Of that he is completely, totally sure. The Devil’s dick is the only dick her hand will be wrapped around for as long as they’re together. But that’s not the point either. The point is…

He doesn’t know what the point is.

“We’ve been over this,” the Detective says as if she can sense him floundering. 

“Indeed we have. I’ve heard all about your amazing sex with Jed.” 

She frowns. “I never said it was amazing.”

“You didn’t have to. He was quite adamant on your behalf.”

“He was...really?”

He glares at her. 

“Right,” she says, looking sheepish. “Not important.”

He huffs at her. 

She squeezes his knee. “Babe—”

“Don’t use your verbal witchcraft on me,” he says, picking up her hand and then dropping it unceremoniously into her lap. “Not when we’re discussing your amazing sex with another man.”

“Verbal witchcraft?” she says incredulously. 

He turns his nose up at her. “There is no other explanation for how much I like it.”

“I’m pretty sure there are several explanations for why you like it, and none of them have anything to do with magic. If Zatanna were here, she’d smack you. After she finished laughing at you.”

She’s right, and he can hear the smirk in her voice. He’s suddenly very annoyed with himself. He never should have told her that he likes that ridiculous pet name.

Except it’s the truth. He does like it. Very, very much. 

Damn her.

“Lucifer,” she calls.

He turns his body a little in his seat so he’s facing away from her. “I’m busy.”

“Doing what?

“Working on my laser beam hands.” 

“You are such a child,” she sighs. “ You were the one who asked me to tell you about that song. If you didn’t want to know, why did you ask?” 

“Well I didn’t know you were going to say it was your soundtrack for amazing sex with Jed!” he exclaims, throwing up his hands. 

I never said it was amazing. In fact, I’m pretty sure I told you yesterday that you were the best sex I’ve ever had. Remember?” 

He purses his lips together. That’s true. She did say that. 

“Jed means nothing to me, Lucifer. You know that. I’ve told you that. Repeatedly. You can’t do this every time, okay?”

“Every time?” he says incredulously, turning to look at her. “How many sex songs do you and Jed have?

She gives him a disapproving look. “I meant you can’t do this every time his name comes up. You don’t do this with Dan.”

“That’s because Daniel is a douche.”

She sighs at him. 

“Well he is,” Lucifer insists. “He’s the definition of inconsequential.”

“I married him,” the Detective points out. “He’s the father of my child.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t your first love. First loves are different. They’re...well, they’re important.”

She doesn’t say anything. He waits, ready to hear another admonishment, but it never comes. He frowns and looks over at her, wondering if he’s made her angry. She’s staring out the windshield with her lips pressed together. She looks as though she might cry. 

Guilt rises in his chest. Did he hurt her?

“Detective?”

She exhales a short, sharp breath and shakes her head. Then she reaches across the car and grabs his hand and lifts it to her mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. He blinks at her in surprise.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, her voice catching as she lowers their hands to rest on her thigh. “They are important. But not as important as last loves.”

He frowns. “Last loves?”

“The last person you love. The one you love so much that you never fall in love with anyone else ever again.”

His heart does that funny flipping thing in his chest. Is she saying…?

“You’re mine,” she says, glancing away from the road just long enough to smile at him. “In case that wasn’t clear.” 

“I am?”

She sighs fondly. “Yes, Lucifer.”

Warmth unfurls in his chest. His throat feels oddly tight all of a sudden. “Well when you put it that way,” he manages to murmur.

She smiles wider. “So are you done being jealous then?”

“So long as I never have to hear that terrible song ever again.”

She laughs. “Deal.” She squeezes his hand. “Now are you going to practice your laser beam hands or what?”

He frowns. “They are not—”

“Ohhhh yes they are,” she cuts him off. “You called them that, so now I get to. That’s how it works. No take-backsies.”

He sighs. 

She laughs. 


Lucifer spends the next two and a half hours trying to summon light and flame. 

Nothing happens.

Chloe keeps a close watch on him from the corner of her eye. She tries to make sure he doesn’t know she’s watching because she doesn’t want him to feel self-conscious the way he clearly felt last night. She turns the radio up louder than she normally would, and she stares steadfastly at the road or into her rearview mirrors every time he glances her way. But when he’s not focused on her, she’s watching him.  

He’s frustrated. She can tell. It’s evident in the way he clenches his jaw, and how often he closes his eyes and exhales through his nose. She wants to help, but she doesn’t know how. She’s not sure the offer would be welcome anyway, given that she has no idea what it takes to summon light. She feels helpless, and also a little frustrated on his behalf. She wonders if his ability to bring light is like his wings—if there are complicated feelings tangled up with it, and that’s why he can’t summon it whenever he wants. 

About an hour after they cross the Utah state border, Lucifer stops staring at his hands and starts rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’s slumped in his seat. His hair, which is always perfectly styled, has a few strands out of place. 

Chloe wants to hug him. She settles for setting her hand on his arm.

“Hey. You doing okay?”

“Yes,” he says quietly. 

She presses her lips together and considers her options. She thinks he needs a break, something else to focus on for an hour or so, but she knows if she suggests that, he’ll refuse. Despite all the progress they’ve made, it’s still hard for him to be vulnerable and admit he’s struggling. 

He won’t refuse her, though.

“I’m kind of hungry,” she says. “Do you mind if we stop?”

“Of course not. Whatever you desire.” 

His voice sounds hollow. Concern flares in her chest but she doesn’t voice it. 

She gets off at the next exit. She passes a few chain restaurants that are close to the highway until she finds a worn but cheerful-looking diner that’s far less likely to be full or outfitted with video cameras. She parks the Escalade in the parking lot, and then turns the car off so that the engine hums to a stop. 

Lucifer finally looks up. He blinks at the diner, and then reaches for the door handle robotically. 

Chloe grabs his arm before he can get out. He looks over at her in surprise. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she murmurs.

“Yes, of course.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

“Well I’m perfectly fine, Detective. You needn’t worry.”

He starts to get out of the car again, but she tightens her hold on his arm. He glances down at her hand, and then up at her face. He doesn’t look annoyed, exactly, but he doesn’t look pleased either. She knows he could easily wrench free of her grip. But he doesn’t. 

“We’re in this together, remember?” she reminds him quietly. “I’m not saying you have to tell me everything you’re feeling all the time, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. You can say that, and I’ll stop asking. I just want…” She exhales a heavy breath. “I just want you to tell me the truth about whether or not you’re okay. That’s all.”

He stares at her for a moment, and then his expression softens. He shifts in his seat, turning toward her, and covers her hand with his. His skin is pleasantly warm. She wonders if it’s warmer than usual. Have his new powers raised his core temperature, or is he the same as he’s always been, and she’s just more aware of it?

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. “I am okay,” he says. “But I suppose, if I’m being completely honest, I’m also not okay. Is it possible to be both?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Well, then. Here we are.”

A million questions are right on the tip of her tongue, but she presses her lips together and swallows them all. She doesn’t want to interrogate him. He told her the truth, and that’s all she asked for. It’s not fair to push for more. 

“Okay.” She smiles at him. “Thank you.”

She loosens her hold on his arm and starts to pull away so she can get out of the car, but he catches her hand. She turns back toward him in surprise. 

“Have you ever seen someone, and you know you recognize them from somewhere, but you can’t remember where?” he asks her softly. “Or there’s a word you’d like to use, and you know its meaning, but you can’t seem to conjure up the word itself?”

She nods. “Yeah. It’s frustrating.”

He smiles humorlessly. “That’s how I feel. I know the ability is there. I just can’t reach it.” He furrows his eyebrows. “I know it’s related to you, so I thought that—”

“Wait, what?” 

“It’s related to you,” he repeats. “Much like my vulnerability, my ability to summon light appears to be tied to you. Or, rather, my feelings about you. Feelings are the key.”

She frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“When I told you that what happened outside the club had never happened before, that was true. In all my time on earth—well, really in all the time since I fell—I’ve never summoned light through myself. I have, however, summoned it into something else. Do you remember what I told you about my mum? About the flaming sword, and how I used it to send her into the void so she could create a world of her own?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah.”

“Well in order for the sword to flame, it needs to be lit. But you can’t just dip it in whiskey and strike a match. It requires celestial power. And I’m the Lightbringer.”

“So you’re the one who changes it from a normal sword into a flaming one.”

“Indeed. I was under the impression that when I lit myself, the same rules applied. But that doesn’t appear to be true.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I still don’t get it.”

“In order to light the flaming sword, I had to harness my emotion,” he says patiently. “But not just any emotion. One in particular. It actually took me a considerable amount of effort to figure out which one. I tried everything. Well, actually, Mum tried everything. First there was anger. Then there was the triple Decker. Then she tried—”

“I’m sorry, the what?

He frowns. “What?”

“What the hell is a triple Decker?”

“Well it’s exactly what it sounds like, darling. A triple you.”

She frowns. “Yeah, I’m going to need more of an explanation than that.”

He sighs. “Mum thought my attraction to you might be strong enough to light the sword. In order to inspire said reaction, she hired three working girls who resembled you and sent them to Lux outfitted in sluttier versions of your typical attire to seduce me.” 

Chloe gapes at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

He shifts awkwardly in his seat. “I am not.” He holds out a hand. “But trust me, Detective, I realize now how incredibly inappropriate that was.”

“Really, just now?” Chloe says dryly. “It didn’t strike you as weird in the moment that your mom hired a bunch of hookers for you? Or that, I don’t know, sleeping with women dressed up as me was kind of gross?”

“Well it’s not as though you were interested in sleeping with me at the time.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely the takeaway in all this, Lucifer. It’s my fault your mom had to hire hookers for you.”

He stares at her with that deer-in-headlights look he sometimes gets when he’s trying to decide how angry she is. Chloe stares back at him, completely incredulous. What the hell is happening right now? What are they even talking about? A flaming sword, a goddess who hires hookers for her son, and the Devil who can summon light and fire? How is this her life? 

A laugh bubbles up in her chest unbidden. It comes out as a snort at first, and then she lifts her hand to cover her mouth as the rest spills out.  

Lucifer’s eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. “Is something funny?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I just...I mean, you have to admit this is all a little…”

His lips break into a smile. “Absurd?”

“Yeah.” 

He nods. “I’m sure you long for the days when your only source of incredulity was whatever shenanigans your offspring and Sir Douche got you into.” 

His voice is light and teasing, but she knows him well enough to sense an undercurrent of darkness. She reaches out and covers his hand with hers. 

“My life’s better now that you’re in it, Lucifer.”  

He swallows, and his gaze flickers over her face like he’s searching for something. It reminds her of the look he gave her when they flew together, and the way he looked at her yesterday when she told him she forgave him for what happened with Candy. Like he can’t quite believe she’s not a figment of his imagination. 

“You’re a marvel, Detective,” he murmurs, reaching out to brush his thumb over her cheek.

She lifts her hand to squeeze his wrist affectionately. “I’m not the one with laser beam hands.”

He rolls his eyes, and she smiles. 

“So how’d you end up figuring out which emotion lit the sword?”

“Doctor Linda, actually,” he replies, dropping his hand from her face.

“What was it?”

“Pain.”

Chloe’s heart aches in her chest. “Oh Lucifer,” she whispers, covering his hand with hers.

“My mother’s presence caused me pain,” he explains, his eyes fixed on the gear shift. “She was a constant reminder of my fall. She stood silently by when my father cast me out of the Silver City, and that was…”

“Traumatic,” she finishes when he doesn’t.

He nods. “The doctor suggested that I face the pain head on, and when I did, I succeeded in lighting the sword. Last night, however, focusing on pain didn’t work.”

Chloe frowns. “Well that’s because you got closure, right? You and your mom kind of worked things out before she left.”

“That’s true,” Lucifer says. “But there’s plenty of new pain to focus on. As you’re well aware.”

Chloe bites her lip and tries not to think about Trixie. “But focusing on it didn’t work?”

He shakes his head. “No. Which is where you come in. I believe I was able to summon light outside the club because I was angry you were in danger, and I wanted to protect you.”

“But I wasn’t in danger last night.”

He grins. “No, I was feeling a different emotion entirely last night.”

Chloe thinks about what they were doing when his hand suddenly burst into flame, and she gives him a look. “Are you telling me that your hand catching on fire was some kind of celestial erection?”

He laughs. “No, Detective. I’m saying that the common denominator between the two situations in which I caught fire was you. In both instances, I was focused on you.” 

Chloe hums in agreement.

He frowns. “You know, come to think of it, I was focused on you when I lit the sword as well. The doctor implied as much. She said that I was in pain not just because of my mother, but because I thought your feelings for me weren’t real. And when I sent Mum away, I was focused on protecting you from her.”

“Okay,” Chloe says. “So you can only summon light when you have strong feelings about something, and in all the instances when you successfully summoned it, your feelings were related to me in some way.”

“Yes,” he confirms. “But I’ve spent all morning thinking about you, and nothing’s happened. I know my feelings are strong enough. But I just...I can’t make it work.” He sighs and slumps in his seat. “I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m impotent.” 

“You’re not impotent,” Chloe says, brushing her hand over his bicep.

He casts a sideways look at her. “If I can’t perform when I’m being asked to perform, that is the definition of impotent.”

“But no one is asking you to perform,” she points out. “Maybe it only works when you need it to. Or when you have some type of catalyst to make your feelings more intense than normal.”

“I suppose that’s possible,” he muses. But then he shakes his head. “No, that can’t be. Amenadiel says we self-actualize, and according to my father, he’s right. We become what we believe we can be and we’re able to do what we believe we can do. I believe I can do this, and yet, I can’t.” He sighs again. “I suppose I can add it to the list.” 

“What list?”

“Of powers I can’t activate,” he mutters grumpily. “I could be invulnerable if I wanted to be, and yet I’m not. Apparently my light is no different.”

She nods, and then the memory of something Linda said about his invulnerability surfaces. 

All along, he’s been trying to give you what you want.

The realization hits Chloe like a lightning bolt. What if this isn’t about him? What if it’s about her? Linda said that Lucifer’s invulnerability was tied to her desire. That he was choosing to be vulnerable or invulnerable based on what she wanted. What if his light is the same? He didn’t just summon light outside the club because he wanted to protect her. He did it because she wanted him to save her. She’d called his name even though he had half a dozen cops hanging off of him. She believed that he could break free and rescue her, and she wanted him to, so he did. 

Last night was no different. She’d been upset that he was so frustrated. She wanted him to know that she loved him regardless of what he could or couldn’t do, but what she wanted most was to soothe him. She wanted him to be free of frustration for once, to be able to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted without any guilt or shame. And that’s exactly what he’d done. 

She shoots her hand out and grabs his arm. “Lucifer,” she breathes. “What if it’s not just about me? What if it is me?”

He frowns at her. “What?”

“Come here,” she says, reaching across the center console for his hands. Her hands are tiny compared to his, but she wraps her fingers around his as best she can and squeezes. 

“Detective?” he says, confusion bleeding into his voice.

She leans toward him. “I want you to summon light for me, Lucifer.”

He frowns. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can. I know you can.”

“Detective—”

“It’s what I desire. It’s what I want. I want you to summon light for me.”

He shakes his head. “This didn’t work with my vulnerability. It won’t—” 

“Yes it will. I know it. I believe it. I believe in you.”

He searches her eyes, and then shame shivers across his face. He shakes his head and drops his gaze. “I can’t, Detective.”

“Lucifer,” she whispers. She ducks forward to press her mouth against his fingers. “Look at me, babe.”

He lifts his eyes back to hers. 

“I love you. You know that, right?”

He nods.

“Do you trust me?”

He nods again. “Yes.” 

“Then try it again.” She squeezes his hands. “Let there be light.”

He searches her eyes. She stares back unflinchingly. A moment passes, and then he clenches his jaw in determination. He looks down at his hands, and exhales a slow breath. Nothing happens at first.

And then his hands burst into flames.

Chloe can’t feel it. Her hands are wrapped around his and engulfed in the flame, but she’s not burning. It’s just pleasantly warm, the same way his body always feels, and she’s so proud of him she thinks her heart might explode.

“I did it,” he breathes, his eyes wide. He looks up at her. “Detective, I did it.”

She grins at him. “Hell yeah you did.” 

He pulls his hands free from hers and studies them, turning them over to look at the backs of his knuckles and then his palms. “Unbelievable,” he murmurs. “I wonder if I can…”

He furrows his eyebrows, and the flames on his hands extinguish. A beat passes, and then his hands flare with light all over again. He looks up at her with a dazzling grin. 

“I can control it.”

“Can you—”

“Laser beam hands!” he exclaims before she can finish. 

He flings open the car door and scrambles out into the parking lot. He glances around and so does Chloe, but no one is around. Lucifer aims his hand toward the pavement between his feet, and a moment later a beam of light shoots out of his palm. It hits the pavement with a brief but blinding flash, and then a crater the size of a softball appears in the blacktop.

“Oh my god,” Chloe mutters. He put a hole in the pavement. It’s smoking.

“Oh my Devil,” Lucifer corrects. He dives back into the car and reaches out to grab her hands. “What did you do?” he demands. “How did you make it work? Bloody hell, Detective, you really are a miracle.”

“I didn’t do anything,” she says with a laugh. “I just thought that since Linda thinks your invulnerability was a response to my desire, then maybe your light could be too.”   

He looks so happy she can barely stand it. She wants to ask him why her desire was enough to jumpstart his light but it’s not enough to make him invulnerable, but she doesn’t want to ruin the moment. She reaches up and brushes her hand over his face instead. 

“I’m so proud of you, Lucifer.”

“I can control it,” he tells her excitedly. “I can summon it at will.

“Of course you can,” she says, rubbing her thumb along his jaw. “You’re the Lightbringer. How’s it feel?”

He leans toward her with a wicked smile. “Almost as enjoyable as bringing you to orgasm.”

Chloe feels her face flush. “Almost, huh?”

“Believe me, love, nothing tops that.”

The atmosphere in the SUV shifts, and Chloe feels heat flare deep in her body. He’s looking at her like he wants to rip her clothes off, and she’s not sure she’d mind if he did. Maybe they could…

Yeah, no. She’s not having sex with him in the parking lot of a Utah diner where anyone could walk by and see. 

“Okay,” she says, dropping her hand to push against his shoulder. “I get it. Turn the smolder off.”

“You know, I am a little hungry,” he says. His voice is a low rumble, and his eyes are fixed on her mouth. “I think I’d like to eat—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off, brandishing her finger. “We’re going inside to eat.”

He opens his mouth.

“Food, Lucifer,” she interrupts before he can say what she knows he’s thinking. “Actual, edible food.”

“Fine,” he says. He casts a longing glance down at her chest, sighs, and then flings open his door. He pauses halfway out, though, and shoots her a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “But I refuse to behave just because we’re in public.”

He climbs out of the car and slams the door.

“You’ve never behaved in public before, why start now?” Chloe mutters to herself as she opens her own door.

“I heard that,” he says in a sing-song voice, leering at her over the hood of the Escalade. “And you’re absolutely correct, darling. No use fixing something that isn’t broken. I’m perfect just the way I am.”

She sighs.

He laughs. 


“Can I get you two some dessert?” the waitress asks an hour later as she picks up Lucifer’s empty plate. 

“Oh, yes please,” Lucifer says, folding his hands on the table. He looks at Chloe. “Unless you have objections?”

“No,” Chloe says, pushing her plate away. “Whatever you want.” 

Lucifer beams. “Splendid.” He looks up at the waitress. “What are the options, Sharon? I don’t suppose you have Baked Alaska?”

Sharon, who is probably twice Chloe’s age, throws her head back and laughs as if Lucifer has just said something hysterically funny. “Oh you,” she says, pushing his shoulder gently. Her nails are painted a painfully bright shade of pink. “We don’t serve Baked Alaska in Utah.”

“Of course not,” Lucifer says. He winks across the table at Chloe. “Silly of me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes as she lifts her iced tea to her mouth. He’s been like this the whole meal. His sudden breakthrough with his light put him in a fabulous mood, and he’s been peak Lucifer ever since. She’s pretty sure Sharon’s in love with him. She’s pretty sure all of Utah will be in love with him if he doesn’t chill out.

“We happen to be famous for our pies, you know,” Sharon says.

“Are you now?” Lucifer purrs. “Well then I guess we’re having pie.”

Sharon claps her hands together. “Oh excellent!” She digs around in her apron, and produces a half-sheet of paper. “Here’s our dessert menu. We have twelve kinds.” 

Chloe watches, eyebrows raised in amusement, as Lucifer willingly takes the menu without making any snide remarks about how stained and crumpled and gross it is. 

“Ohhh, rhubarb,” he says as he scans the menu. He looks up at Sharon. “I’ve never had rhubarb.”

“Well maybe today’s the day,” Sharon says, touching his shoulder again with a smile. 

“Have you eaten rhubarb pie, darling?” Lucifer asks Chloe. 

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t think so, no.”

“You should try it, dear,” Sharon encourages. She smiles fondly at Chloe, and Chloe smiles back because she thinks it’s funny that Sharon has a crush on Lucifer but still seems to think he and Chloe are the cutest couple she’s ever seen. She’s said so. Three times.

“You two lovebirds talk it over and I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Sharon says. She winks at Lucifer, and then wanders away. 

Chloe watches her go and then notices the booth of four twenty-something women eating lunch on the other side of the diner. Much like Sharon, they haven’t been able to keep their eyes off Lucifer since he walked in. Chloe doesn’t think he’s noticed them, other than offering a jaunty wave when he first entered, but they’ve definitely noticed him. They’re staring at him as if they’d like nothing more than to rip all his clothes off. Or at least they were. They all snapped their heads down toward their plates when they realized she was watching them.

“Detective, look at this,” Lucifer says. He sets the menu on the table and slides it toward her. “Twelve kinds of pie.”

Chloe smirks at him. 

He frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t realize diner food made you so giddy.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You knew I like pie.”

“Sure,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “But burnt coffee, a BLT with too much mayo, and soggy french fries?”

“I thought the fries were excellent.”

Chloe snorts. “Sure you did.”

He narrows his eyes at her while she sips her iced tea, and then he sighs. “Alright, fine.” He glances over his shoulder as if to make sure Sharon is out of earshot, and then turns back to her. “My excitement over mastering my light might be coloring my opinion of my current surroundings.”

“Understatement of the century. You’re on cloud nine, it’s Christmas morning, and you just won a lifetime supply of gummy bears. That’s how happy you are.”

He scoffs. “You know I don’t care for Christmas.”

“Not the point.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of the point. You caught me. I’m thrilled. Is that so wrong?”

“No. Actually, it’s kind of adorable.”

He gives her a stern look. “We’ve been over this, Detective. I am the Lord of—”

“Hell,” she finishes for him. “Yeah, I get it. You’re also adorable as hell, and nothing is going to change my mind about that, so you might as well stop pouting about it.”

He huffs at her, tugging on his jacket, and then snatches the dessert menu off the table. “Let’s focus on dessert.”

Chloe smirks but doesn’t provoke him further. She watches as he studies the dessert menu, his forehead wrinkled adorably. She kind of wants to lean across the table and kiss him. Maybe she will. 

“This is impossible,” he mutters before she makes up her mind. “How am I supposed to choose?”

“It’s not the last supper, Lucifer. Pick one or two, and then we’ll try the others another time.”

He gives her an incredulous look. “When on earth are we ever going to return here?”

“Never. But this isn’t the only place on the planet that sells pie.”

“Yes, but they have twelve options, Detective. And Sharon said they’re famous for it.”

“So what are you going to do, get a slice of each one?” 

He lifts his chin defiantly. “I’m considering it.” 

“You’re joking.” 

“I most certainly am not. Variety is the spice of life, Detective.”

He winks at her and turns back to the menu, but Chloe’s smile fades. His words ignite an old, familiar fear in her chest. She struggles to dismiss it, to stay in the moment and not get lost in insecurity, but she fails. 

One of the first things she learned about Lucifer is that he bores easily. He spent a significant amount of time in the early days of their partnership complaining about murders that were boring and interrogations that were boring and paperwork that was boring. And it wasn’t just work that bored him. It was everything. Restaurants. Songs. Phone games. 

People. 

She asked him once about his revolving door of sexual partners. They were on a stakeout that stretched into the early hours of the morning, and they were talking about life the way you really only can when it’s the middle of the night and you’re with someone you trust. Don’t you get tired of a different person in your bed every night? she asked. He’d laughed at her. I’d get tired of the same person in my bed every night, Detective. 

His response has always stuck with her. Even when she knew she was in love with him, and even when she would’ve traded almost anything to get him back from Hell, there was a voice whispering in the back of her mind that she was a fool. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. And Lucifer? He’s older than, well, everything. 

He’ll get bored with you too, that familiar voice hisses. 

Chloe rubs her thumb along the edge of her glass and tries to think about something else, but the women over Lucifer’s shoulder are staring at him again. He’s not looking back, but she still feels a little nauseous. She knows the look in their eyes. She’s seen it a million times from a million different people. It wasn’t that long ago that every single one of them would have received an invitation to his bed. Maybe all of them at once. 

He’s different now though. He spent thousands of years in Hell, resisting temptation and waiting for her, because he didn’t want anyone else. He wanted her. 

But what if that changes? What if, now that he’s had her, he gets bored? She’s told him she loves him, but he hasn’t said it back. She’s told him he’s the best sex she’s ever had, but he hasn’t said that back either. She knows he’s not a word person. She knows he speaks through actions, and his actions as of late have been solely focused on her. But there are a whole lot of actions before that too, and they all point in the exact opposite direction of permanently settling down, and she’s trying really hard to have faith in him but…

What if he gets bored?

She clears her throat. “You know, it’s not the worst thing in the world to choose just one kind of pie.”

“Hm?” Lucifer says without looking up from the menu. 

“Picking one flavor of pie,” she repeats. “It’s not as boring as you think.”

He glances up at her with a frown. “I beg your pardon?”

“Sometimes it’s better to focus all your energy on one thing and just, like, really enjoy it. You know?”

His frown deepens. “Why would I settle for one type of pie when I could have all the pies?”

“Well because you can’t really enjoy all that a pie has to offer if you’re experimenting with a bunch of other flavors at the same time.”

“Experimenting is half the fun of life, Detective.”

“But there’s comfort in familiarity. Intimacy makes things, you know, taste better.”

He blinks at her. “Intimacy?”

“Yeah,” she says, shifting awkwardly in the worn booth. “You know, like, the...intimate taste of pie.”

“The intimate taste of pie?” he repeats incredulously. “Are you ill?”

“I’m just saying that more isn’t always better. Variety is spicy but it’s not, like, fulfilling. Sometimes having just one pers—pie—is better. You know?”

He stares at her for a moment, clearly mystified, and then his expression smooths out. “This isn’t about pie, is it?”

She scoffs. “What else would it be about?”

“Well you tell me, darling,” he says, gesturing at her. “You’re the one composing a philosophical treatise on pie for no apparent reason.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “You know what? Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

He doesn’t say anything, and Chloe avoids his eyes. She feels like an idiot. She should’ve just kept her mouth shut. She stares out the window at the Escalade in the parking lot and wishes they could just go. She doesn’t want to be here anymore.

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. 

“What?” she says without taking her eyes off the car.

“Look at me, love.”

She sighs. She’s suddenly sympathetic to his earlier declaration that calling him babe was verbal witchcraft. She feels the same way about the low rumble of his voice when he calls her love.  

She looks at him. He gives her that half smile that always makes her weak in the knees. 

“You don’t have to tell me everything you’re feeling all the time,” he says softly. “But I would like to know the truth.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “It’s cheating to throw my words back at me.”

“Is it?” he says, his smile widening. He leans toward her over the table, and she catches a whiff of his cologne. “I learned that from you.”

She brandishes her finger at him. “Stop that.” 

“Stop what?” he asks innocently. 

“Can you not be you for, like, five minutes?”

“If I say yes, will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just…”

She can’t seem to find a way to say I’m afraid I’m too boring for you that doesn’t make her sound needy and whiny and ridiculous. She sets her elbows on the table and buries her head in her hands. Why didn’t she just let him order his twelve slices of pie? Why’d she have to open her stupid mouth?

Lucifer’s fingers curl around her wrists. He tugs gently. She lets him pull her hands down from her face. He turns one of them over so that her knuckles are resting against the table and traces his fingertips slowly over the lines in her palm, up and over the inside of her wrist, and then back down. She watches his fingers move and feels her body start to relax. He doesn’t prompt her again to share, but she knows he’s waiting for her. 

She swallows around the lump in her throat. “You’re a variety is the spice of life kind of guy,” she finally says softly. “The kind of guy who orders twelve slices of pie just because you want to try them all. You’d get bored with just one flavor.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “And...?”

“And I’m not like that.”

He smiles. “Well you don’t have to try all the pie, darling. I’m not going to force feed it to you.”

“No, it’s not about that. It’s…” 

She sighs and chews her lip and searches for the right words. 

“I’m apple pie, Lucifer. Consistent and simple. And you can do different things with apple pie. You can add a scoop of ice cream, or mix up some of the spices or...you know. Do something with the crust, I guess. But it’s just...it’s always going to be apple pie, you know? I’m always going to be apple pie.”

He looks completely bewildered. She chews her bottom lip again and tries to figure out how to explain this in a way he’ll understand that won’t make her sound insane.

“I’m apple pie,” she tries again. “And you like apple pie.”

He smiles. “I like apple pie very much.”

“But what happens when you want something else?”

His smile fades. 

“What happens when you want rhubarb pie, or french silk pie, or maybe two pies at once?” she forges on. “I mean, I’m not opposed to stepping outside my comfort zone. I want you to be, you know...fulfilled. But I’m always going to be me. And I’m never going to want to share the plate with another pie.”

She watches as understanding dawns slowly on Lucifer’s face. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” she asks, just to make sure.

He nods. “Yes.” And then he frowns. “We’re talking about sex, correct?”

“Oh my god,” Chloe says, burying her face in her hands. 

“I’m merely attempting to ensure that my mind isn’t in the gutter when it shouldn't be,” he says defensively.

She lowers her hands. “Yes, Lucifer. We’re talking about sex. But not just sex. It’s…” She waves her hands around in a vague gesture. “Everything. You and me. Us. Our relationship.”

He frowns. “Are you worried I’m going to cheat on you?”

“No.” 

He lifts his eyebrows.

“Maybe?” she amends. 

He looks wounded, and she immediately feels guilty. 

“I’m sorry,” she says hurriedly. “I know you waited for me while you were in Hell. And I know you would never intentionally hurt me. I know that. I’m not saying that I, like, sit at home and wonder if you’re off trying different kinds of pie when we’re not together. I just...” 

She feels like she’s in a hell loop, repeating the same thing over and over again but not getting any closer to the finish line. She needs to stop rambling. She needs to just...say it.

She takes a deep breath and lets it out and forces herself to look him in the eye. 

“I just want to be enough for you. And sometimes I’m afraid I’m not.”

He looks stunned. She shifts beneath his gaze, feeling uncomfortable and exposed. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe they’re not at this level in their relationship yet. 

“Detective,” Lucifer breathes. He leans forward again, his chest pressing into the edge of the table, and lifts her hands to his mouth. He presses his lips against her skin. “You’re more than enough. You have nothing to worry about.”

She chews her bottom lip and doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t believe me,” he murmurs. It’s not a question. 

“No, I do,” she says. “Well, I mean, I want to. But you get bored so easily, Lucifer. You told me once that you’d be bored sleeping with the same person every night. And I just...what if you get bored with me?”

“That’s not possible.”

“Lucifer—”

“Chloe.”

His use of her first name stops her dead. 

“I’m immortal,” he says, his voice like silk-covered steel. “I’ve seen everything. I’ve done everything. Everyone. And none of it, not one second, not one person, made me even a fraction as happy as I have been these last few weeks with you.”

Chloe’s heart flutters in her chest. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips. “Really.”

Sharon appears before Chloe can respond. “So,” she says brightly to Lucifer, “did you decide what you want?”

“I certainly did,” Lucifer replies, smiling up at her. “I want apple pie. Not just a slice, mind you, but the entire pie. And could you box it up for me? We’ll be enjoying it elsewhere.”

The purr in his voice and the glint in his eye make his intentions very clear, and Chloe suddenly has a vision of Lucifer’s tongue trailing over a smear of apple pie filling on her thigh. Her face burns with a fierce blush, but it’s not nearly as hot as the ache that suddenly throbs between her legs. 

“Okay?” Sharon says, sounding confused. She glances between Chloe and Lucifer, and then her eyes widen. “Oh. Okay.” She grins. “I’ll get it right now.” She winks at Lucifer, and then hurries away. 

Lucifer turns his attention back to Chloe. “In case it wasn’t clear,” he murmurs in a low voice, “I intend to eat that pie off you.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, fidgeting against the still throbbing ache between her legs. “I think you made that pretty clear. To me and Sharon.” 

“And did I make myself clear enough prior to that? Or shall I continue?”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I get it.”

He studies her for a moment, and then he shakes his head. “I don’t think you do.” 

“Lucifer, it’s fine. Seriously. Don’t worry about it.”

He lifts her hands to his mouth again. “I belong to you,” he murmurs into her knuckles, holding her gaze over her hands. “There is really no other way of expressing it, and that is not strong enough.”

Chloe swallows. Her heart feels like it’s going to beat right out of her chest. Since when is he so damn romantic? 

“Those aren’t my words, to be clear,” he replies, giving her a crooked smile as if he can read her mind. “Kafka wrote them to his beloved. But I’d write them to you too.”

He kisses her knuckles again, and then drops their hands back to the table. Chloe purses her lips around a smile. 

“You know, you’re kind of a nerd.”

He looks appalled. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh come on,” she says, laughing as she pulls her hands away from his. “Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, and now Kafka? Who even knows all that stuff right off the top of their head?”

“I do.”

“Yeah cause you’re a nerd.”

“How dare you,” he says, straightening his shoulders in offense. “I am not a nerd, Detective. I’m cultured and well-read and I have an excellent memory. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” she says, trying and failing not to grin. “Of course. My mistake.”

He huffs at her. She keeps grinning.

“If you must know,” he says, lifting his nose in the air, “the only reason I’m quoting the words of others to you is because you value words, and mine are inadequate at the moment.”

That brings Chloe up short. She frowns. “What are you talking about? You’re great with words.”

“Yes, the filthy kind you like whispered in your ear during sex because you’re secretly a little minx,” he says impatiently. “But not the words that matter. Not the words you truly desire.” 

“Lucifer, I don’t—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” he says, waving her off. “You’re being patient. I’m aware. That makes it worse.”

She reaches for his hands. “Lucifer—”

“Please don’t,” he sighs. “I despise how often you’re forced to reassure me.”

Chloe presses her lips together. She considers telling him that she likes reassuring him, but decides against it. 

“You know,” she says instead, “I think it’s kind of sexy you’re a nerd.”

He rolls his eyes. “For the last time, Detective, I’m not a—” He stops abruptly, and then visibly perks up. “Sexy, you say?”

She nods. “Mhmm.”

A sinful smile spreads over his lips. “Well in that case, allow me to recite a sonnet for you.”

“Oh, a sonnet,” Chloe hums, resting her chin on the heel of her hand. “I’m all ears.”

He leans over the table toward her. “One day I wrote her name upon the strand,” he murmurs, his eyes dipping toward her mouth. “But came the waves and washed it away—”

“Here we are,” Sharon interrupts, setting a white pie box on the table. “Can I get you two anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Lucifer says without taking his eyes off Chloe. “Just the check.”

Sharon waves a slip of paper. “Way ahead of you, handsome. You can pay at the register up front.”

Lucifer finally tears his eyes away from Chloe and smiles at Sharon. “Thank you, darling. It’s been a pleasure.”

Sharon winks at him. “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

She pinches his cheek and leers at him, and then saunters away. Chloe can’t help but snort. 

“Delightful woman,” Lucifer muses.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees. “You ready?”

“Of course, darling.”

Chloe climbs out of the booth and grabs the pie box. Lucifer slides out after her, and then immediately drapes his arm around her shoulders. Chloe smiles and leans into him. He’s been much more physically affectionate with her since all this started. She won’t say it’s made everything worth it—she misses her daughter way too much to say that—but she likes it. She hopes it doesn’t change when things get back to normal. Then again, she should probably be careful what she wishes for, or he’ll end up trying to cop a feel at a crime scene. 

They stop at the register and Lucifer removes his arm from around her shoulders to reach for his wallet. Chloe sets the pie down on the counter and studies the assorted candy bars and faded packs of gum that are for sale beneath the glass. She hears a sudden fit of giggling, and lifts her eyes to glance toward the table of four women. 

They’re staring at Lucifer again. It’s clear what they’re thinking, too. There’s no mistaking the desire on their faces. One of them glances briefly at Chloe, double takes when she notices Chloe watching her, and then sneers. 

Something primal flares in Chloe’s chest. She’s never been the kind to play the stupid games some women are fond of, and she’s certainly never been the possessive type, but something about this group of women rubs her the wrong way. They have no idea who they’re ogling. They don’t understand him. They don’t care about him. They just want to use him, and she hates that. 

She leans closer to Lucifer. He’s talking to the guy behind the register, saying something about leaving a tip for Sharon, but his body turns toward hers automatically as soon as she tilts into his space. Chloe presses her shoulder into his chest and narrows her eyes at the woman, who’s now openly glaring at her. 

“Detective?” Lucifer calls.

Chloe snaps her gaze away from the woman and looks up at Lucifer. “Yeah?”

He frowns at her. “What are you…” He glances over at the table of women, back down at Chloe, and then at the women again. A smirk spreads slowly over his lips. “Oh. I see.”

“See what?” Chloe scoffs, reaching for the pie. “Let’s go.”

He clicks his tongue at her when she starts toward the door. “Not so fast, darling. We’ve a long drive ahead. Should probably use the restroom, hm?”

He wraps his arm around her waist and guides her toward the back of the diner in the direction of the bathrooms and the table of four women. 

“I don’t have to go to the bathroom,” Chloe insists, trying to slip free of his grasp, but he’s got that freaky angel strength and he’s putting it to good use. He guides her to a stop next to the table of women.

“Hello ladies,” he purrs, his voice dripping with charm.

The women return his greeting with enthusiasm, their eyes gleaming and their lips parted in wide smiles. They look like a pack of vultures sizing up a recently-slaughtered carcass. Chloe wants to shoot them all. 

“I wonder if I might ask a favor?” Lucifer says. 

He pauses just long enough to let the women fall all over themselves trying to offer their assistance, and then he plucks the pie box out of Chloe’s hand. 

“Would you mind watching this for us? Thank you so much.”

He plops the pie down on their table before they can respond, and then grabs Chloe’s hand and tugs her toward the bathrooms. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses. “What are you doing?”

He shoves the door to the men’s bathroom open, steps across the threshold, and then yanks her in after him. 

“Lucifer—”

That’s all she has time to get out, though, because all of a sudden his mouth is crashing against hers and he’s pushing her backward and using the momentum of her body to slam the door shut behind them. It closes with a bang. Chloe’s back hits it with a thud and she grunts into Lucifer’s mouth. He’s cradling the back of her head, though it’s unclear if he’s trying to keep her from slamming her skull against the door or trying to keep her mouth fused to his. He presses his body against hers, his chest warm and solid, and then she hears the lock on the door click. She’s got about a million questions—what is he doing and why is he doing it and why are they doing it here?—but then he’s stroking his tongue along the seam of her lips, and, well, she likes that.

She likes that a lot.

She wraps her arms around his neck and opens her mouth for him. He shifts against her. His thigh slips between her legs and juts forward, forcing her to rise onto her toes to straddle it. He curls his hands around her waist and tugs, yanking her hips forward and sending a frisson of pleasure shuddering through her body from the friction. He smiles as he kisses her, and then pushes her hips back and pulls them forward again. She hums in the back of her throat and digs her nails into his shoulders and is starting to roll her hips without his help when she remembers where they are.

“Shit,” she says, breaking their kiss. “Lucifer, wait.”

He buries his face in the curve of her neck. “Oh come on, Detective,” he purrs. “You wanted them to know I’m yours, didn’t you?”

“That’s not—”

He latches onto her skin and sucks hard, and she lets her head fall back against the door and groans in frustration. 

“You taste good,” he whispers. “Why do you always taste so damn good?” 

“Lucifer,” she says, pushing weakly against his chest. “Come on, we can’t.”

“We can.”

“I am not having sex with you in here.”

He laughs, low and decidedly sexy, and then licks her throat like she’s a damn ice cream cone. “Weren’t you just saying you were willing to step outside your comfort zone?”

“I didn’t mean—”

He tugs on her hips again, and the friction of his thigh between her legs makes her forget what she was about to say. 

He lifts his mouth to her ear. “I never did finish that sonnet,” he muses, his breath hot on her skin. His hand slips beneath her shirt, and immediately slides up to her chest. “I think this calls for something a bit more sensuous. Perhaps some Cummings? Pun intended, of course.”

“Lucifer,” she whines. 

He laughs and palms one of her breasts through her bra. “I know just the poem,” he breathes into the pulsepoint of her throat. “It goes: I like my body when it’s with your body.” He flexes his fingers and squeezes her and she arches into his palm. “It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more.” 

Chloe exhales a frustrated breath through her nose. He’s quoting poetry at her while he feels her up in a diner bathroom somewhere in Utah. Why is this such a turn on?

“Oh you do like that I’m a nerd, don’t you?” he hums into her skin. She can hear the smirk in his voice. “Detective, you should’ve told me sooner. There are so many things I can do with this.”

“Shut up,” she hisses at him, grabbing his face so she can kiss the smirk from his lips. 

He kisses her back hard enough to pull the breath from her lungs. His hand flips beneath her shirt and he curls his fingers around her collar, yanks it down, and buries his face in the valley of her chest. 

“I like your body,” he whispers into her skin. His tongue darts out and traces the curve of the cup of her bra. “I like what it does. I like its hows.”

She looks down at him, her chest rising a step faster than normal beneath his lips. He tilts his head, and she watches as his mouth latches onto her skin and sucks. She hisses at the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain and her hips roll over his thigh of their own accord.

“There you go, love,” he whispers into her skin. “Let go.”

Chloe tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling as his tongue maps her chest and her hips roll again. There’s a water stain on the ceiling. It looks kind of like a snowman. Which is ridiculous, because they’re in Utah. Does it snow in Utah? She doesn’t even know. 

Lucifer is whispering into her skin again, something about her spine and how she’s trembling and fuck, they can’t do this. They’re in public.

“Lucifer,” she says, pressing against his chest again. “Stop.”

He pulls his mouth away from her skin immediately. He lifts his head to meet her gaze, and the look in his eyes makes her ache. God, she wants him so bad.

“Is that really what you desire?” he asks, his voice low.

It’s the same voice he uses when he asks people what they want, and they both know it doesn’t work on her, but god damn it if she isn’t ready to blurt out No, I want you.

“I’m not getting naked in a diner bathroom,” she says instead.

He grins. “Oh, no one’s getting naked, darling.” 

He leans closer to her, close enough that they’re breathing the same air, and then she feels his fingers curl around the buckle of her belt.

“I’m more than capable of satisfying you without taking any of your clothes off.”

A whimper wells up in her throat without her permission. She sounds desperate. She’d be embarrassed if she wasn’t so consumed with trying to resist the urge to say fuck it and let him do whatever he wants to her, public bathroom or not. 

He tugs on the buckle of her belt. “I won’t continue without your consent, Detective.” 

She swallows. It really shouldn’t be that sexy for him to use her official title. He uses it all the time. Every day. A million times a day. Why’s it so fucking sexy right now?

He leans closer to her, his nose brushing hers. “Don’t make me beg,” he whispers. 

She scoffs. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would. For you I would.”

She groans at him. He chuckles. He turns his head a little and brushes a kiss over the swell of her cheek, down to the corner of her mouth, and then he nips at her bottom lip. 

“Please?” he whispers.

He really wasn’t kidding about the begging. 

Damn him. 

She threads her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck and smashes her lips against his. He kisses her back. She arches into him, wrapping her other hand around his throat so she can feel the pulse beating on either side of his neck beneath her thumb and her index finger. The last shred of her self control is about to snap. She doesn’t care anymore. She just wants him. 

“Yes,” she whispers.

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. His thigh slides out from between her legs and the heels of her boots hit the floor with a thud. He uses his foot to nudge her legs apart and then makes quick work of her belt. The button and zipper of her jeans are undone just as deftly, and then his hand slides inside her underwear and his fingers stroke purposefully over her. 

She closes her eyes and tilts forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. He strokes her again, and her body shudders a little as she sighs, and then his fingers start to rub a slow circle over her. Her hips jerk reflexively in response. She wraps her fingers around his arm. She can feel the muscles of his forearm flexing as his rhythm picks up. He’s looming over her, making her feel small in the very best way, and heat is already starting to coil deep in her body.

She exhales a sharp breath of disbelief. It’s not supposed to happen this fast. She’s not supposed to feel a climax building already. He’s good at this, she knows he’s good at this, but fuck. It shouldn’t be this easy for him to push her up and over the edge. 

Her hips jerk toward his hand again and she gasps his name into his chest. He presses harder, rubs faster, and she chokes on a sob. Time seems to freeze and then stretch and she loses track of everything except the smell of his cologne and the ragged sound of her breathing and the pressure of his hand between her legs. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter and tighter—

The release hits her so hard she sees stars. Lucifer works her through it, his fingers gentling but still insistent. She digs her nails into his forearm as she rides it out, her forehead pressed into his chest as she gasps into his suit jacket and barely manages to stifle a guttural moan as it goes on and on and on. 

It isn’t until she slumps against him with a soft hum, spent and sated, that he finally pulls his hand away. She lifts her head to look at him, feeling dazed, and catches only a brief glimpse of the awed look on his face before he ducks forward and kisses her. She curls her fingers into his lapels clumsily and leans back against the door because her legs feel a little weak. 

His lips move gently over hers. He zips her jeans and re-fastens the button, and then buckles her belt without even looking at it. When he’s finished, he lifts his hands to her face and kisses her deeper. 

She feels like she’s in a dream. If she is, it’s not one she wants to wake up from. He’s touching her like she’s fragile, kissing her like she’s priceless, and her heart stirs in her chest. He’s never kissed anyone else like this. She knows that, even if he’s never said it. She wants to tell him she loves him, but she swallows the words. She tries not to say it every time it pops into her head. She doesn’t want to overwhelm him. 

Eventually, he leans back from her mouth. He presses his forehead against hers, and she exhales a shaky breath. She still feels a little dazed. Her body is humming. 

“Who says I can’t be quick, hm?” he says.

She smiles. “I’m impressed you limited yourself to one.”

“Not sure how,” he murmurs. He leans into her, his hands sliding along her waist, and lowers his mouth to her ear. “You’re beautiful when you climax,” he whispers, his breath hot on her skin. 

Chloe closes her eyes as desire drills down her spine. He nuzzles against her, his chest lifting with an inhale, and she knows he’s smelling her hair. She is never, ever going to change brands of shampoo. 

She slides her hand down between their bodies to stroke over him. His entire body goes rigid, and she smiles into his chest. She likes knowing she can do this to him. She likes knowing that he wants her. 

“What about you?” she asks, stroking her hand over him again. 

He wraps his fingers around her wrist to still the movement of her hand. “I’m holding out for the pie.”

She rises up onto her toes and flicks her tongue over the pulsepoint in his neck beneath his jaw. “I’m not doing that in the car,” she murmurs. “And it’ll be a few hours until we get to the hotel.” 

“Oh I’m aware. Anticipation heightens the ultimate payoff, Detective.”

She’s suddenly tempted to test his self control. Turnabout’s fair play, right? He seduced her in a men’s bathroom in the middle of a damn diner. Why can’t she seduce him right back? 

“It’s a long drive, Lucifer,” she whispers against his throat. He’s still got his fingers wrapped around her wrist, but she pulls against his grip and strokes him again. He sucks in a breath. “You sure you can wait that long?”

“You little minx,” he murmurs. 

His voice sounds strained. She laughs. She rises higher on her toes and pulls his earlobe into her mouth, her teeth and tongue sliding over his skin. “I don’t think it’d take me long.”

“How dare you.”

She strokes her hand over him again and smiles. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenges. She flicks her tongue over the shell of his ear. “Oh that’s right,” she whispers. “You don’t lie.”

His fingers tighten on her wrist, and his other hand grabs at hers, and then he presses her backward and pins both her arms at her sides against the door. 

She tilts her head back against the door to look up at him. He looms over her. It should scare her, maybe, that the Devil has her pinned with his inhuman strength. But she’s not scared. She’s just really turned on.

He leans forward, his mouth a breath away from hers. “When I’ve finally got you and that pie behind closed doors, I’m going to make you come so hard you forget your own name.” 

Her mouth goes dry while other parts of her become very not dry, but before she can say anything there’s a knock on the door. 

“Anyone in there?” a gruff male voice asks.

Chloe freezes in horror. She got caught up in the moment and forgot they were in public, and now they’re about to get caught. Damn it.

Lucifer grins at her like he can read her mind. “Just a moment,” he calls out. 

“Okay,” the gruff voice replies. 

Chloe tugs her arms free of Lucifer’s grip and pushes against his chest. He steps away from her, still grinning. She ignores him and brushes past him to check her appearance in the mirror. Her hair looks okay and her clothes aren’t too wrinkled, but her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are bright. There’s no way it won’t be obvious to anyone with eyes that she just got played like a damn piano.

Lucifer appears in the mirror behind her and ducks his head to press a kiss against the side of her neck beneath her ear. “You look lovely, darling.”

“Everyone’s going to know what we were doing,” she whines, tugging at the stretched-out collar of her shirt.

He chuckles. “That’s the point. I’m yours, remember?” He holds her gaze in the mirror. “They should all know it.”

There’s desire glittering in his eyes again, and holy shit she needs to get out of this bathroom before she climbs him like a tree.

“Let’s go,” she says, turning around and striding toward the door. He chuckles at her. She flings the door open and steps out into the hallway, and nearly runs straight into the chest of a man in a Carhart jacket and a baseball cap. His eyes widen when he sees her, and then they widen even more when he notices Lucifer behind her.

She’s going to die of embarrassment.

“Excuse me, sorry,” she mutters, trying to step past him, but the hallway is narrow and his feet seem to have taken root in the floor. He gapes at her, unmoving.

“All yours,” Lucifer says cheerfully, as if it’s totally normal and not at all inappropriate that they were in the bathroom together. He puts his hand on the small of Chloe’s back, and then gently pushes the still-staring man out of the way so they can pass. 

Chloe breathes a sigh of relief once they’re out of the hallway. At least she’ll never have to see him again. Then she sees the table of four women up ahead, staring at her with wide eyes as the apple pie sits on the end of their table, and she suddenly wishes the floor would open up and swallow her whole. 

“Ladies,” Lucifer greets, stopping next to their table. 

Chloe tries to keep walking, but he grabs a fistful of her blazer and yanks her back to his side. 

“Thank you so much for your kindness,” he says, reaching out to grab the pie box with the hand that isn’t fisted in her blazer. He leans toward the table conspiratorially, a wicked grin on his face, and tips his head toward Chloe. “She’s so beautiful that I just can’t help myself. Lucky for me, she’s a benevolent mistress and lets me service her whenever I please. Which is often.”

Lucifer,” Chloe hisses, horrified. 

“Oh, looks like my services are required again already,” Lucifer says, his lips stretched into the most arrogant grin Chloe’s ever seen. He winks at the women. “Enjoy your lunch, ladies. I certainly enjoyed mine.”

He drapes his arm around Chloe’s shoulders and leads her toward the exit without another word. He’s still grinning. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Chloe waits until they’re out of earshot of the women, and then elbows him in the ribs. “You ass,” she hisses.

He leans forward with an oomph and then he chuckles. 

“It’s not funny,” she insists. “Benevolent mistress? ” 

“Well you are, darling. You’re very bossy, but it’s very sexy.”

She shoves the front door of the diner open with a huff. “You’re lucky I left my gun in the car or I’d shoot you.”

They step out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. Lucifer tightens his hold on her shoulders and pulls her closer so he can press his lips to her temple. 

“Admit it,” he murmurs against her skin. “You liked me getting you off with them sitting just a few feet away.”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and then wraps her arm around his waist. “You can’t prove it.”

He throws his head back and laughs.

Chapter 20: Twenty

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

After they leave the diner, they spend the next few hours bickering over radio stations and flirting shamelessly. 

Lucifer drives. The Detective sits in the passenger seat, one of her legs folded beneath her. The pie box sits between them, a constant reminder of what’s ahead. Every once in a while, Lucifer catches the Detective glancing toward the box. He wonders what she’s imagining. He wonders if she has any idea how much he wants her.

When they finally arrive in the tiny roadside town they decided they’d stop in for the night, the Detective insists that they go out for an early dinner before they check into their hotel. Lucifer huffs at her, impatient to get her alone and naked. She smirks, and reminds him what he said about anticipation. He relents, but insists on picking the restaurant. She agrees, and they end up at a decently stylish restaurant that looks out over the Green River. 

The food is good. The company is better. He knows she misses her daughter and her friends and her life, but she doesn’t seem preoccupied or haunted. She seems...relaxed. He wonders if maybe the time away from everything might actually do her some good, but he doesn’t dare suggest it. 

He manages to make her laugh a fair amount, which makes him proud. He catches her watching him once or twice when she thinks he’s not paying attention. There’s so much affection in her eyes that it makes his heart do that funny flipping thing in his chest that’s only ever happened around her. When the waiter asks if they’re interested in dessert, the Detective blushes. Lucifer wants to kiss her, but he knows if he starts he won’t be able to stop, so he doesn’t. 

The sun has set by the time they leave the restaurant. He’s far past regretting what he said about anticipation. He wants her so badly that he feels like his body is thrumming with need. 

When they get to the hotel, everything is a blur. There’s a girl at the front desk and a pair of plastic card keys and then the very new experience of carrying his own luggage back to their room. When they’re finally alone, the Detective turns to look at him with a shy smile. 

He kisses it from her lips. He kisses her everywhere. He takes his time with her, and he puts the pie to good use, and it’s even better than he thought it would be. He’s eaten dozens of things off innumerable lovers but none of them tasted as good as apple pie tastes when it’s smeared along the inside of the Detective’s thigh and across her stomach and over the swell of her breasts. He tells her she tastes better than the pie, and it’s not a lie. He sends her over the edge several times, and each one is prettier than the last. When he finally lets himself fall over the edge too, it feels like coming home. 

They lay draped over each other for a while after that, catching their breath, and then she complains that she’s sticky from the pie and needs a shower. He joins her. He likes shower sex, given that he’s far more athletic than the average man and thus it’s a far less dangerous pursuit, but for some reason, he doesn’t feel the need to claim her again. He just wants to be close to her. 

He likes the way she closes her eyes when she’s beneath the spray of the showerhead. He likes the way she tips her head back to rinse her hair, which is far darker when it’s wet. The bathroom light bulb appears to be on its last legs, and the dimness makes the color of her eyes even more striking than usual. The scar on her shoulder from their first case together is a shade lighter than the rest of her skin. He kisses it and promises himself for the millionth time that he’ll never let her get another. 

When they’re finished, she puts on one of his shirts. He’s admiring the length of her legs and fantasizing about how it would feel to have them wrapped around his hips again when she flops onto the bed and reaches for the TV remote. He joins her. She flips through channels but he’s focused on her legs. He likes her legs. 

“Ooh yes,” she murmurs. She scoots closer to him and cuddles into his side, her head on his shoulder and her arm draping over his abdomen. “Wanna bet on what they’ll pick?”

He finally tears his eyes away from her legs and glances up at the TV. There’s a man and a woman bickering onscreen. He doesn’t recognize them. He frowns. “What is this?”

“Wait, seriously?” she says, pushing off his chest to lean back and look at him. “You’ve never seen Love It or List It?

“What on earth is Love It or List It? ” 

Her eyes light up. “Okay, so, there’s these couples, right? And one of them wants to move cause they hate their house, and the other person wants to stay. So these two come in.” 

She gestures at the still-bickering people on TV. “Hilary remodels their house to try to convince them to love it, and David finds them a bunch of new houses to try to convince them to list it, and then when the remodel is done and they find a new house they like, they have to pick whether to love their remodeled house or list it and buy the other one.”

Lucifer glances at the TV, and then back at the Detective. “And you like this?”

“Yeah,” she says with a shrug. “It’s fun.” 

He shakes his head. “No. Eating apple pie off your naked body and then eating you out is fun. Watching home remodeling shows is not fun.”

“Lucifer,” she hisses, shoving his shoulder. She’s blushing again. Someday, maybe, they’ll get to a point where she doesn’t blush all the time. Until then, it’s very pretty.

“We both know you had fun,” he tells her. “There’s no need to blush about it.”

“But this is fun too,” she insists. 

He casts a skeptical glance at the TV.

“Look, just try it, okay? We can bet on it.”

He perks up at that. A bet means there’s a winner. And if he wins, he gets a prize. “What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. If they love it, you can do whatever you want with me.”

“Oh, careful Detective,” he murmurs, leaning into her space. “A blank check is a dangerous thing to give the Devil.”

“If they list it,” she says, the corners of her mouth tugging upward, “then I win. And that means I get whatever I want.”

“This sounds like a win-win for me. I agree to your terms.”

“You don’t even know what I want yet,” she points out. “What if I say I want you to braid my hair and then sing me to sleep?”

“Then I’ll braid your hair and sing you to sleep. And then I’ll wake you up and ravish you.”

She rolls her eyes again. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably handsome, yes. I concur. Now hush, I need to hear every word of this show so I can gloat about it when I win.”


He doesn’t win. 

“Unbelievable,” he says an hour later, throwing up his hands. “That kitchen was pristine. What kind of fool turns that down?”

“They wanted a backyard,” the Detective points out with a laugh. “The house David found had a huge backyard.”

“They gave up that kitchen for a bunch of bloody little rats?”

“They weren’t rats, Lucifer. They were dogs. And I thought they were cute.”

He scoffs. “They were rats with long hair. Disgusting little creatures.”

She smirks at him. “Trixie’s been begging for a dog, you know.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head. “I forbid it.”

“You forbid it?” she says incredulously. 

“I forbid it,” he repeats.

She grins. “You’re not king up here, babe. You don’t get to forbid things.”

“I will never step foot in your home again if you buy the urchin a glorified rat.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Oh you think so?” he says, rolling toward her. He reaches across her to put his hand on the mattress and then loom over her the way she seems to like. “You wish to tempt fate?”

She strokes her fingers over his chest. “Not fate. Just the Devil. Speaking of, I won the bet.”

“Ah yes,” he hums. He ducks down to brush a kiss over her neck, and she tilts her head to give him better access. “Time for you to have your wicked way with me.”

“Pretty sure those weren’t the terms of the bet.” She traces her hand down to his abs, her fingernails raking gently along the indentations of muscle. He flexes beneath her touch and hopes she lets her hand wander even lower. “We agreed you’d do whatever I want.”

“We did,” he murmurs, trailing his mouth down her neck toward her collarbone. “And what is it you desire?”

“I want you to watch another episode with me.”

“Mm, yes I—” He stops with a frown, and then picks his head up to look at her. “You want me to do what?

She shoves against his chest, and he’s too surprised to resist, so he flops onto the mattress beside her like an overturned turtle.

“You’re going to watch another episode with me,” she says with a grin. “And you’re going to keep your hands to yourself the whole time.”

Detective.

“Bet’s a bet, Lucifer.” She scoots a few inches away from him so that they’re not touching. “Now hush, it’s already started.”

He gapes at her. He knows she notices because she’s trying and failing not to smile. He searches for some kind of explanation for the sudden distance between them. Did he somehow become less stunningly attractive in the last hour? A quick once over of his body reveals that no, nothing has changed. He’s just as good looking as he’s always been. He’s half naked in bed next to her, ready and willing and eager, and she wants to watch a bloody TV show about home remodeling. What the hell.

“You should close your mouth,” the Detective suggests in amusement. “You look like a fish.”

He huffs at her. The gall of this woman. “This is a crime,” he announces.

She laughs. “I’m a cop. This isn’t a crime.”

“You’re a homicide detective. There are other crimes besides homicide.”

“And what crime is this, exactly?”

“Well I don’t know, but it’s a damn bloody crime, that’s for sure. Were all the years of blue balls before this moment not enough for you? You have to continue punishing me just because you can?”

“You’re such a drama queen,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s an hour long episode, Lucifer. Be a good Devil for an hour and then we’ll see what happens.”

“Sex,” he sputters at her. “Sex is what happens.”

She smiles and lifts her shoulder. “We’ll see.”

He glares at her. She ignores him. After a minute or so, when it becomes clear that she’s serious, he sighs dramatically and folds his arms over his chest and turns toward the TV to pout. He hates her a little, but he’s not about to renege on a bet. He has a reputation to maintain, after all. Besides, he waited thousands of years for her. What’s another hour?

A few seconds later, her hand slides over his knee. 

He snaps his head toward her in surprise. She doesn’t look at him. He swallows, stares at her thumb stroking idly over his knee, and then looks back at the TV. She’s testing him. He knows it.

A few minutes later her hand slides higher, up to his thigh. 

He turns his head slowly to look at her. She doesn’t look back. He considers his options, and unfolds his arms. He waits a few seconds, trying to ease into it, and then slides his hand across the mattress toward her leg. 

“Hands to yourself, Lucifer,” she says in the same tone she uses with suspects. 

He yanks his hand back, is immediately annoyed with himself that he obeyed her so quickly, and then is immediately turned on. He wasn’t lying before. He does think it’s sexy when she’s bossy. And whatever she’s up to right now...well, he’s into it. 

By the time the insanely annoying couple on the TV is finally arguing over whether to love or list their house, Lucifer is desperate. Thousands of years in Hell don’t hold a candle to the exquisite torture the Detective has put him through over the last hour. She’s stroked her hands all over him. She’s squeezed and fondled and caressed. About five minutes ago she leaned across the space between them and started sucking on his neck, and he’s fairly certain he’s going to explode. He’s sitting on his hands in an attempt to behave, but it’s not going to work much longer. Her tongue is fucking witchcraft. He’s never been so turned on in his life. 

“We’ve decided to love it,” the husband announces on the screen.

“Show’s over,” Lucifer blurts out and lunges at the Detective.

She squeaks in surprise as she careens backward on the bed beneath him, and then she laughs when he immediately buries his face in her neck. They’re facing the wrong way on the bed, their feet on the pillows, but Lucifer couldn’t care less. All he cares about is the Detective. Naked.

He rips the dress shirt of his that she’s wearing open, and buttons fly all over the room. He doesn’t care. How can he care about anything when there’s all this skin to lick and kiss?

He sets to work on her chest—he loves this part of her, because he fantasized about it before he even knew her and it thrills him that it’s all his now—and she arches up into his mouth. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, her fingers combing through his hair. 

“Show’s over,” he insists between kisses. “It’s called Love It or List It and they decided to love it and now the episode is over and I was a good Devil so excuse me while I claim my reward.”

She laughs. It vibrates through her chest and he loves that. 

“I should confess something,” she says, her nails scratching over the back of his head. 

He lifts his head to look at her. “Oh?” And then he grins. “Is it a secret fantasy you’ve always had? You know how I love fulfilling fantasies.”

She smiles at him. “I’d already seen the episode we made a bet over.”

He frowns. He doesn’t understand what she means. And then it hits him. 

“You little cheat,” he hisses. 

She laughs. “I never said I hadn’t watched it.”

“It was implied!”

She tilts her head. “I don’t think it was. You just assumed. And you know what they say about making assumptions.”

He sputters at her. She laughs again. He lunges at her, kissing the laugh from her lips. She hums at him and wraps her arms around his neck. 

“I’m going to punish you for that,” he murmurs into her mouth. 

She arches beneath him suggestively. “Promise?”

He grins. 


Spending the night at the Comfort Inn in Green River, Utah is a far cry from spending it in a mansion overlooking the Vegas skyline. 

Under normal circumstances, Lucifer would be hard pressed to say that his current accommodations were satisfactory. He’s used to suites, but this is a single room. The view from the window reveals nothing but a sad looking shrub and a parking lot. The thermostat is set to an acceptable temperature, but the room is chilly. He thinks there’s a draft coming from somewhere he has yet to identify. The bathroom smells faintly of lemon cleaning solution, and the rest of the room smells like fabric softener. All in all, it’s not his idea of the ideal place to spend an evening.

But it’s hard to complain when he’s with the Detective. 

The view from the window doesn’t matter when she’s in his arms, her hair fanned out over the pillow behind her as she sleeps. The room is chilly, but that just means she’s cuddled close to him, seeking his warmth beneath the sheets. The room smells like fabric softener, but her hair smells amazing. He needs to read the label of her shampoo bottle. He’s not entirely sure it’s not magic of some sort. How else to explain how the scent of something so cheap is so intoxicating?

The Detective sighs in her sleep, and then she starts to snore softly. Lucifer can’t help but smile. It’s a horrific sound, really. It should annoy him. It doesn’t. It amuses him that a woman so beautiful can make a sound so terrible. But that’s his Detective. Full of contradictions and surprises. 

And full of doubts too, apparently. 

That’s why he’s still awake even though he’s tired. He can’t stop thinking about their conversation at the diner. He can’t stop thinking about the softness in her voice and the apprehension in her eyes when she murmured that she was afraid she wasn’t enough for him. He thought she knew what she meant to him. He hasn’t said the words she wants to hear, of course, but he thought she knew. She said she knew. 

But maybe it’s not about that. Maybe she really does know that he cares for her more than he’s ever cared for anyone, but she also believes that his affection isn’t enough to keep him faithful. He did tell her once that he would be bored with the same person in his bed every night. But when she’d asked him that question, he hadn’t realized she was thinking of herself. If he had, he might have answered differently. He certainly never dared to dream that she would fall in love with him. Shag him senseless once or twice, sure. Everyone wants to do that. But love him? Love him? Who would dare?

Her, apparently.

Miracle indeed.

It upsets him that she’s unsure of his commitment to her. It frustrates him that even in the midst of this waking nightmare, when he thought he’d made it abundantly clear that he is ready and willing to sacrifice anything and everything to give her back her life, she still has doubts about him. It pains him that even though she knows he spent thousands of years pining over her, she still wonders if he’ll wake up one morning and want someone else. The idea that he could want someone else in his bed after she graced the sheets is preposterous. Ludicrous. Laughable.

But she doesn’t seem to know that. 

He thinks, perhaps, that it’s because he didn’t get a chance to woo her. He doesn’t know much about relationships or love, but he’s fairly certain that wooing is important to women. It seems to solidify for them that their suitors are in it for the long haul. And it’s not as though he hasn’t tried to woo the Detective. He had plenty of plans before that mess with Father Kinley. He had plans before all this mess with Dream too. But now they’re on a road trip across the country to meet Death, and road trips aren’t exactly conducive to wooing. 

Then again, maybe he’s mistaken. Maybe he’s just not thinking outside the box enough. Diner bathrooms aren’t exactly conducive to orgasms, but he pulled a pretty spectacular one from the Detective earlier. Love It or List It isn’t really conducive to foreplay, and yet the Detective had him panting with need as they watched an episode. Who says the Devil can’t woo his beloved during a road trip?

An idea starts to form. They were meant to stay in a tiny town an hour or so outside Denver tomorrow night. But what if they don’t? What if he plans something special for her in the city instead? The stars have aligned in that regard, actually, because he knows someone in Denver who owes him a favor. He’ll have to be careful to keep things discreet so they stay off the radar of the Detective’s law enforcement colleagues. It will take a lot of work, and likely a considerable amount of money. 

But maybe, if he does everything exactly right, she’ll finally understand. 


Lucifer is acting weird.

In and of itself, that’s not exactly unusual. He’s always been eccentric. To be fair, a lot of his eccentricities seem a lot less bizarre now that Chloe knows he’s the actual Devil. But still, he’s quirky. 

This is, like, a whole new level of weird though. 

She notices it as soon as she wakes up. Her internal alarm clock has her awake at seven local time, which is annoying. She glares at the clock on the bedside table and tries to snuggle deeper beneath the covers, but then she realizes she’s alone. She picks her head up off the pillow and cranes her neck to see behind her, and sure enough, the bed is empty. 

She blinks, confused. “Lucifer?” she murmurs, her voice rough with sleep.

No answer. 

She rolls over and props herself up on her elbows and squints around the room. It’s a small room. There’s nowhere for him to wander off to. Unless he’s in the bathroom. But the light is off and the door is open and there’s no noise. He’s not here. 

She rubs a hand over her face. She’s trying to decide whether she’s annoyed or confused or worried when the door swings open and Lucifer breezes in, his cell phone balanced between his shoulder and his ear. He’s got a white plastic bag hanging from one wrist, and a paper cup in each hand. 

“No, no, that won’t do,” he says into the phone in a hushed tone. “I want the entire box, you understand? Complete privacy. I don’t care what it costs. Money is no object. Call me when it’s done.”

He balances one of the paper cups on top of the other and snatches his phone away from his ear, but it tumbles out of his grasp and bounces across the floor. 

“Oh bloody hell,” he sighs. 

“Who are you talking to?” Chloe asks.

Lucifer startles at the sound of her voice, glances up with wide eyes, and then smiles. “You’re awake.” 

He strides across the room and sets the paper cups down on the bedside table. “The one closest to you is yours. No whiskey.” 

He bends forward and snatches his phone off the floor. After he tucks it back into his pocket, he dumps the plastic bag out on the bed between them. Two containers of yogurt, a plastic spoon, a banana, an apple, two bagels, and what appears to be a cheese danish tumble across the bedspread. 

“Didn’t know what you’d fancy, so I got one of everything that looked appetizing. The eggs looked like something you’d find in a loop. And I’ll spare you a description of the waffle batter.” He shudders. 

Chloe frowns at the banana that’s resting against her knee. “I would’ve gone with you.”

“You looked peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you.”

There’s an edge in his voice that wasn’t there before. A memory of bolting awake last night, a strangled scream stuck in her throat from a nightmare, assaults her. He was right when he said the dreams would get worse. They are. 

She swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat and sits up. He watches her, concern clear in his eyes, but she pretends she doesn’t notice because she can’t deal with that right now. Maybe after she’s had some coffee. 

She rakes a hand through her hair and reaches for the coffee he brought her. It tastes bitter on her tongue. Too bitter. 

“It’s terrible coffee, I know,” Lucifer says. He smiles. “I don’t suppose I could interest you in some whiskey to smooth it out?”

She smiles. “No.”

“Your loss,” he muses. And then he claps his hands together. “Now then. I’ve got calls to make. You think you can be ready in half an hour?”

Chloe frowns at him over the rim of her cup. “Why?”

“Well so we can hit the road, obviously. I’ve already loaded my belongings into the car, so that’s done. All we need is you and yours.”

Chloe glances at the clock on the bedside table again, just to make sure she didn’t misread the numbers. 

“It’s seven o’clock,” she says incredulously. 

“Yes. And?”

She frowns. “And why are you in such a hurry?”

His face freezes the way it does when he’s trying to figure out a way to answer a question without lying. “Just eager to get moving,” he says after a minute.

She narrows her eyes at him. “Lucifer.”

He snatches his coffee cup off the bedside table. “I’ll just be outside, darling.” He practically sprints toward the door. “Try not to dawdle!” 

The door slams shut with a bang a second later. Chloe blinks, confused, and then rolls her eyes. 

“Weirdo.”


Forty minutes later, Chloe is closing the trunk of the Escalade when Lucifer materializes next to her. 

“Would you mind driving?”

“Shit,” she says, lifting her hand to her chest. “What the hell, Lucifer.”

“Sorry,” he says with a grin. He dangles the keys in her face. “Will you drive?”

Chloe takes the keys from him. “Are you going to work on your laser beam hands again?”

He huffs at her, probably because of her word choice, but doesn’t voice his disapproval. “No. I’ve got other, more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Like what?”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Detective.”

“Good thing I’m not a cat then.”

He grins at her and opens his mouth, but she smacks her hand over it before he can speak. 

“No pussy puns, Lucifer. It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”

He wraps his fingers around her wrist and pulls her hand down from his mouth. “It’s never too early for a pussy pun, darling.”

She rolls her eyes. He leans forward and kisses her. She thinks he means for it to be just a brief peck, but she fists her hands in his lapels and holds him close when he starts to pull back. She hasn’t kissed him yet today. He didn’t even kiss her good morning. Another weird thing. 

She leans back eventually, but only far enough to look him in the eye.

“For the record,” she murmurs, straightening his jacket, “I prefer waking up with you next to me instead of alone.”

He blinks in surprise, and then his lips smooth into an almost shy smile. “Duly noted.”

“You going to tell me who you’ve been calling all morning?”

“Nope.”

She sighs. “Fine. I didn’t want to know anyway.”

“Liar.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and heads for the driver’s side door. 

“You look like your child,” he calls out after her.

Chloe glances at him over her shoulder. “She looks like me. I’m the OG.”

Lucifer grimaces. “Please never say that again.”

Chloe laughs.

Twenty minutes later, as the sound of Rob Thomas crooning You’re so smooth over Carlos Santana’s guitar emanates from the Escalade’s speakers, Lucifer pulls a set of earbuds out of his pocket. 

Chloe frowns at him. “If you hate this song that much, I can change the station,” she tells him.

“Don’t be silly,” he says. “You’re driving. Listen to whatever your heart desires.”

“And what are you listening to?”

“Curiosity killed the—”

“Alright fine,” she cuts him off, her temper flaring a little. “Don’t tell me then.”

He grins at her and leans across the center console. “It’ll be worth it,” he murmurs in her ear and then kisses her cheek.

“What does that mean?” she grumbles.

He just grins and shoves the earbuds in his ears.

He spends the next three hours hunched over his phone. Sometimes he scrolls, and sometimes he fires off a series of texts at an alarming speed, and every once in a while he takes a call and mutters vague words in hushed tones that she strains to hear. She tries to catch a glimpse of his phone every now and then, but he catches her every time and turns the screen away from her with a click of his tongue. The bits and pieces of the spoken conversations she manages to hear aren’t helpful either. Her detective brain kicks into high gear, and she rearranges all the facts she knows a million different ways, but she can’t figure it out. What the hell is he doing?

They stop for lunch. It’s another diner, and when Lucifer teases her about a repeat performance in the bathroom, she tells him he’s not getting any sex until he tells her what the hell he’s being so weird about. She expects him to be horrified by the threat, but he just smiles. 

He puts his phone away for most of their meal, at least. By the time the waitress drops off the check, Chloe’s almost forgotten that he spent all morning being a weirdo. But then his phone rings, and he freezes when he glances at the caller ID on the screen. 

“I have to take this.”

Chloe frowns. “Who is it?”

“No one you need concern yourself with,” he says dismissively. 

Her temper flares. “Seriously, Lucifer, what the hell is going on?”

He climbs out of the booth. “Everything is fine, Detective.” He answers the phone. “Yes, hello. Did you succeed?” He listens with his eyebrows furrowed, and then he sighs. “Well why didn’t you say so? Hold on.” He shoots an apologetic look at Chloe and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. “Would you mind…?”

She snatches the wallet out of his hand. “Fine.”

He turns as if to walk away, but hesitates.

“Just go,” Chloe snaps.

He gives her another apologetic look and turns on his heel and heads for the exit. 

She watches him go. She can see him through the window next to their booth as soon as he gets out into the parking lot. He strides toward the car, and then paces back and forth next to it. He’s waving one of his hands through the air, talking animatedly, and Chloe chews her lip. She’s starting to worry. What if it’s Constantine or Zatanna? She knows that Lucifer checks in with them a few times a day just to make sure Trixie is safe. What if something is wrong, and he won’t tell her because he doesn’t want her to worry?

She sighs and climbs out of the booth. She grabs the check from the table, and then heads for the register at the front. The teenager behind it smiles at her, and she smiles back as she hands him the check. She opens Lucifer’s wallet and pulls out enough cash to cover the bill and a generous tip. 

“Just keep the change,” she tells the cashier. 

He smiles at her gratefully. Chloe turns away from him, glancing down at Lucifer’s wallet to fold it closed again, and that’s when she sees a small corner of something white sticking out of one of the slots. She frowns. All the other slots are filled with credit cards and their fake IDs, but whatever is in this one doesn’t appear to be made of plastic. 

She shoves the front door of the diner open with her shoulder as she digs her fingers into the slot. It takes some effort, but she finally manages to pull whatever’s inside free. She frowns when she realizes it’s a photograph that’s folded in half. She unfolds it, and then stops dead in her tracks on the sidewalk outside the diner. 

Her own face is looking back at her. So is Trixie’s. Trixie is in her soccer uniform, a medal hanging around her neck and a small plastic trophy clutched in her hand. Chloe is crouched next to her, her arm wrapped around her daughter’s waist, and they’re both smiling broadly at whoever is taking the photo. She thinks it was Dan. This was taken a few months ago, after Trixie’s soccer team won a weekend tournament and Trixie scored a goal in the championship game. Chloe still has the trophy displayed proudly on a shelf in their kitchen. 

Grief slams into her, unexpected and awful. She misses her kid. She hasn’t heard her voice in days. The last time she heard it, Trixie was screaming at her, begging her not to go.

And she left. 

Tears prick her eyes. She swallows around the tightness in her throat and wills the tears to go away. She can’t spend the next week crying every time she misses her kid. She’ll be a mess by the time they finally meet Death. She swipes at her eyes, and then lifts her head to look for Lucifer. He’s still pacing by their car. She glances down at the photo, and then back up at him. 

Why does he have this folded up in his wallet? How did he even get it?

She strides across the parking lot. As she gets closer to him, she hears his end of the phone conversation. 

“An array, you understand?” he’s saying. “A few sensible options, and then a few that are a little more, well...” He pauses, and then he laughs. “Yes, precisely. And that’ll be that, correct? Everything else is in order?” 

He pauses again as Chloe stops behind him.

“Splendid,” he says. “I’ll see you shortly, darling.” Another pause. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you are. You two will be thick as thieves in no time, I’m certain. Goodbye for now.”

Chloe frowns. Who the hell is he talking to?

He hangs up and turns around, and then stops short when he sees her. “Detective. Hello.” He frowns. “How much did you hear?”

Chloe wants to ask him who he was talking to and why he’s being such a damn enigma all of a sudden, but she knows he won’t tell her. She holds up the photograph in her hand instead. 

“Why is this in your wallet? How did you get it?”

Lucifer glances down at the photograph in her hand, and then the color drains from his face. 

“Oh,” he says softly. He looks a little embarrassed all of a sudden. “It was a gift.”

“What?”

“Your offspring gave it to me shortly after I returned from Hell. She was concerned I would leave again, and I told her that although I didn’t want to, I might not have a choice. She thought I might want something to remember the two of you by if I was forced to leave again, so she presented me with that.”

Chloe stares at him, dumbfounded. Grief is clawing at her chest again. Of course Trixie gave it to him. Of course she did. And he put it in his wallet. He could’ve refused to take it or thrown it away or tossed it in a drawer somewhere in his penthouse. But he folded it up and put it in his wallet, and he’s been carrying it around with him all this time, and the fact that the two people she loves most in the world had this moment she didn’t know anything about makes her ache, because they aren’t having those moments anymore. If she and Lucifer don’t fix this mess with Dream, they’ll never have another moment again.

Tears well up in her eyes. 

“Detective,” Lucifer breathes.

She waves him off. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he murmurs. He brushes his hands over her cheeks, and then pulls her into his chest. She melts into him, wrapping her arms around his torso, the photo still clutched in her hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the top of her head. 

Chloe shakes her head but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t trust herself to be able to get the words out. 

They stand there like that for a while, Lucifer’s hand rubbing gently over her back, and then she finally pulls out of his embrace. 

“Alright?” he murmurs, brushing his hands over her cheeks again. 

She nods. 

“I’ll drive.”

“Don’t you have more mysterious calls to make?”

He smiles at her. “Angsty, are we?”

“Just tell me what you’re doing,” she begs, sounding remarkably like Trixie. “It’s driving me nuts.”

She wonders if he’s also noticed how much she sounds like her daughter, because he smiles as he presses a kiss to her hairline. “Just a little longer, darling.”

“A little longer until what?

“You’ll see.”


“Lucifer,” Chloe says, frowning at the gorgeous single-family homes outside her window, “what are we doing?”

“Hm?” Lucifer hums.

Chloe turns to look at him. “Why are we driving through a Denver neighborhood?”

“Oh, are we?” he says innocently. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Lucifer, we have to stay off the radar, remember? There’s a reason we picked hotels in tiny towns where no one will notice us. We’re wanted fugitives. Staying in the city limits is a bad idea.”

He reaches across the car and grabs her hand. “You needn’t worry, Detective. I’ve taken all the proper precautions to keep you safe.” He peers out the windshield, and then his face lights up. “Ah. Here we are.”

He guides the Escalade into a marked parking spot in front of a modern looking gray house with blue trim and a blue roof. It’s surrounded by a stylish fence with horizontal slats. Chloe gapes at it. The landscaping is immaculate and the decor is cheerful but classy. It’s definitely the kind of place she’d live in, though it seems a little understated for Lucifer. 

She turns to look at him. “What is this place?”

He smiles at her. “I’ll fetch your luggage.”

He gets out of the car without further comment. Chloe stays put in the passenger seat, bewildered, until Lucifer appears outside her door and knocks on the window. 

“Come on, darling,” he says brightly. “We mustn’t keep her waiting.”

“Keep who waiting?” Chloe demands. She swings the door open and climbs out of the car. Lucifer turns toward the house, but Chloe grabs his arm. “No, stop. I want answers. Now.”

“Oh,” he says. “I almost forgot.”

He sets her bags down and pulls his wallet out. “We’re using these IDs while we’re here. You’ll want to keep this in your purse.” 

He holds out one of the driver’s licenses that Javier made for them. Chloe’s face stares up at her next to the name Kate Jones. She takes the ID. 

“Who are you?” she asks, looking up at Lucifer. “In case someone asks me.”

“William Jones.” 

Chloe frowns. “Jones? We have the same last name?”

Lucifer suddenly looks uncomfortable. “We’re married. I won’t be able to say that if anyone asks, of course, but you can. Although, I suppose referring to you as my partner is truthful and won’t run afoul of our cover identities.”

Chloe gapes at him. 

“It was Javier’s idea,” Lucifer says, shifting from one foot to the other. He rolls his shoulders. “I didn’t think...well, I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

Chloe swallows. “No, I...I don’t mind.”

“Valerie knows who I am,” he says. “So when we get inside there’s no reason for you to call me William. Later, though, you’ll need to refrain from calling me by my real name in the presence of others.” He fidgets again. “Valerie will uh...well, she’ll take care of appearances. So to speak.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“You’ll need a ring,” he clarifies. “Just for the night. You won’t have to...well, you can take it off as soon as we’re alone. If you’d like.”

Chloe stares at him. She’s trying to wrap her mind around the idea of pretending to be Lucifer’s wife for the evening when he bends down to pick up her bags. 

“Come along,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel rushed.” He starts up the sidewalk leading to the house. 

Chloe frowns. “Rushed?”

“Come on, Detective,” he calls without stopping.

She hurries after him. She catches up to him as he swings the front door open and deposits her bags just inside the door. 

He motions at her. “After you, darling.”

Chloe steps over the threshold and into the house. It’s just as gorgeous inside as it is outside. The hardwood floors are a dark shade of brown, and the walls are a light shade of gray. She can see most of the first floor from her position inside the door. There’s a glass table that seats four up ahead to the right, and a stunning kitchen straight ahead, and a seating area surrounding a fireplace and a mounted TV toward the left. She can see the railing of a staircase leading upstairs on the left too. On the far side of the house is a set of accordion glass doors that lead out to what appears to be a patio. 

Chloe is turning toward Lucifer to ask him to explain what the hell they’re doing here when a very pretty black woman in a bright yellow dress and matching yellow heels descends the stairs and turns the corner to face them.

“Lucifer,” she greets brightly. “Right on time.”

“Valerie, darling,” he greets, smiling broadly. “Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine.”

Valerie grins at him, and then turns her attention to Chloe. “And you must be Chloe.” She strides forward, her heels clicking on the floor, and extends her hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Chloe casts a look at Lucifer as she shakes Valerie’s hand. “You have?”

Valerie laughs. Her laugh is just as pretty as she is. “I have. I spent half an hour this morning listening to him gush.”

Lucifer huffs. “I don’t gush.

“You do about her,” Valerie says dryly. She winks at Chloe. 

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile. 

Lucifer clears his throat loudly and turns to Chloe. “Right, well, this is where I leave you. Valerie will take care of everything you need.”

Chloe frowns. “What? Where are you going?”

“Elsewhere,” he replies vaguely. “I’ll pick you up at six.” He leans toward her. “I won’t be late, so make sure you’re ready.”

“What are you talking about? Lucifer, what’s—”

She’s stopped short by his lips brushing against hers. He cups her cheek briefly, his thumb stroking over her skin as he kisses her, and then he leans back with a smile. “I’ll see you soon, love.” 

He winks at Valerie, and then he steps out of the house and pulls the door shut behind him. 

Chloe stares after him, stunned. Silence rings in her ears. What the hell?

She turns to look at Valerie, who smiles. “You must be very confused.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Valerie folds her hands in front of her. “He told me that you’re very detail oriented, and also suspicious by nature given your job, so I’ll give you some details about myself before we start, shall I?”

Chloe has no idea what the hell they’re about to start, but she nods. “Okay.”

“My name is Valerie Hathaway, but you can call me Val. I’ve known Lucifer for a few years now. I used to own a luxury lifestyle management business in L.A., which is a ridiculous way of saying that I was a concierge for rich and famous people. That’s how we met.”

“He was a client of yours?”

“Sort of. He used my services occasionally, but I used his connections just as much as he used mine. It was a mutually beneficial partnership. And a strictly professional one, for the record.”

Chloe nods. She wasn’t going to ask, but she’s strangely relieved to know that this woman hasn’t seen her boyfriend naked. 

“And then I fell in love,” Valerie continues. She lifts her left hand to show off a massive, sparkling diamond ring. “His name is Chris. He’s a surgeon here in Denver. I asked Lucifer to help me move my business here and get me established. He came through in spades.”

“So you’re here because you owe him a favor.”

Valerie smiles. “I’m here because Lucifer made it possible for me to do what I love in the same city as the man I love. Based on all the gushing he did this morning, I’d say he feels the same way about you that I feel about Chris.”

Chloe glances at the wedding ring on Valerie’s finger, remembers that she and Lucifer are going to have to pretend to be married while they’re doing whatever it is they’re doing tonight, and feels her heart start to thud in her chest. 

“So you’re the one he’s been on the phone with all day?”

Valerie nods. “Yes.”

“And you know what he’s got up his sleeve for tonight?”

“Yes. But I’m sworn to secrecy.”

“Of course you are,” Chloe sighs.

Valerie smiles. “Given what you do for a living, you might be able to glean some clues once you see what I’ve procured for you.”

“Procured?” Chloe says with a frown. 

Valerie beckons her forward. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

Chloe leaves her bags by the front door and follows Valerie into the house. They climb the stairs to the second floor, and walk down the hall past an open seating area and office space and into what appears to be the master bedroom. There are ten pairs of high heels arranged neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed, and six different clutches arrayed nearby. Several velvet boxes are sitting on top of a long dresser. 

Valerie passes them all and heads for the white garment bag draped across the bed. “He was pretty insistent about giving you plenty of choices,” she says. “But not when it comes to the dress.”

“The dress?” Chloe says. “What dress?”

Valerie leans forward to pull the zipper on the garment bag down, pushes the bag out of the way, and then leans back. “This dress.”

Chloe stares. The dress is a beautiful, vivid shade of red. It’s strapless and full length and there’s a long slit up the right side. She crosses the room, her mouth hanging open, and reaches out to touch it. It’s cool beneath her fingers, probably satin or silk or a combination of the two. She spots the designer label sewn into the fabric on the back interior of the dress, and shoots a look at Valerie. 

“How much did he spend on this?”

Valerie smiles. “Let’s look at shoes.” 

She gestures at the high heels on the floor. “If you don’t see something you like here, I’ve got some other options in the car. If you’re looking for something simple and comfortable, I’d go with these.” She nudges a pair of simple nude pumps with her own yellow high heel. 

“But if you’re feeling a little dangerous,” she says with a smirk, “I’d go with the Valentino pair.” 

She nudges a pair of metallic silver gladiator high heels that appear to be studded with tiny gemstones and have a zipper up the back of the heel. A memory of the look on Lucifer’s face the last time she wore strappy high heels floats to the surface of Chloe’s mind. 

“Yeah,” she says. “I think I like the Valentinos.”

Valerie’s smile widens. “Silver clutch too then, right?”

Chloe glances at the array of clutches, considers the silver one, and nods. “Yeah.”

“Well that was easy,” Valerie says with a laugh. “On to the good stuff.” 

She crosses the room toward the dresser, and opens the first of three velvet cases. “He thought with a strapless dress, you might want something around your neck. See what you think of these.”

Chloe crosses the room for a closer look and then feels her mouth go dry. There are six necklaces inside the velvet case. The one on the far left is a literal rope of diamonds that probably costs more than she makes in an entire year. The necklaces get less ostentatious as she scans from left to right. The last one in the case catches her eye. She steps closer. 

Valerie follows her gaze. “That’s Cartier,” she says. “White gold chain with a half carat solitaire diamond. You like it?”

“Yeah.” 

“He said you’d pick that one.”

Chloe looks up. “He did?”

Valerie nods. “Easy enough to tuck under a t-shirt when you get back to L.A.”

Chloe frowns. “Wait, these are...these aren’t loans? He bought these?”

“Well I’ll return the ones you don’t want,” Valerie says, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. “Unless you want to keep all of them?”

“No,” Chloe blurts out.

Valerie smiles. “Well then technically no, he didn’t buy all of them. Just the one that you like.”

Chloe stares at the diamond necklace and suddenly feels a little dizzy. 

Valerie pushes the velvet box aside and reaches for another one. She pulls it open, and reveals nearly a dozen pairs of earrings. “See anything you like here?”

Chloe stares. She’s feeling a little overwhelmed. Twenty minutes ago, she and Lucifer were going to spend the night at a Best Western in Sterling. She thought they’d get some dinner at a local restaurant, and maybe grab a drink at a dive bar where no one would notice them, and then go back to their hotel room and get lost in each other. Maybe watch a movie afterward. Now she’s standing in a beautiful house in Denver, next to a beautiful woman who’s a concierge for rich and famous people, staring at cases of diamonds.

“Um,” she says, rubbing her forehead. 

Valerie seems to notice she’s feeling overwhelmed. “I’d go with these,” she says kindly. She gestures at a dangly pair nestled in the middle of the case. “They’re also Cartier, and just as understated as the necklace. You probably won’t wear them to work, but definitely on special occasions like your anniversary.”

Chloe blinks. Do she and Lucifer even have an anniversary? 

“Chloe?” Valerie prompts.

“Yeah,” she says, snapping to attention. “Yeah, those are good.”

“Excellent,” Valerie says. She pushes the box aside and reaches for the final velvet case. “That just leaves these.” She opens the lid of the box, and Chloe’s heart stutters to a stop. 

Engagement rings. These are engagement rings. There are two dozen of them at least, and they’re all spectacular. Some of them are huge solitaires, and some of them have four or five smaller diamonds nestled together. One of them has a sapphire set in the middle, and another has a ruby, and there’s one with a diamond that’s sparkling so brightly Chloe thinks she might go blind. She’s suddenly finding it hard to breathe. 

And then, all of a sudden, she remembers that time they pretended to be an engaged couple. She remembers how offended Lucifer got when she called him cheap, and the tension loosens in her chest. 

“He did this on purpose,” she murmurs with a smile.

“Did what?” Valerie wonders.

Chloe gestures at all the jewelry in front of her. “It’s his way of saying he’s not cheap.”

Valerie frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“Nevermind,” Chloe says. She darts her gaze over the case again, and her eyes catch on a ring in the bottom right corner that she hadn’t noticed before.

It’s simple and elegant. Unlike the others, which all scream Look at me, I’m taken! this one doesn’t have a massive rock. It’s just a band. Well, actually it’s two bands, interwoven to form what appears to be an infinity symbol, and studded with tiny little diamonds all the way around.

“This one,” she says, reaching out to grab it. 

“Are you sure?”

Chloe studies it, turning it over in her hand as the tiny diamonds glint in the sunshine streaming through the windows. She hesitates, her heart racing in her chest, and then slides it on her fourth finger. She wore a wedding ring for years, but she’s not accustomed to the weight anymore. It feels different. Maybe because it’s not Dan’s. It’s not Pierce’s, either. It’s Lucifer’s. 

She tries not to smile and fails. “I’m sure.”

Valerie shuts the case. “He really wasn’t kidding about you being low maintenance.”

“One of us has to be,” Chloe quips.

Valerie snorts. She pulls the necklace and the earrings Chloe selected out of the other cases, and then shuts those too. 

“All right. So the bathroom has been stocked with all the products he said you preferred. The kitchen is stocked too, in case you’re hungry, but I wouldn’t eat anything too filling. You’ll have dinner before you...go wherever it is you’re going.”

Chloe smiles. “Still not going to tell me?”

“Nope,” Valerie says with a laugh. “Is there anything else you need? Trust me, I can get anything.”

Chloe glances over at the dress that’s still draped over the bed. “I don’t think so. Looks like he thought of everything.” She frowns. “Except…”

“Except what?”

“Is the dress all he asked for, clothing-wise?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there isn’t any...” She feels her face flush. “Lingerie?”

“No,” Valerie says with a smile. “That didn’t come up.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Interesting.”

Valerie lifts a shoulder. “Maybe he didn’t want to assume.”

“No, Lucifer always assumes.”

Valerie snorts. 

Chloe eyes the dress. He’s going to enjoy taking that off her later. The bras and underwear he bought for her in Vegas are nice, but they’re not that nice. Not designer-dress-and-shoes, dripping-in-diamonds nice. 

She chews her bottom lip and considers her options, and then takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she says, glancing at Valerie and then down at the floor, “so if this isn’t something you usually do, then I can—”

“I can have a dozen sets of lingerie here within half an hour.”

Chloe snaps her eyes up to meet Valerie’s.

Valerie smiles. “If that’s what you want, I mean.”

Chloe smiles.

Notes:

I feel like I should get an award for posting two chapters in a row that don't have significant amounts of angst...

Chapter 21: Twenty-One

Chapter Text

Lucifer is nervous. 

It’s ridiculous for him to be nervous. Absolutely absurd. The Devil doesn’t get bloody nervous. Not when he looks this good in a tux, and not when he has the most romantic date in the history of time planned, and certainly not when he knows that the woman he’s doing all this for is so easy to please that pizza and a six pack of IPAs and a Love It or List It marathon would make her perfectly happy. It is preposterous for him to be nervous. 

But he is. 

His hands feel kind of clammy. There’s a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, like there are a thousand tiny tap dancers tapping out a big finale. He feels kind of nauseous. But also strangely excited? His heart is racing. Like, galloping. There’s a Kentucky Derby in his chest right now. Is this how mortal men feel before they go on dates? Bloody hell, no wonder they spend so many nights at home alone with their hands. He feels like he’s going to keel over. 

When he pulls the Escalade to a stop in front of the Airbnb where he left the Detective, it’s a few minutes before six. He shoves the gear shift into park and stares at the front door. Should he go up there and ring the doorbell even though he’s a few minutes early? He wants to because he’s dying to see her, but what if she’s not ready? He should wait. But if he waits, what the hell is he supposed to do for the next three minutes? 

It feels hot in this car. Is it hot? It’s hot. He should get some fresh air.

He shoves the door open and steps out into the evening air. The weather is perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. Although, if he’s honest, he’s kind of hoping it gets chilly later. He likes the idea of her wearing his tuxedo jacket over her dress. She looks good in his clothes. She looks best in no clothes, obviously, and he’s grown rather fond of the patterned blouses and various blazers and jackets she wears to work, but when she’s in his clothes...he likes that. He likes that a lot. 

He checks his reflection in the window of the car. He looks good. By Dad, he wears a tuxedo well. His hair looks excellent. He wonders what the Detective will have done with her hair. Will she pull it back? Or will she wear it down, perhaps in waves, so that he can brush it out of her face before he kisses her?

Well, now he’s thinking about kissing her. He likes kissing her. He’s never really thought much about kissing. Other than what it can lead to, that is. But kissing the Detective is different somehow. He didn’t realize it was possible to communicate anything other than lust with a kiss, but she communicates with him all the time. Sometimes she kisses him when she’s mid-laugh, and he knows that she’s amused by him. Sometimes she kisses him slowly, gently, and he knows that she loves him. 

He wonders how she’ll kiss him tonight. 

He shakes his head to dismiss the fantasy of kissing her while he unzips her dress. Surely it’s six o’clock now. He glances at his watch, and immediately groans. It’s only been a minute. How has it only been a bloody minute? 

He starts to pace and mentally slideshows through the agenda for the night. He’s proud of himself for planning all this on such short notice, particularly since he’s so inexperienced when it comes to relationships. Really, this is yet another example of how extraordinary he is. He’d bet the Escalade that none of her exes took her out for a night on the town like he’s about to. 

Although, come to think of it, is that a good thing? Perhaps he should have just gone with the pizza/beer/TV marathon thing. What if she doesn’t like all this fuss? What if it’s too over the top? 

Wait. What if it’s not over the top enough? What if she spent the afternoon getting her hopes up for something spectacular, and he doesn’t deliver? What if she’s disappointed in him?

He’s going to be sick. 

He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing the way he’s seen Doctor Linda coach her patients to do. What’s that other nonsense she’s always spewing as patients exit her office? Oh, that’s right. Affirmations. Ridiculous nonsense. But perhaps worth a shot? Can’t hurt.

He takes a deep breath. He is the Lord of Hell. Prince of Darkness. King of Demons. He ruled Hell for millennia. He has laser beam hands, damn it. He can do this. 

He yanks the door of the Escalade open, grabs the bouquet of flowers that he spent half an hour agonizing over at the florist, and then slams the door and strides up the sidewalk toward the house. She’s going to love these flowers. She’s going to love this date. She loves him. Everything is going to be fine. 

He reaches out, stabs the doorbell with his index finger like it’s personally offended him, and then another wave of anxiety crashes over him. He feels sick again. He’s going to be sick. If he throws up in this bouquet, will she still want it?

The door swings open before he can decide, and there she is. 

He’s never seen anyone so beautiful. 

The dress is...it’s perfect. The red is stunning on her, and the fabric hugs her body without being too tight. It’s elegant. Classy. There’s a slit in the skirt, and that means he can see a glimpse of her leg. He adores her legs. Especially when they’re…

Bloody hell, those shoes. He remembers the last time she wore heels like that, and desire burns in his gut. He trails his gaze upward over her body, lingering at her chest, and then he spots the necklace around her neck and the small diamond resting in the hollow of her throat. He feels a brief flash of vindication. He knew she’d pick that one.

Her hair is down, falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s wearing eyeliner, and her lipstick is a deep blood red that matches her dress. 

She’s smiling. He feels warm all over. 

“Hi,” the Detective says softly. 

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. She’s so beautiful it hurts. His body is aching for her, and the tap dancers are back in his stomach.  

He clears his throat and tries again, but all that comes out is, “Uh.” 

Her smile deepens. She nods at the bouquet in his hands. “Are those for me?”

He finally snaps to attention. “Yes,” he blurts out. “Apologies, I...here.” He holds the flowers out for her. 

She takes them from him, her fingers brushing over his, and he feels like lightning is racing through his veins. 

“They’re beautiful,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“The florist said lilacs are symbolic of first love,” he tells her, smoothing his hand over his tux. “It seemed apropos.”

She nods. “Yeah. Definitely.” She motions toward the inside of the house. “Can I put them in water, or do we need to go?”

“By all means,” he says, gesturing at her. “We have a few minutes.”

She smiles at him, and then turns and walks back into the house. He watches her go, his eyes glued to her figure. He knew that dress would look amazing on her, but he didn’t expect…

He tugs on the collar of his shirt. It might be harder than he thought to get through this night without pulling her into a closet or a bathroom. Bloody hell, even a dark corner would do. 

He steps across the threshold and closes the door gently behind him. He checks his reflection in the mirror hanging in the entryway, and then follows her into the house. She’s standing at the kitchen sink, her back to him as she fills a tall glass with water. The bouquet of lilacs is sitting on the counter next to her. 

He pauses at the island and sweeps his gaze over her again. She’s gorgeous. And magnetic. He can feel the pull in his chest. The desire to be in her space and breathe her in is becoming nearly unbearable, so he stops resisting. 

He closes the distance between them and slides a hand along her waist, and then presses his chest into her back. He buries his nose in her hair and inhales. She smells like that shampoo, and also like that hairspray she uses. He can smell her perfume too. 

She smells like home. 

She shuts the faucet off because the glass is full, but she doesn’t reach for the flowers. She doesn’t move. He wonders if her eyes are closed, and if she likes his closeness as much as he likes hers. He brushes her hair aside to give him access to her skin, and then he bends forward to press a kiss to the slope of her shoulder. He trails his mouth upward until it’s by her ear. It’s a crime he hasn’t yet complimented her on how she looks. He needs to rectify that immediately. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispers. 

She shivers a little, probably from his breath on her skin. He smiles. That won’t be the last time she shivers in pleasure tonight. Not by a long shot. 

She finally turns to face him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

“I do look dashing in a tux, don’t I?” 

She purses her lips around a smile and runs her hands along the lapels of his tuxedo jacket. “You going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

“No.” 

“Can I guess?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. I don’t lie, so if you’re correct I’ll be forced to tell you. And then I won’t get to enjoy your reaction.”

She hums under her breath. “Fair enough.”

He lifts his hand to brush a strand of her hair back from her face. “You really do look stunning, Detective. Absolutely breathtaking.”

A hint of a blush blossoms in her cheeks. “Thank you.” Her eyes flicker down to his mouth, but she doesn’t kiss him. “So is this our first date?”

“No.”

She frowns. “No?”

“Our first date will take place once everything is back to normal. I don’t want it to be tainted by the dream and its effects. This is just...well, it’s a half date. Our practice run, if you will.”

“Practice run,” she repeats in amusement. “Alright.”

He trails his fingertips along the chain of her necklace, down to the hollow of her throat where the diamond sits. “Later,” he murmurs, “when I take this dress off you, I want you to leave this on.” 

She swallows, her throat constricting just above his fingers. “Okay.” 

The tension ratchets up between them. He can feel it buzzing in the air and thrumming in his blood. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. 

He bends forward and kisses her. He has no idea how he managed to last this long without feeling her lips against his. He buries his hand in her hair, and she arches into him, and the agony he’s been in all day, his desperation to make her understand what she means to him, finally fades. He’ll show her. She’ll know.

He pulls back from her mouth. She blinks at him, looking a little dazed, and then she smiles. 

“Now you’ve got lipstick on your face,” she murmurs, swiping at his lips with her thumb. 

“I’m sure it suits me.” 

She rolls her eyes. She turns back to the sink and reaches for the lilacs. He watches as she arranges them in the glass, and then lifts it out of the sink to put it on the counter. Something flashes on her left hand, and that’s when he remembers. 

He darts his hand out to grab her wrist. She looks up at him, frowning in confusion, but he’s too busy staring at the ring on her fourth finger to meet her gaze. 

His heart flips in his chest. The last time he saw a ring on that finger, it was Pierce’s. She was Pierce’s. But she’s not anymore. She’s with him now. 

When he looks up at her, she’s watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and smiles. 

“You chose well. It’s beautiful.” He holds up his own left hand with a sheepish smile. “You approve?”

She stares at the ring on his finger, her mouth falling open a little. He waits, but she doesn’t say anything. Her silence lights a flare of anxiety in his chest. Maybe she’s uncomfortable pretending to be his wife and lying on his behalf. He should have asked her first. He shouldn’t have assumed. 

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry that we have to—”

“I’m not.”

He blinks at her, stunned into silence. She stares back at him, and then glances down at his ring. 

“Sorry. It’s just that the last time I saw you with a ring on that finger, it was…” She frowns. “Not great.”

“Yes,” he says. “For me as well. With you, I mean. And Pierce.”

She snaps her gaze up to meet his. Guilt shudders across her face. “Oh,” she says quietly. “I forgot.”

“I wish I could.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. Her expression softens the way it does when she thinks he’s upset, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to start their date with this hanging over them. 

“Never mind all that,” he says. “Water under the bridge.” He offers her his arm. “We should leave so we’re not late. Are you ready?”

She studies him for a moment, and then she loops her arm through his with a smile. 

“I’m ready.”


“Don’t you dare,” Lucifer says, shooting his hand out to grab the Detective by the arm when she reaches for her door handle. “You won’t be opening doors for yourself tonight.”

She gives him a look. “I can open my own door, Lucifer.”

“Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”

She rolls her eyes. “This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it? Throwing my words back at me.”

He grins at her as he reaches for his own door handle. “You started it.”

She snorts. He climbs out of the car, still grinning, and jogs around the back to her side. He swings her door open, and then offers his hand. She slips her hand in his and steps out of the car. He stares at her high heel as it hits the pavement, and then lets his eyes travel up the leg he can see through the slit in her dress as she straightens. 

“My eyes are up here,” she teases. 

He meets her gaze. “Wasn’t your eyes I was interested in, darling.” He lifts her hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Though I’ll be the first to admit they’re as beautiful as the rest of you.”

“Flatterer.”

“We’ve discussed this.”

She hums in amusement or agreement. He can’t tell which. It doesn’t matter. Her bottom lip slides between her teeth, and he’s trying to decide whether he wants to lean forward and nibble on that lip himself when someone clears their throat nearby.

He straightens and turns and finds the valet standing there. The kid can’t be more than seventeen. He flicks his gaze briefly over the Detective’s figure, turns the shade of her dress, and then snaps his gaze down to the sidewalk.

“Seems I’m not the only one who thinks you look beautiful,” Lucifer muses. 

The Detective slides her hand along his bicep. “Don’t,” she murmurs.

Lucifer pulls a fifty dollar bill from his pocket, palms it with the car keys, and then steps forward and offers his hand to the valet. “You’re aware of the time it needs to be returned?”

“Yes sir,” the valet says. He shakes Lucifer’s hand to take the keys, and then his eyes widen when he glances down and sees the fifty in his hand too. He snaps his gaze up. “Thank you, sir. I...thank you.”

Lucifer nods politely. He can feel the Detective smiling at him. He offers her his arm, and she takes it. He smiles too—how can he not?—and leads her toward the restaurant. Her heels click on the sidewalk as they walk. A moment before they reach the door, it swings open and a man in a tuxedo appears. 

“Mr. Jones?”

Lucifer nods. “That’s what it says on the license in my wallet.”

The Detective clears her throat, likely to hide a laugh.

The man in the tuxedo beams. “Welcome.” He bows politely at the Detective. “Mrs. Jones.”

The Detective blushes a pretty color and leans closer to Lucifer with a nod. 

“I’m Alec. Please, come in.” He bows again and gestures inside, and Lucifer leads the Detective over the threshold. 

Inside, the lights are off and the restaurant is illuminated entirely by candlelight. There are a dozen tables with white tablecloths, but only one is set with dishes and glasses. 

Lucifer glances down at the Detective. Her mouth is hanging open. Her hand flexes in the crook of his elbow. “Did you…?”

“Rent it out for the evening?” he finishes when she doesn’t. “Yes.” 

She continues to stare. Behind him, Alec closes the front door, locks it, and then pockets the key and strides across the restaurant. He disappears into the back room without a word. 

The Detective stares after him, a confused frown on her face. 

“The shades are drawn,” Lucifer points out, nodding at the picture windows that normally provide a view of the street but are currently covered. “So there will be no prying eyes from the outside. There are no other patrons, and no cameras. We’ll have very little interaction with Alec, our waiter. I’ve taken all the proper precautions. It is, for all intents and purposes, just you and me.”

She lifts her gaze to his. She looks a little stunned, which he thinks is a good thing, but his heart is racing in his chest anyway. He really wants her to like this.

He leads her across the restaurant to the table that’s set, and pulls out her chair for her. She sits, and he pushes her in, and then he seats himself across from her. 

“Valerie says this is one of the finest restaurants in the city,” he tells the Detective, unbuttoning his jacket and then reaching for the bottle of wine that’s already sitting on the table. “She has a very discerning palate, so I trust her implicitly when it comes to such things. But I also...well, it was important to me that we eat Italian.”

He gestures at her wine glass, and the Detective pushes it toward him. “Why?”

Lucifer opens his mouth to answer her, but finds that his hands are shaking slightly when he lifts the bottle to pour her a glass. He’s a little mortified by that, and the last thing he wants to do is spill red wine all over the white tablecloth like a prat, so he presses his lips together and concentrates on pouring her a glass. He pours himself one too, and then sets the bottle down on the table with a thunk. 

The Detective is watching him. She hasn’t prompted him to answer her, which doesn’t surprise him. She’s appallingly patient with him. 

“I’m immortal,” he finally says, though he can’t bring himself to look at her. “And for most of my life—up until I settled in Los Angeles, that is—I only spent short periods of time on earth. Sometimes when I would return after a long absence, things would be quite different than I remembered. And I never minded. I am, as you observed, a variety is the spice of life kind of guy. But you were also correct in your assessment that familiarity is desirable. And sometimes I...well, I occasionally found myself longing for something familiar.”

He finally lifts his gaze to meet hers. “I found that in Italy. Tuscany, to be precise. I was there when the Renaissance was in full swing, and I enjoyed it so much that I returned as often as I could. I still do. The world has changed in immeasurable ways, but Tuscany is the same. Some of it is deserted, and there are parts that are terribly touristy, but there are still portions that remain as I remember. The food, and the wine, and the streets. The stars in the sky. It feels…”

He can’t seem to find the word. 

“It feels like home?” she suggests. 

He smiles. “It did until I met you.”

He can tell by the look on her face that she likes what he said. He forces himself to look away from her, though, because he still has things to say. 

“Doctor Linda told me once that being in a relationship means sharing yourself without losing yourself. And it occurred to me the other day, when you confided in me that you were concerned that I might not be as committed to you as you desire, that I haven’t...well, I haven’t given you a reason to believe that. I’ve been so afraid of losing myself that I haven’t shared myself.” 

He laughs. “Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I have shared plenty of my physical self with you on more than one occasion.” 

She smirks. “We did do quite a bit of sharing last night.”

He chuckles in agreement, and then lets his smile fade. He fiddles with his cufflink. “I’ve never done this before, Chloe.” 

Her name feels sacred falling from his lips, too sacred to say aloud, but he knows what it means to her when he says it and he wants her to understand. 

“I’ve never cared enough about anyone to feel like I wanted or needed to share myself. But I feel that now, with you, and that’s what tonight is. This restaurant, and the other places I’ll take you...they’re symbolic of things that mean something to me. And I want to share them with you.”

She doesn’t say anything. He waits in agony, hoping he’s been clear enough and hoping she feels the same, and then she leans forward and holds out her hand, her palm up in invitation. His hands are shaking again, but he reaches for her and weaves their fingers together. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice trembling a little. “For being willing to share.” She strokes her thumb over his skin. “I want to know everything, Lucifer. All of it. All of you.”

Relief crashes over him, followed by a wild burst of courage. He leans forward, his chest pressing against the table, desperate to be closer to her. 

“I own a villa in Tuscany. I’d like to take you there. Not now, obviously. But later. When this is over.”

She smiles. “I’d like that too.”


Dinner is divine. 

Lucifer used to think that he knew the meaning of that word. He associates it with wings, and supernatural power, and his family and the city he’s been banished from. But he realizes, now, that he never fully understood the word. Never fully experienced it. Maybe his wings are divine, and maybe the place that used to be home and the celestials he used to call family are divine as well, but they pale in comparison to being with his Detective. 

She asks him about Tuscany, and the Renaissance, and his villa. He tells her everything she wants to know and more. He spends the vast majority of dinner talking, regaling her with stories that make her laugh and stories that make her gasp and stories that make her roll her eyes. He repeats his request to take her to see it all firsthand. She agrees, and he feels…light. Free. 

If he knew it would feel like this, he would’ve done it so much sooner.

She looks happy. Her eyes are stunningly blue in the dimness of the restaurant. The candlelight makes her hair gleam. The ring on her fourth finger sparkles every time she reaches up to brush her hair from her eyes. 

After Alec clears the table of plates from the last course and then disappears into the back room, Lucifer sets his elbows on the table and leans forward. 

The Detective smiles at him over the rim of her wine glass. “Dessert now?”

He lets his gaze trail suggestively over her chest. “Later. Not here.”

“I meant actual dessert,” she clarifies, setting her glass down. “Not me.”

He smiles. “As did I. Get your mind out of the gutter, darling.”

She laughs. “Touche.”

He’s not sure what makes him say it. All he knows is that he opens his mouth and suddenly the words are coming out before he can stop them. 

“This went much better than the last time I surprised you with a fancy dinner by candlelight, don’t you think?”

 She goes still. The atmosphere between them shifts, and he sighs at himself. He just can’t resist the urge to self-sabotage, can he?

“Apologies,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to cast a shadow over the evening.”

A silence hangs in the air, and then she says quietly, “Maybe we should talk about it.” 

Lucifer pulls the napkin off his lap and sets it on the table. “I’d rather not.”

“Yeah, me too. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Things were going so well before he resurrected the ghost of her former fiance. Why is he like this? Why can’t he just give her a romantic evening without any angst? 

He knows the answer. It’s because that’s who he is. He’s just...dark. She’s sunshine and he’s an eclipse, casting her in shadow.

“Lucifer,” the Detective calls.

He inhales a breath, lets it out, and then lifts his eyes to look at her.

She tilts her head, licks her lips the way she does when she’s about to say something she’s nervous about, and then meets his gaze. 

“I was in love with you.” 

He stares at her. 

“That night when you surprised me with dinner to upstage Pierce,” she clarifies. “I loved you, and I wanted to be with you, and I thought that’s what you were going to say. I thought you were finally going to tell me that you were ready for us. But you just…” 

She shakes her head and drops her gaze to the table. Her eyes are glassy, and he hates the idea that even now, after everything they’ve been through, his inability to tell the truth that night still hurts her. 

“I didn’t think you felt the same way.” She frowns. “Or maybe I knew you did, and I just thought I wasn’t enough to make you want to commit.”

His chest aches. Is that what she’s thought all this time? That he didn’t commit because she wasn’t enough? It’s he who’s lacking. It always has been.

“I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life pining over someone who didn’t want me,” she continues, oblivious to his thoughts. “So when Marcus showed up at my door, and said everything that I’d wanted you to say, I thought maybe that was my chance, you know? To move on. To be with someone who wanted to be with me. I cared about him. And he seemed...”

“Safe?” Lucifer offers when she doesn’t finish.

She nods. “Yeah. Or at least I thought so.” She makes a face. “Obviously I was very, very wrong about that.”

“You had no way of knowing.”

“You told me.”

“You had no reason to believe me. I wasn’t being fully honest, and you knew it.”

She presses her lips together and doesn’t argue. He fidgets with the corner of his napkin and tries not to think about how awful it felt when she stood across from him in the interrogation room and nearly said she loved Pierce. 

“So the Doctor was correct then,” he says quietly. “You chose him because he offered you what I didn’t.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“So then why did you call off the engagement?”

She chews her bottom lip, and then lifts her shoulder. “Because he wasn’t you.”

All the breath rushes out of Lucifer’s lungs. 

The Detective fiddles with the ring on her fourth finger for a second, and then she folds her arms on the table and leans forward. 

“I’ve always been right here, Lucifer. All you had to do that night was ask, and I would’ve been yours.”

He leans forward too, feeling suddenly desperate. “I’m asking now.”

She smiles. “Then I’m yours.”

His eyes feel warm. His throat is tight. He gets out of his chair and strides around the table and kneels before her, reaching for her hands. She turns toward him. He bends forward, kissing each of her knuckles, and then he pauses at the finger that used to wear Pierce’s ring and is now wearing his. It’s not a real ring, he knows. But it feels real.  

He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry I wasted so much time.”

“I’m not.”

He looks up at her in surprise. 

She smiles at him, that soft smile that she wears whenever she’s about to say something that will wreck him, and lifts a hand to his face. 

“It’s been hard for us. Messy and painful. But if we hadn’t been through all that, I don’t know if we’d be here.” 

He swallows around the lump in his throat. “So it was worth it?” 

“Every second of it.” 

There isn’t a trace of hesitation in her voice, and suddenly he’s crying. His eyes are brimming, and he can’t stop the tears from leaking down his cheeks, and some distant part of himself that he hates is horrified. The Devil, on his knees before a human, clinging to her and begging to be loved. 

But the rest of him—the man she sees and the angel he wants to be—doesn’t care. How can he care? She’s sunshine burning at midnight, and she loves him, and that’s enough. 

She’s enough.


There’s something profound about the way Lucifer looks at Chloe.

It’s not like Chloe has never noticed it before. It’d be impossible not to. They work together so she sees him every day, and he’s handsome as hell, so she looks at his face quite a bit. And it’s not like she’s the only one who’s noticed it, either. Zatanna isn’t the first person who’s pointed it out to her. Chloe doubts she’ll be the last. 

But tonight is different. 

It’s one look after another. The nervousness when she swung open the door to find him in a tux with a bouquet in his hand. The desire before he kissed her in the kitchen, and when he caught a glimpse of her leg as she climbed out of the car. The fear when he poured her a glass of wine, and the earnestness when he told her he wanted to share himself, and the joy when she said she’d go with him to Tuscany. The pain when she talked about Marcus. The cautious hope when he asked if he was worth it.

He’s worth it. He’s worth all of it. She tells him that, whispers it over and over as she kisses him and wipes his tears away, and she wishes she had more to offer him. She wishes there were better words. She wishes she could make him see himself the way she sees him. Maybe then he’d understand. 

Eventually, he pulls back and rests his forehead against hers. “We have to go or we’ll be late.”

“Late for what?”

He smiles. “Nice try, love.”

He kisses her once more—quick but firm, like he knows he shouldn’t but can’t help it—and then he gets to his feet. He dusts his pants off and wipes his face and clears his throat, and then he bends forward and offers his arm. 

“Shall we?”

She takes his arm and lets him lead her from the restaurant. The valet is outside, waiting in front of the Escalade with the keys in his hand and his eyes glued respectfully to the sidewalk. Chloe sees a flash of green in Lucifer’s hand as he takes the keys, and she knows he just handed the kid another fifty dollar bill. She bites her lip around a smile.

Once they’re both in the car, Lucifer reaches for her hand. She holds it in both of hers, smiling briefly at him, and then gazes out the window. She’s dying to know where they’re going. She’s never been to Denver, so she has no idea where they are. She doesn’t recognize the street names or any of the buildings as they drive. By the time Lucifer pulls the Escalade to a stop in what appears to be a loading dock, she feels like the suspense might kill her. 

Lucifer opens her door for her and helps her from the car. He holds her hand instead of offering his arm, and leads her up a ramp and down a cement corridor to an unassuming steel door. They’re greeted by yet another man in a tuxedo who asks if they’re the Joneses. Lucifer lies without lying again, shooting Chloe a wink in the process, and then the man leads them through the door and into a dark hallway. They wind their way through a maze of corridors and stairs until the man finally stops at a set of ornate double doors. 

The moment Chloe gets on the other side of the doors, her mouth falls open. She’s standing inside a massive, gorgeous theater. There are hundreds of red upholstered seats spread before her, and hundreds of people dressed in formal wear sitting in them or walking down the aisles and rows. To her left, an orchestra in the pit is warming up. Beyond them, the stage looms large and is shielded by a massive red curtain. 

“This way, sir,” the man in the tuxedo says, gesturing toward their right. 

Lucifer squeezes Chloe’s hand and leads her after the tuxedoed man. They walk along the back aisle of the seating section closest to the stage, take a right and climb up a gently sloping flight of stairs, and pass through two sets of doors until they’re in an empty hallway. The man in the tuxedo strides purposely past three closed doors, and then pauses at the fourth with a bow. 

“Here we are.”

Lucifer murmurs his thanks and leads Chloe through the door. The man in the tuxedo closes it behind them, and suddenly Chloe finds herself in a private box with four seats but no other people.

“No need to worry,” Lucifer murmurs when he sees her staring at the chairs. “I bought all four seats. I would’ve liked to seat you closer to the stage, but the box affords us the privacy we need at the moment.”

Chloe lets go of his hand and wanders toward the front of the box. They’re straight back from the stage and dead center. She doesn’t even want to know how much it cost him to do this. She can see the stage clearly, along with all the people finding their seats on the ground level of the theater, but no one is looking at her. It’s as private as a public show can get.

She turns to Lucifer. “What are we watching?”

He smooths his hand over his tuxedo. “Carmen. Not particularly romantic, as it doesn’t end happily for the lovers, but I’m afraid Denver had limited opera options available on a Tuesday evening.”

“Is that why we’re here? Because you love opera and that’s the next thing you want to share?”

“Yes. La Traviata is my favorite. I’m rather fond of La Boheme as well, though I’ll deny that if you bring it up in front of others.”

“Why?”

He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s horribly sentimental.”

“Says the guy who bought me diamonds and a dress and took me to dinner at a restaurant filled with candles.”

He huffs at her. “That’s not sentimental. It’s romantic. There’s a difference.”

“And being romantic is less embarrassing for you than being sentimental?”

“I’m neither in my natural state, darling. I’m doing all this for your sake.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

He frowns at her. She crosses the box to stand in front of him, and tips her head back to meet his gaze. 

“I think you’re both,” she tells him. “I think the only reason you could give me that bullet necklace was because you were sentimental enough to keep the bullet. I think that speech you gave me on the beach was one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard. And I think you think that I’m the one who makes you those things, but the truth is that I just make you feel safe enough to be who you are.”

He stares at her, apparently at a loss for words. Chloe curls her fingers around his arm, and takes advantage of the height of her heels to tip her head up and brush her lips over his cheek.

“I love who you are,” she murmurs in his ear. “Even if you are horribly sentimental.”

He huffs at her. “I am not.

She laughs and starts to pull away from him, but he catches her waist and pulls her back. He ducks forward, nuzzling into the curve of her shoulder, and palms the small of her back. 

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low, “we’re in a private box. We could—”

“I’m not having sex with you at the opera, Lucifer.”

“But when the lights dim and the music starts, no one will—”

“No.”

“We could just—”

“No.”

“What if we—”

“No.”

The lights dim briefly in the theater, signaling the show is about to start.

“We should sit,” Chloe says, pushing lightly on his chest. “Show’s about to start.”

Lucifer doesn’t let her go. “You smell lovely,” he whines into her shoulder. “Why must you always smell so intoxicating?”

Chloe smirks into his chest. “It upsets you that I smell good?”

“It upsets me that you smell good and I can’t taste you.” His tongue darts out to stroke over the side of her neck, and heat flares in her body at the unexpected contact. 

“Pretty sure you just did,” she muses.

“I’ve kept my hands to myself all night,” he points out. “I should be rewarded for my restraint.”

“Your hand is on my ass right now, Lucifer.”

“Well yes, now. But I was good earlier, wasn’t I?”

She sighs. “I feel like when we get back to L.A. you’re going to need a sticker chart. Like, here’s a sticker for every hour you go without feeling me up in public. Good job, babe.”

“Are the stickers worth oral sex?”

Lucifer.

“What? It’s not my fault that your mouth is—”

“Okay,” she cuts him off, pushing him backward. “That’s enough. Come on. Let’s go.”

She tugs him toward their seats, and he throws his head back and sighs like a teenager who’s been asked to clean his room. Chloe ignores him. She settles into her seat, and he settles into his, and a few seconds later the house lights dim for good.

Lucifer leans toward her in the dark.

“Perhaps during intermission we could—”

“If you keep talking I’m not having sex with you for the rest of this trip.”

His mouth falls open and he stares at her, clearly appalled. Then he huffs and tugs on his jacket. 

“You wouldn’t last that long any more than I would,” he announces.

Chloe smiles. He’s not wrong.


Chloe loves the opera.

Which, honestly, is not something she ever thought she’d say. It’s a far cry from the music she usually listens to, but that doesn’t mean she can’t appreciate it. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean she understands it. It’s performed entirely in French, so she has no idea what anyone is saying. Lucifer hands her a booklet a few seconds before the curtain lifts, and she opens it to find the French lyrics on the left and English translations on the right. She gives up trying to follow along pretty soon after, though, because she’s too fascinated by what’s happening on stage. When Lucifer realizes she’s not using the booklet, he starts leaning toward her in between songs to whisper quick summaries of the plot in her ear. She tilts her head toward him, listening without taking her eyes off the stage. His arm is around the back of her chair. His fingers are stroking a pattern across her shoulder blades. It all feels so...normal.

She loves it. 

After the show is finished they linger in their box, waiting for the crowds to disperse. Lucifer tells her about all the composers he knew. She shouldn’t be surprised to hear that he was friends with Mozart, or that he helped write the music for Don Giovanni, but it’s still a little stunning. Her boyfriend was friends with Mozart and helped him write one of his most famous operas. What the hell.  

She thinks once they leave the theater that he’ll take her back to the house. But he doesn’t. He takes her to a bar instead, a place that’s tucked into an alleyway and requires a password at the door to get in. The interior looks like it was plucked straight out of the 1920s. The lights are dimmed extremely low, and there’s sultry jazz music oozing from speakers. There’s a long bar with stools, and a dozen tables with black velvet tufted chairs. 

There are more people inside than Chloe expects to see so late on a Tuesday night, but nobody gives her and Lucifer a second glance. He leads her to a back corner, where a circular booth made of the same black velvet as the other furniture has a Reserved sign propped up on the table. Chloe pauses when she sees it, but Lucifer ushers her into the booth. He follows her and then lifts his hand at the bartender.

The bartender slips out from behind the bar and heads toward them. “Mr. Jones,” he greets when he arrives. He replaces the Reserved sign with a bottle of Macallan and two glasses. 

Lucifer glances at Chloe. “What would you like to drink, love?”

She nods at the Macallan. “That’s fine.”

The bartender bows politely and disappears. Lucifer pours Chloe a glass and offers it to her. She takes it and takes a sip. The liquor burns the whole way down, but she likes that. It tastes like him. 

“So why bring me here?” she wonders.

He reaches for his own glass. “Because it’s a speakeasy. I’m surprised, actually, at how historically accurate some of this decor is. Most modern speakeasies are terrible replications of their predecessors. But this reminds me of a place in Chicago that I frequented in the twenties.”

“Like, the 1920s? During Prohibition?”

He smiles slyly at her. “The Prohibition years were some of my finest work, Detective.”

“Are you about to tell a cop that you illegally sold alcohol?”

“Sold, bought, made. I did it all, darling.”

She laughs. 

He drapes his arm over the booth behind her and leans toward her. “The stories I could tell you,” he says in a low voice. “Al Capone. Lucky Luciano. Bugs Moran. I knew them all.”

She sets the hand that isn’t holding her glass on his thigh. “Tell me.”

He does. At some point, the bartender brings them a bowl of something called hot fudge pudding cake. It’s really good. So good, in fact, that Chloe eats almost the entire thing by herself. Lucifer seems far more interested in her than dessert. He watches her mouth every time she puts the spoon to her lips, his eyes dark with desire, but he doesn’t try to kiss her. He leaves his arm draped over the booth behind her. Every once in a while, he threads his fingers through her hair and strokes the back of her neck. His skin is warm. He looks handsome as hell in that tux, his lips wet with whiskey and his voice low as he talks, but she doesn’t kiss him either. Tension hums in the air between them. There’s an ache between her legs that won’t fade. She doesn’t want it to.

She’s laughing at a ridiculous story he’s just finished about Bugsy Siegel and the Las Vegas Strip when Lucifer grabs the bottle of Macallan. 

“More?” he asks, nodding at her almost empty glass. 

She’s buzzed, but just barely. She doesn’t want to tilt into fully buzzed or drunk, so she shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”

He pours himself another glass. She watches as he lifts it to his lips and sips. He glances at her, and then double takes when he realizes she’s staring. He lowers his glass with a smirk. She holds his gaze, unabashed. She used to look away when he caught her admiring him. She doesn’t anymore. 

He leans closer to her. The sultry, smooth tone of a saxophone floats through the bar and drapes itself over them. 

“You like it here,” Lucifer murmurs.

It’s not a question, but she answers it. “Yeah. Might just be the company, though.”

He smiles, clearly pleased. The saxophone dips low and sends a shiver through her. 

“I like this song,” she says, setting her glass on the table. “Who is it? Do you know?”

“I believe it’s Coltrane.” He sets his glass down too, and then slips his hand beneath the table to rest on her knee, which is bare thanks to the slit in her dress. “It’s called Don’t Take Your Love From Me.”  

“Did you know him too?”

“Coltrane? Yes. But I was closer with Miles.” 

Chloe frowns. “Miles Davis?”

“Indeed.” He grins at her. “You look impressed.”

She is, but the arrogance in his voice makes her want to deny it. “Do I?” she says neutrally, lifting her glass to her lips. 

It’s his turn to watch her mouth. “I once stopped time for Miles, you know.”

She frowns. “How? I thought that was Amenadiel’s thing.”

“Oh it is. But I’ve always enjoyed annoying the hell out of my brother by summoning him whenever I please, and I knew he’d be headed my way soon to return me to Hell, so I summoned him myself to get Miles out of a bind.”

Chloe snorts out a laugh. Lucifer’s smile widens. 

“How’s that work, by the way?” she wonders. 

He tilts his head in an unspoken question.

“The whole prayer thing,” she clarifies. “Can all angels hear prayer, or is it just Amenadiel?”

“Prayer is dependent on knowledge,” he answers, pulling his hand back from her knee to reach for his glass. 

Chloe frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Think of it this way: Praying to my father is like using the 405 in Los Angeles. Anyone can get on or off the road whenever they please because knowledge of him is so abundant. Even if you don’t believe in him, you know enough about him that the communication line is always open. With angels, it’s different. It’s akin to trying to take the road into a gated community. If you don’t know the gate code—if you don’t know the angel who you’re seeking to converse with—then you aren’t permitted to enter.”

“So you can pray to Amenadiel because you know him.”

“Yes.” 

“Does that mean I could pray to you?”

He swirls the whiskey in his glass with a thoughtful frown. “You know, I’m not sure. I’ve never had a human pray to me before.”

Chloe frowns. “How is that possible? Aren’t there, like, entire religions devoted to you?”

“Yes, but they don’t really know me, do they? They’ve a fundamental misunderstanding of who I am and what I do. So whoever they’re praying to, it’s not me.”

Chloe watches him sip his whiskey. She’s never really been a religious person. She’s only been to a few church services, mostly at holidays or for funerals, so she’s not really sure how to pray. But it’s just like talking inside your head, right? Can’t be that hard.

She presses her lips together, wondering if she’s supposed to fold her hands or close her eyes, but decides against it. She just wants to see if it works. She concentrates on what she knows about Lucifer and how much she loves him, and tries to reach out to him with her thoughts. 

I think you look sexy in that tux.  

He looks up from his glass with a wicked smile. “Well thank you, darling.”

Chloe grins at him. 

He frowns. “What?”

She opens her mouth, but thinks better of it. It’ll be better if she shows him. 

She presses her lips together again. I didn’t say that out loud, she prays, lifting her eyebrows. 

Lucifer blinks at her for a second, confused, and then his eyes widen. “You’re praying to me?” he breathes in disbelief.

She nods, grinning again.

He sets his glass down on the table with a thunk and turns more fully toward her, his eyes alight with excitement. “Do it again.”

She chews her bottom lip and reaches out to run her fingers down his lapel. Kiss me.

He lunges toward her and grabs her face to kiss her. She laughs into his mouth, curling her fingers into his lapel to hold herself upright when he tilts toward her. When he pulls back, there’s so much joy and affection in his eyes that she feels her heart flutter.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking over her jaw. 

It’s the awe in his voice that does her in. It’s the same way he talks to her in bed sometimes.

She leans toward him. “Take me home, Lucifer.” 

He smiles. 


When Lucifer pulls the Escalade to a stop in front of the house, Chloe reaches for her door handle.

“Don’t you dare,” Lucifer tells her.

She sighs, but lets go of the handle. He climbs from the car, walks around the back, and then swings open her door and offers his hand. His eyes trail over her legs as she gets out, and then he lifts his gaze to hers and winks. She purses her lips around a smile and rolls her eyes. He wasn’t kidding when he told her he was a leg man.

It’s chilly out, but she’s not cold. She shivered once—just once—when they left the bar, and Lucifer had his tuxedo jacket off his body and draped over her shoulders so fast her head spun. Not that she’s complaining. It smells like him. He smells good.

She doesn’t let go of his hand once she’s out of the car, and they walk up the front sidewalk toward the house slowly, hand in hand.

“So,” Lucifer says into the silence. “Did you have a pleasant evening?”

She thinks he’s trying to sound casual, but she can tell by the straightness of his shoulders and the way he’s studiously staring at the sidewalk that whatever she says could make or break his night. 

“Yeah,” she says truthfully. “Best first date ever.”

He snaps his gaze toward hers, clearly thrilled, but then he catches himself and schools his expression back into something calmer. “Half date,” he corrects.

“Right. Half date.”

He clears his throat as they climb the three steps up to the front porch. “So you understand then.”

“Understand what?”

“That you’re enough for me.”

She slows to a stop outside the front door and turns to face him. “Is that what tonight was about? What I said yesterday in the diner?”

“It was about you,” he says, his thumb stroking over her knuckles. “And us. And making sure you understand how I feel. I want you to understand, Detective.”

He steps closer to her, and lifts his hand to her face. 

“I could as easily forget your name as the food by which I live,” he murmurs. “Nay, it were easier to forget the food, which only nourishes my body miserably, than your name, which nourishes both body and soul.”

Chloe’s pretty sure she’s about to melt into a puddle. She just went on a date with the Devil. The actual Devil. Like, used to sit on a throne in Hell and rule over demons who were torturing people for all eternity Devil, and now he’s standing in front of her with that look on his face, quoting romantic lines at her like some kind of love letter encyclopedia, and he’s just...he’s so damn sweet. 

Lucifer smiles at her like he knows what she’s thinking. “Michelangelo’s words.” 

She finally finds her voice. “I can’t believe you tried to tell me you aren’t romantic. What a bunch of bullshit.”

He laughs and drops his hand from her face. 

“Seriously,” she says, unable to keep a smile from her lips. “This isn’t how real life works, Lucifer. It’s not...men aren’t like this. Dates aren’t like this.” 

“You mean you’ve never been on a date like this?”

“No. Never. Not even close.”

He looks smug. He opens his mouth, and she brandishes her finger at him.

“If you’re about to bring up Jed, don’t.”

He opens his mouth again. 

“No Dan either,” she warns. 

He sighs. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

He arches an eyebrow at her. “I am rubbing off on you.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

He reaches for her, his hands slipping beneath the tuxedo jacket she’s wearing to slide along her waist and pull her flush against his chest. He’s staring at her mouth again. 

“You know,” she says before he can kiss her, “if this was an actual first date, we’d say goodnight out here.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Would we?”

“Mhmm. I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

“I don’t suppose you’d make concessions for a Devil who spent years pining over you?”

She purses her lips and hums like she’s considering the question. “Depends.”

“On?”

“On how good the good night kiss is.”

He smiles. “Be careful what you wish for, Detective.” 

And then he leans forward and kisses her, his lips gentle but purposeful against hers. Desire flickers to life in her body and heat starts to coil. This might be the most romantic night of her life, but it’s all felt like foreplay since the bar. She wants him. She wants him bad.

She arches toward him, her hand on the back of his head to hold his lips against hers. The kiss gets deeper, less gentle and more insistent. A moment passes, and then she hears the telltale rattle of keys. Lucifer holds her against his chest with a palm on the small of her back and reaches past her with his other hand, fumbling to get the keys in the front door lock without breaking their kiss. He manages it eventually and shoves the door open, and they stagger over the threshold and into the dark house. 

He’s got her backed against the wall just inside the door a second later. 

“Get the keys,” she murmurs against his lips before they both get too distracted and forget.

He turns away from her, yanks the keys out of the lock and kicks the door shut, and then tosses them over his shoulder carelessly and reaches for her again. She meets him halfway, grasping at his torso as he buries his hands in her hair and kisses her. He tastes like whiskey. She leans into him, pushing him back a step before he can pin her to the wall, and then pulls him back into the house. 

They stumble through the darkened entryway, their mouths fused together. He pushes his tuxedo jacket off her shoulders and it drops to the floor behind her. Her heels get caught in the fabric, but his hands tighten on her waist and she shakes her heel free and then kicks the jacket to the side. He pushes her backward again once she’s free, his mouth hot on hers. She tugs his bow tie loose and undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, desperate for skin to touch, and then her lower back collides with the edge of the kitchen island. 

Lucifer presses into her immediately. His mouth leaves hers and traces the line of her jaw. She tips her head back and exhales a breath and he takes advantage of her exposed throat. He fists a hand in the skirt of her dress as he sucks on her neck, and she feels the fabric slide against her legs a moment before his hand slips through the slit of her dress and onto her thigh. She’s not sure if he lifts her leg or if she does, but it ends up wrapped around his hip. His palm is warm on her skin and sliding toward her ass. 

She’s trying to decide if she cares that she’ll end up with bruises on her back from the edge of the counter if she lets him take her right here when he snaps his head up.

“Oh,” he breathes. “I nearly forgot.” He grins at her. “I have one more surprise for you, Detective.”

He drops her leg unceremoniously and turns away from her, and her high heeled foot smacks down onto the floor. She blinks after him, confused and kiss-dazed. 

He doesn’t seem to notice her bewilderment. He strides across the house and turns a floor lamp on, and then bends forward to rifle through a basket on the coffee table while he mutters under his breath. When he finally straightens, he has a small black remote in his hand.  

“I made a 90s sex jams playlist for us,” he declares. 

Chloe stares at him, still trying to understand why he’s all the way over there when she wants him here. “You did what?”

“90s sex jams,” he repeats. “I found a few that don’t make me want to throw myself off a bridge so I made a playlist for our sextivities this evening.”

He grins at her, clearly proud of himself, and then points the remote toward the sound bar beneath the TV. 

A moment later, the opening strains of Pony by Ginuwine erupt through the house.

Chloe stares at him, stunned. Lucifer smirks at her like he’s just done something extremely sexy, and Ginuwine growls at her through the speaker, and it takes a second for Chloe’s brain to register what’s happening. 

When it finally does, she has to cover her mouth with her hand so she won’t laugh.

Lucifer frowns. “Are you laughing?

She waits a beat until she’s sure she can control herself, and then drops her hand. “Lucifer, I am not having sex with you while this song plays.”

His frown deepens. “What? Why not?”

“Because it’s Pony.

“Yes, and Google says it’s one of the sexiest songs of the 90s.” He grins at her. “Also, you’re quite the cowgirl when you want to be.”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head even as her face flushes. “I’m not...no.” She crosses the house and holds out her hand. “Give me the remote.”

He holds the remote out to her, frowning again. She takes it and presses the skip button. There’s a brief silence, and then a violin starts to play a familiar tune that Chloe recognizes immediately.

Thong Song ?” she says incredulously. “Really? You thought this was sexy?”

“Well mostly I was thinking about you in a thong,” Lucifer says with a shrug. He smirks. “It was a very pleasant daydream.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and presses the skip button. She thinks she recognizes the beginning of the next song too, but she’s not sure. She holds the fast forward button down for a few seconds and then releases it. 

 

I like ya little sexy style

Love it when you gettin wild

Girl in the club with me

 

She narrows her eyes at Lucifer. “I can’t believe you put B2K on this list.”

“I believe this is the song where he says that she makes him want to stand like a pool stick,” Lucifer replies. “And seeing as I have, on more than one occasion, imagined bending you over a pool table, I thought—”

“Okay, next song,” Chloe cuts him off.

Freak me, baby, a chorus of voices sing as soon as she presses the skip button. Freak me, baby.

Chloe rubs her forehead. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“This was number one on several of the lists I read!” Lucifer exclaims. “And the lyrics are very explicit.”

Let me lick you up and down until you say stop, the voices continue. Let me play with your body, baby, make you real hot.

Chloe sighs and shakes her head and presses the skip button again, and Marvin Gaye’s Let’s Get It On immediately echoes from the speaker. 

“Oh my god, Lucifer,” Chloe groans, tipping her head back briefly. “This isn’t even from the 90s!”

“But it’s sexy,” he insists.

“You think this is sexy?”

“Well it would be if you’d take your dress off. Do you need help reaching the zipper?” 

He reaches toward her and she smacks his hand away. “No.”

He pouts. 

Chloe skips to the next song, and the first few chords of I’ll Make Love to You filter through the speakers. 

“Boy band,” Lucifer says, brandishing his finger at her. “You love boy bands.”

“Okay,” she admits. “This is better.”

He grins. “Excellent.”

He starts toward her, but Chloe holds her hand out to stop him. “I meant it’s better, like, it doesn’t make me want to burst out laughing or roll my eyes so hard they fall out of my skull. But it’s not...I can’t have sex with you while this is on.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because it’s cheesy. You’re going to pull my hair and say something filthy, and they’re going to be singing about making love, and the contrast is just...I can’t. My brain will short circuit.”

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows at her. 

Chloe frowns. “What?”

He smirks. “I wasn’t aware that pulling your hair was such a turn on for you.”

Chloe feels like her entire body is blushing. “That’s…not what I said.”

“You didn’t have to say it, darling.”

She gapes at him for a second, trying and failing to come up with a response. The look in his eyes is...

She clears her throat and presses the skip button because if he’s going to look at her like that then Boys II Men is definitely not going to do it for her.

For a second, she can’t tell what the next song is. She can hear a drum, but it’s faint. There’s a pause. And then the rest of the instruments kick in, and she recognizes it immediately. 

Heat roars through her veins, though she’s not sure if it’s because she knows this song and likes it, or because Lucifer is still staring at her with that look in his eyes. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his first few buttons are undone. The broadness of his shoulders is ridiculous, and the way his body cuts down into his hips in an absurd V shape is even more ridiculous, and her body is aching.  

“You like this one,” he observes.

She licks her lips and nods because she can’t seem to find her voice. 

He smiles, and then closes the distance between them. She swallows. She’s pretty sure that even though he’s the one with all the light and heat flowing through his veins, she’s the one who’s about to spontaneously combust. He takes the remote from her hand, presses the repeat button with a smile, and then tosses it onto a nearby armchair. 

Girl it’s only you, D’Angelo’s voice croons from the speaker as Lucifer lifts his hand to trace his fingertips over the necklace around her neck. Have it your way. 

His fingertips pause on the diamond nestled in the hollow of her throat. She thinks of earlier, when he told her that he wanted her to leave the necklace on when everything else was off, and the ache between her legs intensifies. 

He watches her, his eyes dark. His hand curls around her neck, and he draws her face closer to his, but he stops short of kissing her. She gazes up at him, her head tipped back, waiting. His thumb strokes along the jut of her jaw. The moment stretches, and the tension between them builds as D’Angelo continues to croon in the background. She wonders how long he’ll wait, and if he’s waiting for her, and she wants to kiss him so bad she feels like her body’s shaking, but she doesn’t. 

He smiles a little, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, and then he finally leans forward and kisses her. His thumb caresses the swell of her cheek. She tilts closer to him, sliding her hands over his torso to his back where she can feel the muscles framing his spine. His hands ghost over her shoulders, and goosebumps rise over her skin. He’s touching her like all he wants to do for the rest of eternity is her, and if he asked her if he could, she doesn’t think she’d be able to get the word yes out fast enough. 

She feels a slight tug on the back of her dress, and he starts to lower the zipper painstakingly slow. It isn’t until he’s got it halfway down her back that she remembers what she’s wearing beneath her dress.

“Wait,” she murmurs, leaning back from his mouth. 

He frowns, his hand freezing on her zipper. “What is it?”

“I have something for you.”

He gives her a sly smile. “Well, I have something for you too, darling.”

“No,” she says with a laugh. “Not that. I mean, yes, that. But I…” She presses her hands to his chest. “Just stay right here, okay?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Alright.”

She takes a few steps back from him so that there’s a few feet of space between them. He watches her, curious, his hands at his sides. She pulls all her hair forward over one shoulder, and then she reaches behind herself and lowers the zipper on her dress the rest of the way. Her heart is racing, but she doesn’t hesitate. She shimmies her now unzipped dress down over her hips and then lets it go, and it drops to the floor at her feet with a soft whoosh. She steps out of it, kicks it to the side with the toe of her high heel, and then looks up at Lucifer. 

He’s staring. Which is what she expected. He stares no matter what she’s wearing. But the look on his face…

He looks stunned. 

She glances down at herself, just to check if she looks okay. The metallic silver of her heels gleams beneath the light of the nearby lamp. The lingerie she picked is nothing elaborate. It’s just a red satin set, with a bustier that’s strapless to match the cut of her dress. It ties in the back like a corset. She has a feeling Lucifer is going to take his time unlacing her. 

She glances up at him again. His eyes are roving over her body, from her high heels up the length of her legs to the bustier and then the necklace she’s still wearing. When their eyes finally meet, the desire she sees there makes her breath catch. 

He holds her gaze as he closes the distance between them. She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and tilts her head back when he stops before her. His eyes flicker briefly down to her mouth, and then he reaches out and traces his fingertips slowly along her skin above the top edge of the bustier. 

How does it feel? D’Angelo croons into the silence between them. How does it feel?  

Lucifer tilts toward her. “Say it again.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Say what?”

“That you’re mine.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes her shiver. She grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him flush against her. His hands slide over her waist, around to her back, and she knows when he finds the ties of the bustier because his gaze darkens. 

“I’m yours,” she whispers.

Chapter 22: Twenty-Two

Notes:

Y'all, I had a *really* rough week last week, but your kindness in my comments made it better. Thanks for that :)

Also, I feel as though I should warn you that this is the last (mostly) angst-free chapter until...well, until the end of the fic. Do with that what you will.

Chapter Text

Lucifer wakes early the next morning. 

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. He blinks slowly, trying to get his bearings. Where is he? Why is he here?

And then he remembers. He’s in Denver with the Detective. They’re on a road trip, on the way to meet with Death so that Dream will stop forcing them to live a nightmare, and last night…

Bloody hell, last night. 

A wicked smile curves his lips. He didn’t think there was anything he’d like seeing the Detective wear more than that red dress. But then he saw her in lingerie, and now she’s ruined him. She had that on all night beneath her dress and she never said a word, and now he’s going to spend every day wondering if she’s wearing lingerie under her tastefully boring t-shirts and blouses and blazers. 

Speaking of, where is the Detective and why is she not in his arms?

He turns his head toward her side of the bed and finds her facing away from him, her body curled beneath the sheets. She must have rolled away from him while she slept. Her hair is loose, spread over the pillow behind her and catching the first rays of sunlight streaming through the blinds. Her bare shoulder is rising and falling slowly. She’s sleeping peacefully. 

Which is more than he can say about the last time he woke up in this bed. 

She had another nightmare last night. He thinks they’re getting worse, but he doesn’t know for sure. She won’t talk about them. Or, rather, she doesn’t bring them up. He doesn’t ask about them either. He doesn’t want to force her to spend any more time thinking about them than she already does. But he’s starting to worry. It took her a little longer to calm down last night than it has during previous nights. 

He doesn’t know how to help her. He doesn’t even know if he’s comforting her properly. He holds her while she cries, and then he strokes his hands through her hair until she falls asleep because she seems to like that, but it doesn’t feel like enough. He wants to fix this for her so badly he aches, but there’s nothing he can do. Not right now, anyway. They just need to get to New York, get to Death, and then everything will be okay again. He’ll make sure of it. 

He slides across the bed toward her, and curls his body around hers. He prefers to sleep naked, but she rarely does. He imagines it has something to do with the fact that she shares a home with a small human who seems to have no concept of personal space or privacy. 

She’s naked beneath the sheets this morning, though. Her skin is soft and warm and perfect, and he scoots as close as he can until every inch of him that can be pressed against her is. He buries his face in the back of her neck, his nose lost in her hair, and inhales. 

Who needs the Silver City? He has paradise right here.

She stirs in his arms, inhaling slowly as she wakes, and then one of her hands slides along the arm he’s got wrapped around her waist. She scratches her nails lightly over his skin. He hums into the back of her neck and nuzzles closer. 

A moment of silence and stillness passes, and then she squeezes his forearm lightly. “You’re still here,” she whispers, her voice thick with sleep. 

He smiles and strokes his thumb over her stomach. “The only place I want to be is here, with you.”

He’s feeling rather proud of himself for such a romantic declaration until she snorts. 

“Something funny?” he asks, trying and failing not to sound offended. 

“I can’t believe I spent years enduring terrible sex puns when all this time you could’ve been saying stuff like that,” she replies. “It’s ridiculous.”

“Would you have had sex with me sooner if I’d been more romantic?”

She snorts again. “Probably.”

He wonders if she’ll have sex with him now if he’s romantic. He slides his hand upward over her stomach until he reaches her chest, and then he uses his thumb to stroke one of her breasts to attention. 

“I ask you for violence in the nonsense,” he whispers in Spanish in her ear, smiling when she arches toward his hand. “And you, you give me grace, your light, and your warmth.”

“Who’s that, Don Juan?” she asks. He thinks she’s trying to tease him, but she sounds a little breathless. 

He cups her in his hand, kneading her. “Frida Kahlo,” he corrects. 

She hums. “Explains the Spanish.” 

He releases her and then skates his fingertips up to the hollow of her throat where she’s still wearing that necklace, then down over her breasts and toward her navel. 

“Show off,” she adds as an afterthought. She’s still breathless.

“It’s not love, or tenderness, or affection,” he whispers, speaking Spanish again as he traces his fingers lower on her body. “It’s life itself, my life, that I found.”

Her legs part for him. He immediately strokes his fingers over her. She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat and digs her nails into his forearm, and his smile deepens. She did that in the diner bathroom too. He wonders if he pulled his hand away if she’d pull it back with a desperate whine, but he doesn’t bother trying to find out. He likes where his hand is, thank you very much, and judging by the way her back is arching, she does too. He thinks she’d also like his words if she understood Spanish as well as he does, but she doesn’t. Which means...

“You like it when I speak to you in a different language,” he observes, stroking his fingers between her legs again.

She exhales and doesn’t confirm it, but he knows he’s right. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers to her in Spanish. “And if I could paint half as well as Frida, I’d fill the world with your likeness.”

She tightens her hold on his forearm. “Lucifer,” she whispers.

He knows what she wants. 

He winds her up slowly. He keeps her facing away from him so he can whisper in her ear like the Devil on her shoulder, but instead of temptation he murmurs the words of others, dozens of declarations in dozens of languages. He likes the way her back arches against his chest. He likes the way she sounds when she’s caught between enjoying herself and wanting more, her voice a gorgeous whine. He likes the way her hand clutches the sheet next to her head just before she comes, the ring on her finger glinting in the morning light, and he likes the way their hands look together when he weaves his fingers through hers and they both clutch the sheet as he lets himself go. 

Afterward, she falls asleep in the same position he woke her in. He lays curled around her, holding her, but he can’t fall back asleep. If she hadn’t been so blissed out before she fell asleep, he thinks she would’ve insisted that they get up and hit the road. And normally, he might wake her so they could. She likes to keep a schedule, and he’s found that he does too so long as it's with her. But her nightmares are getting worse, and she needs sleep whenever and however she can get it. 

He eases away from her when he’s sure she’s asleep. He doesn’t want to leave her, but he’s feeling restless. A familiar weight is sitting on his chest, and familiar voices are whispering in his ear. 

She wants her life back, and all you can give her is sex. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples for a while before he gets to his feet. He has things he wants to do for her before she wakes—like make sure she has a latte and a proper breakfast since she got neither yesterday—but something stops him from heading for the bathroom. 

He lingers at the foot of the bed, watching her. He doesn’t often get a chance to study her unobserved. She’s a detective, after all, so she notices when he watches her. Sometimes she smiles, and sometimes she blushes, and sometimes she pointedly ignores him because she’s trying to focus. He likes all of those reactions because they’re very her, but he likes this too. He likes being able to trace his gaze over the slope of her nose and the column of her throat and the arc of her lips. He likes watching her breathe and knowing that she’s safe.

Eventually, he manages to pull himself away from her. He showers and gets dressed, and then leaves a note on the pillow next to her in case she wakes while he’s gone. He hesitates after he signs his name, feeling like it’s not enough. After much deliberation, he adds a heart above his name. He leaves before he can second guess himself.

He picks up some snacks for the road from a store nearby, and then grabs her breakfast and a latte. He’s gone for an hour, maybe a little more. When he walks back in the front door, he can hear her upstairs. He leaves her breakfast on the kitchen counter and climbs the steps with her latte in his hand, unwilling to wait for her to come down. Or maybe just unable. He missed her. They were separated for an hour, and he missed her. He wonders if Doctor Linda would say he’s becoming dependent. He decides he doesn’t care.

He finds the Detective in the master bathroom, leaning over the counter and putting on mascara. She’s not wearing the wedding ring on her finger anymore, but she still has the necklace around her neck. It looks bulkier than he remembers, and when he looks closer he realizes that she’s looped the ring through the chain of the necklace. He stares at it, caught off guard by the sudden realization that when all this is over and they go back to their normal lives, she might still wear his ring. 

He took his off before he got in the shower this morning. He didn’t want to. He wanted to keep it on, but he wasn’t sure if it would make her uncomfortable and he was too afraid to ask. He left it on the bathroom counter. It’s still there. She must have seen it and that’s why she took hers off, but instead of leaving it next to his, she put it around her neck. 

She glances at him in the reflection of the mirror and then straightens. He tears his eyes away from her neck and smiles at her. She arches an eyebrow at him. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. 

“I left a note this time,” he points out.

“Mhmm,” she says, screwing the lid back onto her tube of mascara. 

He holds up the cardboard cup in his hand. “Latte.”

“You mean peace offering.”

He frowns. “Are you angry?”

She smiles and shakes her head, still holding his gaze in the mirror. “No. You can go wherever you want as long as you come back.”

The words pull him into the bathroom. He sets her latte down on the counter and then wraps his arms around her and presses his chest into her back. The ache he felt from her absence dissipates. 

“I’ll always come back,” he whispers in her ear. “I’m like a bad penny. Or the cat that came back the next day.”

She laughs. He presses a kiss beneath her ear. She tilts her head back against his shoulder and smiles at him in the mirror, her hand brushing over his forearm the same way it had this morning. He holds her gaze in the reflection, content to be close to her and breathe in the scent of her hair, which smells even better than it did this morning. She must have showered. He wonders how long she slept after he left. It can’t have been long. He worries that it wasn’t enough.

“How come you never wear eyeliner anymore?” she wonders, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He frowns. “What?”

“Eyeliner,” she repeats. “You used to wear it every day. But you don’t anymore.”

He smiles at her. “Think I’m sexy in eyeliner, do you?”

She presses her lips together around a smile and leans forward. She roots around in her makeup bag, and then comes out with eyeliner. She turns to face him, reaches up, and then stops. 

“Why are you so tall?” she mutters, an adorable frown gathering her eyebrows. 

He’s not sure if he’s supposed to answer, but before he can decide what to say, she curls her hands around the edge of the bathroom counter and jumps up gracefully to sit on top of it. She hooks her legs around the back of his and yanks him forward. He jerks toward her with a surprised grunt, his hands falling on either side of her hips to steady himself. 

She smiles at him, and then reaches up to his face. “Hold still.”

He does as he’s told, and she sets to work. Her fingers are warm on his face. She could uncurl her legs from around his hips—it’d take nothing short of his father’s power to pull him away from her at the moment—but she doesn’t. He can smell her perfume. Silence hums in his ears, mingling with the sound of her breathing. He lets go of the counter and curls his hands around her legs, smoothing his thumbs over her jean-clad thighs. He feels warm all over. 

“Okay,” she says eventually.

She drops her hands from his face, and he blinks a few times. He leans to the side, checking his reflection, and is unsurprised to find that her work is flawless. 

“How’d I do?” she asks, amusement in her voice. 

“You missed your calling as a makeup artist,” he muses.

She snorts. 

He looks at her. “What do you think? How do I look?”

She smiles and curls her hands around his head, her fingers weaving through his hair as she pulls his face toward hers. 

“Like the Devil I fell in love with,” she murmurs just before she kisses him. 


As Lucifer eases the Escalade to a stop and shifts into park, Chloe leans forward in the passenger seat and stares out the windshield in awe. It takes her a second to find her voice, but when she does, there’s only one word that seems appropriate. 

“Wow.”

“This is a prank of some sort,” Lucifer says, leaning forward too. “This...this can’t be real.

Chloe studies the sprawling, colorful complex on the other side of the parking lot. “I’m pretty sure it’s real.” She spots a flag fluttering atop a flagpole, and she reaches across the car to grab Lucifer’s arm. 

“Lucifer, they have a flag.

“What?” Lucifer says. “Where?”

Chloe points, and Lucifer follows her finger, and then his mouth falls open. “Bloody hell, these people are nuts.” He reaches for the gear shift. “That’s it, we’re leaving.”

“What?” Chloe says, snapping her head toward him. “No way.”

“You want to stay here? ” he asks incredulously. 

“We have a reservation already.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes at her. “Did you know the hotel was attached to this when you booked it?”

She scoffs. “Of course not. And it’s not attached. They just...share a parking lot.”

He looks unconvinced. 

“I didn’t know, I swear,” she insists. “It looked normal. It’s a Comfort Inn, that’s a normal brand. Free Wi-Fi, king bed, continental breakfast. It checked all the boxes. I didn’t know I was supposed to check to see if it was sharing a parking lot with... that.

“For the record, the continental breakfasts in these hotels are a sin.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“I’m the Devil, darling. I know sin. And trust me, they’re a sin. I refuse to eat another.”

“You didn’t eat the last one.”

He waves her off, and then squints out the windshield again. “Honestly, Detective, this is horrifying. It’s a Hell loop come to life. I’ve got gooseflesh.”

Chloe turns toward him. “We should go in.”

He whips his head around to stare at her like she’s got eight heads. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh come on,” she says. “When are we ever going to get the chance to do this again? This is half the fun of a road trip. You find weird tourist stuff on the side of the road and you stop and do it and take pictures so you remember it.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “Is that why you made me take a photo with that cowboy statue when we stopped for lunch?”

She grins. “No, I made you take a photo with the cowboy statue cause it’s hilarious and I’m going to make it the lock screen on my phone.”

He looks incensed. “You are not.”

“I definitely am.”

“I forbid you from doing that.”

“We’ve been over this. You can’t forbid me from doing things.”

“I won’t have sex with you tonight if you make that the background on your phone.”

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s a threat you can follow through on.”

He huffs at her. 

She puts her hand on his arm again and squeezes. “Can we go in?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

“Oh come on, Detective. I will do literally anything you ask except this.”

She plants her elbow on the center console, leans across the car toward him, and tugs his shirt collar out of the way so she can suck lightly on his neck. He tilts his head to the side and hums. She tries not to smile. He likes when she sucks on his neck. 

“Please?” she whispers into his skin. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“I believe this is called bribery,” he observes. “Isn’t it illegal for someone in your profession to extend a bribe?”

“I can’t accept bribes,” she corrects. “I don’t remember reading in the handbook that I can’t offer one.”

“Semantics,” he says dismissively. And then his body jerks. “Did you just give me a hickey? ” 

She grins into his skin. It’s not lost on her that she’s literally the only woman on the planet who is capable of giving him one. “Come on, babe. Please?”

“For Dad’s sake,” he groans. “Witchcraft. All of this is witchcraft. Fine. Put your tongue back in your mouth, you saucy little minx. If you desire to walk through Hell on earth with the Devil at your side, then so be it.”

She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Love you.”

“Yes, yes, so I’ve heard,” he sighs. He reaches for his door handle. “The things I do for you. Bloody pathetic.”

He gets out of the car, and Chloe laughs and follows suit. They meet at the front, and she reaches for his hand and then tugs him away from the hotel and across the parking lot. He mutters under his breath about witchcraft again. Chloe smirks. 

When they get to the end of the blacktop, a giant wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO SPAM COUNTRY in alternating blue and yellow letters greets them. 

“Do you think SPAM country is a democracy?” Chloe wonders, glancing up the flagpole before them. There’s a blue flag with the word SPAM emblazoned in yellow and a picture of a can of SPAM fluttering in the breeze. “Or is there, like, a SPAM king?”

“I imagine it’s a dictatorship that forces people to stay here against their will,” Lucifer grumbles. “Much like our relationship at the moment.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and tugs him into the courtyard. They stop a few yards inside in front of a gigantic can of SPAM. Like, huge. They tip their heads back in unison.

“How tall do you think this is?” she asks. 

“Forty feet at least,” Lucifer replies. “Maybe taller.”

Chloe notices a sign nearby and squeezes his hand. “It’s a climbing wall.”

“What?”

She nods at the sign. “It says you can climb it.” She leans closer to the giant SPAM can, and sure enough, there appear to be indentations and bulges in the side of the metal that would serve as hand or footholds. She tips her head back to stare up at the top again. 

“There’s no way this is safe. It’s not even rigged for harnesses.”

“None of this is bloody safe,” Lucifer mutters. “It’s a horror house devoted to canned meat.

Chloe grins at him. “Come on. Let’s go inside.”

He sighs but follows her obediently into the large building nearby. As soon as they cross the threshold, they’re accosted by a twenty-something woman wearing a navy shirt, yellow crocs, and a massive smile.

“Welcome to SPAM Country!” she exclaims. 

Lucifer jerks in surprise at the exuberance of the sudden greeting, and Chloe presses her lips together around a smile. 

“Hi,” she greets. 

“My name is Maggie,” the woman says, beaming at Chloe. “Can I interest you in a tour of our world famous SPAM Museum and Emporium?” She leans toward them. “Not to be confused with the Hormel-approved SPAM Museum in Minnesota. Trust me, it’s nowhere near as awesome as ours, but I have to differentiate because of legal reasons.”

“Oh?” Lucifer says. “Bit of a war in the canned meat kingdom?” He casts a glance at Chloe. “The proletariat must have risen up in rebellion against their dictator king. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Chloe rolls her eyes.

Maggie scrunches her nose. “I don’t know what that means.” And then she brightens. “Anyway, it’s $15 a person, but we only charge $25 for couples.”

“What a deal,” Lucifer mutters.

Maggie doesn’t seem to pick up on the sarcasm. She turns her megawatt grin on him and nods. “Sure is. We call it the lovebird special.”

Lucifer stares at her like she’s speaking a language he doesn’t understand, and Chloe has to try very hard not to laugh. “Yeah,” she says. “We’d love a tour.”

“Det—darling,” Lucifer says, catching himself. “Are you sure this is the best way to spend our afternoon?”

“Definitely,” Chloe says. She shoves her hand in his pocket and pulls out his wallet, and his eyes briefly bulge at the feel of her hand in his pants before he narrows his gaze into a glare. 

Chloe ignores him, rifling through the bills in his wallet, and then hands Maggie two $20 bills. “You can keep the change.”

Maggie looks thrilled. She takes the cash, looks over her shoulder, and then leans toward them conspiratorially as she tucks it into her pocket. “Technically the tasting room is already closed, but don’t worry. I’ll take you guys through it at the end of the tour.”

“Tasting room?” Lucifer repeats in horror. 

Maggie nods excitedly. “Yep. We just replenished our stock so you’ll get to try all the flavors.”

“I would rather have my testicles forcibly removed,” Lucifer says.

Maggie frowns.

“He’s joking,” Chloe says. “Are you giving us the tour?”

“You bet I am!” Maggie exclaims. “Nobody knows SPAM better than I do. Follow me.”

She leads them down a hallway, and Chloe tugs Lucifer after her. They pass a series of what appear to be glamour shots of SPAM hanging on the walls, and Lucifer looks like he’s going to vomit. He presses his hand to his throat. 

“I’ll never eat again,” he mutters.

“Did you say you’re hungry?” Maggie asks, turning around to face him. She walks backward like a college campus tour guide, grinning widely, and Lucifer gapes at her. “I’ve got a list of all the restaurants around here that serve SPAM. I’ll get you a copy before you leave so you can go to one for dinner.”

“How generous of you,” Lucifer says. 

Maggie, apparently still unaware of sarcasm, beams and turns around again.

Lucifer leans toward Chloe. “I think she’s a cannibalistic serial killer,” he hisses.

“What?” Chloe says with a frown. “Why?”

“No one is this excited about canned meat.”

“Lucifer—”

“My theory is that she works here so she has access to the meat grinding equipment,” he continues, ignoring her. “Then she can sneak in under cover of darkness and grind her victims down into a bloody pulp that she uses in a variety of horrifying recipes.”

Chloe makes a face. “That’s disgusting. And also not possible. They don’t make the SPAM here, Lucifer. It’s just a museum.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

Chloe sighs. “You’re being a drama queen.”

“Look at her outfit, Detective. Look at her shoes. Only depressed people and serial killers care so little for their appearance. Judging by the maniacal smile that’s on her face almost constantly, I’m leaning toward the latter.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and decides not to dignify him with a response. 

Up ahead, Maggie stops at a set of double doors and swings them open. “Come on in!” 

Lucifer stares at her like she’s holding a chainsaw and scuttles through the doors and past her as if he’s afraid she’s going to use it. 

“I like your suit,” Maggie says, giving him a once over as he passes. “I think I saw one like it at the Wal-Mart a couple weeks back.”

“I can assure you, you did not,” Lucifer says, clearly appalled. He tugs on his jacket. “This is Burberry.”

“Blueberry?” Maggie says.

Burberry,” Lucifer repeats. “It’s...well, nevermind. Pearls before swine and all that.”

“Blueberry would be a better name,” Maggie says, glancing at Chloe. “Since it’s blue like a blueberry.”

Lucifer makes an offended squeaking sound.

“That’s what I was saying to him this morning,” Chloe says, unable to resist. “He looks like a six foot blueberry.”

Lucifer exhales another sharp noise of offense. “I have never been so mistreated in my life.

Maggie grins at him. “You’re funny. You remind me of that one guy from the movies. Russell Brand.”

Lucifer stares at her in horror. 

Chloe snorts. 

Lucifer glares at her. 

“All right,” Maggie says, clapping her hands together. “So once we get through this next set of doors, we’ll be in the History of SPAM exhibit. Then we’ll go into the SPAM sculpture section, and then through the advertising library, and then we’ll stop in the celebrity SPAM sightings section before we end up in the tasting room. Should take about two hours.”

“Two hours? ” Lucifer exclaims.

“Maybe more if you find something you like,” Maggie says, wiggling her eyebrows. “Get excited!”

She turns toward the set of double doors, and Chloe starts after her, but Lucifer curls his fingers around her elbow and yanks her back. 

“Handcuffs tonight or I’m not moving,” he hisses in her ear.

Chloe frowns up at him. “What?”

“You heard me. Handcuffs.”

“Lucifer, I don’t even have my handcuffs.”

He waves off her concern. “I have some.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes seriously. Did you think I was going to leave Vegas without grabbing my favorite pair of handcuffs in case the mood struck you?”

Chloe gapes at him. “I can’t...I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“A simple Yes, I consent will suffice.”

“Lucifer—”

“One of us is wearing handcuffs tonight or I’m going to fly both of us out of here this instant. Your choice, Detective.”

Chloe sighs. “Fine.” She shoves her finger in his face. “But you have to be nice to her.”

“I’m always nice.”

“You’re never nice unless you want something.” 

“Well I want handcuff sex,” he says, smirking at her. “So for the next two hours, I’ll be the nicest Devil she’s ever met.”

“Hey, you guys coming?” Maggie calls.

Lucifer grins. “Oh yes, darling. We’ll be coming all night.”

Chloe shoves him and makes a disgusted ugh sound in the back of her throat. 

“You love me,” he says, still grinning. “No take-backsies.”

Chloe sighs.


It doesn’t take them two hours to go through the SPAM Museum and Emporium. 

It’s more like an hour and a half. Lucifer spends the entire tour either oozing charm at Maggie or leering at Chloe. Chloe glares at him a lot. Truthfully, though, she’s not all that mad. The handcuffs were inevitable. Might as well be tonight. In fact, she’s kind of looking forward to it.

Okay, not kind of. She’s definitely looking forward to it.

The tasting room presents her with an interesting opportunity. Lucifer flat out refuses to try any SPAM. Chloe doesn’t want to try any either, but she knows one of them is going to have to or Maggie will be devastated. When Maggie disappears into a back room to fetch some Hot & Spicy SPAM—Chloe does not want to know what makes it hot and spicy—she sidles up to Lucifer and smooths her hand over his chest.

“Oh, hello,” he says, smiling down at her. “Would you like to sneak into the bathroom for a quickie?”

“No.” Chloe tips her head back to look at him. “I want to make a deal.”

His smile turns devilish. “I’m listening.”

“Eat some SPAM and I’ll wear the handcuffs.”

He blinks at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Eat some SPAM,” she repeats, trailing her hand down his chest to his belt buckle, “and I’ll be the one who wears the cuffs.”

He lifts his chin. “And how do you know I don’t want to wear the cuffs?”

She smirks at him. “You’ve pinned my hands to the bed one too many times for me to believe that.”

He narrows his eyes at her but can’t disagree. “This is a terrible precedent,” he says instead.

She frowns. “How so?”

“If I say yes, you’re going to think that you can persuade me to do whatever you desire so long as you promise me something sex-related.”

She grins at him. “Oh I don’t think it. I know it. Precedent’s already been set, Lucifer. This won’t change it.”

“Vixen,” he breathes.  

She grins at him and tugs on his belt buckle. “So? Do we have a deal?”

The door swings open. 

“Here we are!” Maggie says excitedly. She’s got a tray of SPAM in her hand. “Who’s going to try it?”

“Yeah, Lucifer,” Chloe says. “Who’s going to try it?”

Lucifer glances at the tray, and then back at her, and then at the tray, and then he grabs her hand from his belt buckle and shakes it. 

“Deal. No take-backsies.” He turns away from her. “Maggie. Darling. I can’t wait to try this delicacy. Do I use a fork, or my fingers?”


They end up in the giftshop after that. 

Maggie is showing Lucifer a massive wall of SPAM-branded socks when Chloe finds a small rack full of pamphlets about fun things to do in Nebraska. She’s not sure why she stops to look at them. Her evening’s already been planned. Lucifer has gone from leering to openly ogling her, and she doubts that he’ll be patient enough to take her to dinner before he yanks her across the parking lot to their hotel so he can handcuff her to their bed. He’d take her to dinner if she asked, of course. But she won’t ask. She wants him too.

Which is...new. Not the wanting him thing. She’s wanted him for a long time. It’s the wanting him and then having him thing that’s new. She’s had more sex in the last three days than she had during entire weeks with other boyfriends. She wonders, occasionally, if there’s something wrong with that. But then she thinks about it—about how far they’ve come and everything they’ve been through and how difficult the still-happening nightmare has been on both of them—and she decides she doesn’t care. They’re in a good place. There are no more secrets and no more open wounds. They trust each other, and they’re vulnerable with each other, and it’s not sex for sex’s sake. It’s more than that. They’re more than that. 

Which is maybe why, when she comes across a brochure about how Nebraska is one of the best places in the world to go stargazing, she gets an idea. 

“Ready, love?” Lucifer asks, his hand sliding along her lower back. 

She can hear the lust in his voice. She glances up at him. “Why don’t you go check us in at the hotel? I want to grab a souvenir for Trixie.”

The desire evaporates instantly from his eyes. “I can wait for you.”

Warmth blossoms in her chest. She knows he will. He waited thousands of years already. 

“I know you will,” she says, smiling at him. “But I want to browse a little.” She rises onto her toes and gives him a brief kiss. “Go check us in and get the cuffs ready.”

He hums and chases her mouth when she leans away. She kisses him back for a moment, smiling against his lips, and then pushes against his chest. 

“Go.”

He smiles at her, presses a wad of cash into her hand, and then heads for the exit with a wink. 

Chloe watches him go. She likes that blue suit on him. She waits until he disappears through the door, and then turns her attention to the gift shop. She browses the rows and rows of SPAM merchandise, trying to find something Trixie will like and trying to ignore the ache in her chest at the thought that Trixie probably doesn’t want anything from her right now because she hates her. Eventually, she finds a graphic t-shirt that’s perfect. 

She takes it to the register, where Maggie is chatting with an older looking man. 

“Find something?” Maggie says brightly. 

“Yep,” Chloe says. She holds out the shirt. The older man wanders out of earshot, and Chloe takes advantage. “Hey,” she says, leaning toward Maggie. “Do you know of any good stargazing spots around here?”

Maggie looks up. “Stargazing?”

“Yeah. I’ve heard Nebraska is a great place for it.” 

“You heard right,” Maggie says with a grin. She nods toward the rack of pamphlets Chloe perused earlier. “There’s some brochures over there with some maps. A lot of their recommendations are state parks, though, cause they’re public.”

“Are there any places that are a little more…”

“Private?” Maggie suggests with a smile. 

Chloe tries not to blush and fails. “Yeah.”

Maggie studies her for a moment, and then she leans across the counter and says in a low voice, “My grandpa died a few weeks back.”

Chloe stares at her, stunned. 

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Maggie says with a laugh, waving her hand when she notices the look on Chloe’s face. “He was a hundred and one, and we all knew he was headed out. He lived a good life and we all made our peace with it.”

“Right,” Chloe says. She has no idea where Maggie’s going with this.

“Anyway,” Maggie says, “the reason I bring it up is cause my family’s got a hay farm not far from here. Miles and miles of fields. And since Gramps is gone, there isn’t anybody living on the property. So if you were to, say, drive out there with your boyfriend and make yourselves comfortable in one of our fields after 11:00 or so, nobody would notice.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Tons of privacy. I take my boyfriend there all the time. That’ll be $22.50.”

Chloe holds out cash for the t-shirt. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“No way,” Maggie says as she takes the cash. “My boyfriend’s working the night shift tonight, and I’m babysitting my cousins, so we’re not going to be out there. And the rest of my family doesn’t go out there at all. You’ll be totally alone. You want the address?”

Chloe considers the offer. She just met this woman. As a cop, she’d tell pretty much everyone that showing up in the middle of the night at a random address she got from a SPAM Museum employee is a super bad idea. But the normal rules don’t really apply to her, do they? She’s dating the Devil, and he’s got wings and laser beam hands. Who could possibly hurt her when she’s with him?

“Yeah,” she says. “That’d be great.”

“Awesome,” Maggie says with a smile. “Let me write it down for you.” 

The bell above the door jangles, and a massive guy in a flannel shirt peeks his head in. “Uh, Jimmy? Y’all got someone stuck at the top of the giant can again.”

“God damn it,” the older man Maggie was talking to earlier mutters from behind a rack of SPAM postcards. “Why don’t they read the fucking sign? I swear to god, this job will be the death of me.”

He stalks toward the door and Chloe watches him go, amused.

“Here’s the address,” Maggie says, holding out a post-it. “There’s some dirt paths off the driveway for the tractor. Just pick one and follow it to whatever field you want. Also, you’ve got to see this. Jimmy rigs up a whole contraption to get people down from the can and it’s real funny. Come on.” She heads for the door.

Chloe grabs the t-shirt she bought Trixie and follows. “Does this happen a lot?” she wonders.

“All the time,” Maggie says with a grin. “We get some real wackadoodles around here.”

“I know how you feel,” Chloe says with a nod. “I’m a—” She stops herself before she says cop. “I have a weird job,” she corrects. Maggie holds the door open for her and she slips through it and outside. “You wouldn’t believe how many nut jobs I…”

She trails off when she sees who’s standing on top of the giant can of SPAM. 

“Oh hello darling!” Lucifer calls, waving merrily from the top of the can. 

Jimmy turns to look at her with a frown. “You know him?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah. He’s my…” 

She trails off and tilts her head. What’s the best way to describe Lucifer? Partner? Boyfriend? Fake husband? 

“He’s mine,” she says, because that pretty much covers it.

“He’s nuts,” the guy in the flannel announces. “You should’ve seen him scale that thing. Damn spider monkey in a suit.”

Chloe rubs her forehead and sighs.

“It’s about bloody time you get out here,” Lucifer calls, oblivious to the conversation happening below him. “You took so long I thought you’d been sucked into an alternate dimension!”

Chloe frowns. “Is that possible?”

“Well anything is possible, darling.”

“Okay, is it probable?

“No of course not,” he scoffs. “What a ridiculous thing to ask.”

Chloe purses her lips and wishes she had her gun. 

“The view up here is marvelous, by the way,” Lucifer continues. “You should climb up here.”

“I’m not climbing up there. It’s a death trap.”

“I’d never let you die, darling. You should know that by now.”

“Aw,” Maggie says. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s not sweet, it’s fucking bonkers,” Jimmy mutters. “What’s he going to do if she falls, scream bollocks and drink some tea with his pinky up?”

The guy wearing flannel guffaws. 

“I don’t drink tea with my pinky up,” Lucifer snaps. “Honestly, do you people live under a rock, or has all the fake meat rotted your brains?”

“How’d he hear me from all the way up there?” Jimmy wonders. 

“It’s not fake meat!” Maggie shouts, her hands cupped over her mouth. “It’s pork!”

“That guy talks like Harry Potter,” a small child that Chloe hadn’t noticed before says. He tugs on the flannel guy’s hand. “Dad, is that Harry Potter?”

“Nah, just some crazy dude that got himself stuck,” the guy in flannel says. 

Chloe lifts her hand to shield her eyes from the sun and look up at her boyfriend. There’s no way he’s stuck. He has wings, for god’s sake. 

“Why are you telling people you’re stuck?” she calls out to him.

“I said no such thing,” Lucifer says. “All I said was that I couldn’t come down.”

“Why can’t you come down?”

“Well because my descent would cause a bit of an uproar, obviously.”

Chloe blinks at him, confused, and then she realizes. 

“Right,” she says, dropping her hand. She turns toward Jimmy. “I can get him to come down if you guys all go back inside.”

“How you gonna do that?” the guy in flannel asks with a leer. 

Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “None of your business.”

“Are you sure we can’t help?” Maggie says, looking concerned. “Jimmy’s got a whole rig.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Chloe says. “He’ll come down if it’s just me and him.”

They all stare at her.

“He’s not crazy,” Chloe insists. “He’s just...quirky.”

“You mean because he’s British,” Maggie says with a knowing nod. 

Chloe tilts her head. “Yeah. We’ll go with that.”

Jimmy throws up his hands. “Whatever. One less thing for me to do.” He points at Chloe. “But if he gets hurt, we ain’t responsible. He didn’t sign a form.”

“Yep,” Chloe agrees. “We’ll take full responsibility for any injuries. I promise.”

Jimmy glares at her for a second, and then mutters something that sounds a lot like fucking British moron and heads back inside. 

The guy in the flannel grabs his kid by the shoulder and starts to follow Jimmy inside, but pauses next to Chloe on the way. He leans toward her, and she gets a strong whiff of chewing tobacco. 

“You know,” he says with a smirk, “if you decide you get sick of twinkle toes up there—”

“I won’t,” Chloe cuts him off. She smiles sweetly at him. “But I’ll probably be sick of you in about ten seconds, so you might want to keep walking.”

The man blinks at her, and then scowls and stalks into the building with his son. 

“You sure you don’t need any help?” Maggie asks.

“Positive,” Chloe says. “And thank you, again, for the address.”

Maggie beams at her. “Of course.” She cranes her neck to look up at Lucifer. “Bye! Nice to meet you!”

“Yes, I’m sure it was,” Lucifer calls down to her with a wave.

Maggie giggles at him and then disappears into the building. 

“You know, I’m still not convinced she’s not a cannibal,” Lucifer says once the door shuts behind her. He tugs on his jacket. “Not that I blame her. If I was partial to the taste of human flesh I’d want to eat me too.”

Chloe folds her arms over her chest and glares at him. “Get your ass down here right now.”

Lucifer grins. His wings unfurl, beautiful and nearly blinding in the sunlight, and then a split second later he drops gracefully down to the ground a few feet in front of her. His wings disappear with a soft whoosh. 

“You’re very sexy when you’re making demands,” he observes, giving her a once over as he steps closer. “Maybe we should take turns with the cuffs.”

Chloe ignores him and gestures at the monstrosity he was standing at the top of a few seconds ago. “You want to tell me why you felt the need to climb a giant can of SPAM? I thought you were checking us into the hotel.”

“I was,” he says. “But when I got out here that flannel clad cretin was yelling at his son, and he was being rather mean, so I told him to knock it off.”

Chloe blinks. “Oh. That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“Yes, well, he didn’t seem to think so. He didn’t take too kindly to my suggestion that he was picking on his offspring because his penis is miniscule.”

“And it’s less sweet,” Chloe sighs. 

“We had a brief discussion about what, exactly, being a man entails,” Lucifer continues, fiddling with his cufflink. “And then he suggested I wasn’t capable of climbing the can. I had no choice but to disabuse him of that assumption.”

“So you’re telling me you climbed the can on a dare?

“It wasn’t a dare, Detective. It was a challenge.”

“Those words literally mean the same thing, Lucifer.”

“Their connotations are distinct, I assure you.” 

Chloe sighs. “Why didn’t you just climb back down?”

“Because I would’ve looked ridiculous. Climbing up is one thing. I’m sure I looked terrifyingly athletic. But climbing down...well, there’s no way to do that sexily.”

“And it was important to you that you look sexy for the flannel guy and his kid?”  

Lucifer grins. “Well it’s always important to look sexy, Detective.” 

Chloe casts a look up at the sky and exhales a heavy breath, and then she looks at him again and shakes her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

He leans closer to her. “I think the proper question for the next few hours is what am I going to do with you?

Desire immediately unfurls in Chloe’s body. She never—not ever—thought she’d be aroused by the idea of a man handcuffing her to a bed. But, well, here she is. She’s going to let the Devil handcuff her to a bed. And she’s excited about it.

The smirk fades from Lucifer’s lips. “Detective, you don’t...I mean, this is something you want as well, correct?”

Chloe opens her mouth, but she doesn’t get a chance to speak.

“This isn’t an obligation for you, is it?” he continues. “It isn’t happening because you’re afraid I won’t be satisfied, or because you’re worried that I’m bored?”

Chloe opens her mouth again, but once again she doesn’t get to speak.

“Because I can assure you I am not,” Lucifer continues, sounding increasingly worried. “I desire your honest consent, and if I made you feel as if you had no choice but to agree, I’m deeply sorry. I loathe the idea of you being uncomfortable for my sake, so if I—”

Chloe grabs his face in her hands and kisses him so he’ll shut up. He stiffens against her in surprise. She kisses him until his body relaxes against hers, and then she pulls away. 

“I want it too,” she murmurs.

He gazes at her with that awed look on his face that she’s starting to get attached to. Then he reaches up and wraps his fingers around her wrists like bracelets—like handcuffs—and bends forward with a smile.

“Then allow me to fulfill your desire.”


Chloe’s alarm goes off at eleven that night.

Lucifer, who seems to have worn himself out wearing Chloe out, groans loudly into his pillow and mumbles something that sounds like Turn it off or I’ll laser beam it. 

Chloe, who got to be the big spoon for once and had been sleeping soundly with her nose pressed into the back of his neck, frowns. It takes her a second to realize that it’s a phone alarm blaring through the room. It takes another few seconds after that for her to realize that it’s her phone. She rolls away from Lucifer and fumbles on the bedside table until she finds it and then shuts it off. 

Beside her, Lucifer sighs in relief. Chloe blinks at the numbers on her phone screen, trying to remember why she set an alarm for 11:00 pm, and then it hits her. 

Stargazing. 

She’s suddenly wide awake. She rolls back toward Lucifer and wraps an arm around him. “Lucifer,” she murmurs in his ear. “Wake up.”

He ignores her. 

“Lucifer,” she repeats. 

He grunts.

“Are you awake?”

“If I say yes will you stop talking and let the Devil sleep in peace?” he mutters grumpily.

Chloe smiles and presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder. “I want to show you something.”

“Show me something?” he repeats, still sounding grumpy. And then he bolts upward so fast she falls back onto her side of the bed with a huff of surprise. 

“Are you in lingerie again?” he demands, twisting toward her. His eyes are wide and wild, but then he sees the sheet covering her chest and he frowns. “You’re not in lingerie.” 

“No,” she confirms in amusement. 

He pouts, but then his lips curve into a devilish smile. She knows what that look means. 

“Lucifer,” she warns.

He lunges at her, rolling her body beneath his. She laughs, and he smiles as he settles himself in the space between her legs and then buries his face in the curve of her shoulder. She knows she shouldn’t let him get too comfortable, but she can’t help but drape her arms around him and skim her fingernails lightly over his back.

He hums his approval into her skin. “You’re naked,” he murmurs. “I love when you’re naked. You should be naked all the time.”

“Where would I keep my gun?”

“You don’t need a gun. I’ll laser beam anyone who looks at you cross-eyed.”

She laughs. 

He flicks his tongue over her pulsepoint, and then apparently decides that’s not enough and sucks on her skin instead. “You taste good when you’re naked,” he whispers. 

She knows that tone, and she knows that if they don’t get out of bed in the next two minutes they won’t be looking at any stars tonight.

She presses her hands against his chest. “Lucifer, stop sucking on my neck.”

He lowers his mouth toward her chest, and she darts her hands out to catch his head before he gets to where he’s headed. 

“Nope, no sucking there either.”

He tries to go lower.

Lucifer,” she laughs, tightening her hold on his head. “Look at me.”

He lifts his gaze to hers obediently.

“I want to show you something that’s not me.”

He frowns. “Why on earth would I want to see something other than you? Unless...” His eyes light up. “Did you buy another apple pie?”

“No,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, are you ever not thinking about sex?”

“That’s a ridiculous question and I won’t dignify it with a response.”

She rolls her eyes again and then releases his head to push against his chest. “Come on, let’s go. Get up and get dressed.”

“Get dressed? ” he says incredulously. “Why would I let you put clothes on when my life’s ambition is to get you to take them off?

“Please?” 

He frowns. “You wield that word like a weapon.”

“Because I know how much the Devil appreciates manners.”

He sighs. “That’s true. I am very well-mannered.”

She grins at him, and then pushes him off her. “Come on. Get dressed.”

He flops onto the mattress and groans. Chloe smirks at him as she climbs out of bed. He stays sprawled across the mattress for a minute, watching her. It isn’t until she pulls her jeans on and he can’t stare at her legs anymore that he sighs dramatically and drags himself out of bed. 

He huffs and grumbles the whole time he gets dressed. He looks at her like she’s crazy when she pulls the blankets off the bed and shoves them into his arms and tells him to put them in the backseat, but he does as he’s told. He mutters under his breath the whole way out to the car. He finally stops huffing at her once they start driving, but only because he starts pouting. His arms are crossed over his chest. His bottom lip is sticking out. It’s kind of cute, but she’ll never tell him. He’d never let her live it down. 

Maggie was right that the farm is close by. Chloe nearly drives right past the driveway, though, because it’s on an isolated road with no street lights. All that marks the location is a dilapidated mailbox decorated with a line of rusted numbers that are hard to see in the darkness. 

Lucifer perks up when she pulls into the gravel driveway. They drive for a solid minute before Chloe finally sees an old-fashioned farmhouse in the distance. She passes a dirt path on the right and takes the next one on the left, and the Escalade jerks and jolts over the ruts in the ground as she drives. 

When the path ends at the edge of a massive field, Chloe eases the car to a stop and then shoves the gear shift into park. Lucifer is staring at her. She doesn’t meet his gaze. She turns off the lights and kills the engine, and then slips the keys into the pocket of her leather jacket and gets out of the car. 

She glances up at the sky once she’s outside. It takes her eyes a second to adjust thanks to the interior lights of the car, but there’s no mistaking the spectacular array of stars spread across the sky. 

“Detective?”

Chloe turns toward Lucifer’s voice. He’s standing near the back of the car with a confused look on his face. 

“What are we doing here?”

“I found these brochures at the SPAM Museum,” she answers. “They said Nebraska was one of the best places in the country to stargaze. Maggie’s family owns this farm, but no one lives here, so she said we could borrow a field. And I figured since we’re probably never going to be out here again, we should take advantage of the opportunity and admire the stars you made.”

He stares at her. Chloe waits, but the longer the silence stretches on, the more she wonders if she’s made a mistake. He said last night that he wanted to share himself with her. But what if she’s asking for something he doesn’t want to give?

“We don’t have to stay,” she says, suddenly anxious. “If you don’t want to, I mean. It’s just that you said they were your favorite, and I thought maybe—”

“I’d love to.”

She falls silent. He smiles. 

“I’d be honored to share them with you, Detective.”


Lucifer spreads the blankets out in the field not far from the car. 

The Detective seems nervous. She’s holding a bottle of Glenfiddich in her hands, perhaps because she thinks he’ll need some liquid courage. He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need it. He’s always intended to share the stars with her. It’s what he planned to do for their first date—take a helicopter out to his place in Big Sur, where they could have dinner beneath the stars on his terrace. He doesn’t tell her that though. He knows she’ll feel bad, just like she’d feel bad if she knew that last night wasn’t the first time he planned to take her to the opera, and he hates when she feels bad. 

They settle onto the blankets, lying side by side on their backs. She sets the bottle between them but he moves it and reaches for her hand instead, his fingers tangling with hers. She glances at him, a smile on her face, and then tips her head back to gaze at the stars. 

For a while, neither of them say anything. Lucifer wants to say something, but there’s an odd sort of feeling in his chest. He can’t describe it. He just knows he likes it, and he doesn’t want it to end. He wants her to have her life back. Really, he does. And he misses his life too. He misses Lux and their friends and their work. But having her all to himself is…

He doesn't want it to end.

“Did you really light them all?” the Detective whispers eventually.

Lucifer nods. “Every single one.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

He scoffs. “That’s like asking me to pick a favorite child.”

She laughs but doesn’t push him for an answer. Her thumb strokes over his skin. It’s her patience—and how unassuming she is about it—that does him in. She doesn’t demand things from him, and it makes him want to give her everything. 

“It’s dead.”

She turns her head to look at him. “What’s dead?”

“My favorite star. It exploded years ago. Before humans discovered telescopes.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s just a star.”

He can feel her gazing at him, that empathetic look on her face that she wears so often, and it makes him ache. It’s so easy for her to show compassion. She doesn’t even have to try. She just does it, as simple and thoughtless as breathing, even with the Devil.

“You know the constellations are bollocks,” he says, trying to fill the silence.

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the patterns I put the stars in aren’t the patterns you all notice. It’s absurd, really.” He points at the sky. “You see those five right there? They look like a W.”

“Yeah.”

“Well Greek mythology says that’s a woman.”

The Detective frowns. “How?”

“Exactly. And the myth behind it is equally absurd. Cassiopeia boasts about her beauty, and Poseidon the twat forces her up into the stars as punishment. It’s ludicrous.”

“I think a lot of Greek mythology is weird like that.”

“It’s not just the Greeks. The pisces constellation looks like a sperm.”

“Lucifer,” she laughs. 

“Well it does. The most beautiful patterns you could imagine are in that sky—I should know, I put them there—and you lot decide to focus on a squiggly line that looks like a little swimmer and say it explains your behavior.”

The Detective snorts. “Well when you put it that way.”

“You see? It’s preposterous.”

She squeezes his hand. “Show me one of yours.”

“One of my what? My little swimmers?”

She rolls her eyes. “No. Your patterns.”

He exhales and studies the sky, searching for one that won’t overwhelm her or take an hour to explain. She waits for him, her eyes on his face instead of the stars. When he finds one, he adjusts his hold on her hand, folding all her fingers down except her index finger, and lifts her arm to trace the pattern. 

“You see it?” he murmurs. “The curves and then the sharp end.”

“Yeah. What is it?”

He lowers their hands. “It resembles a tower in the Silver City. I used to go there with my sister, Azrael. We enjoyed playing pranks on Amenadiel together. We planned a great many in that tower.”

The Detective has that look on her face again. The compassion. He can’t remember what it’s like not to be loved by her. He doesn’t want to. 

“Is that why the stars are your favorite?” she whispers. “Because they’re reminders?”

He exhales a heavy breath. “Yes. But not in that way. I don’t see what I lost when I look at them. They remind me of what I am. Or, rather, what I want to be.”

She doesn’t ask him for an explanation, but he wants to give it to her regardless. He wants to give her everything. His throat feels tight, and his eyes feel warm, and he knows she’s watching him, but he doesn’t meet her gaze. He can’t. He keeps his eyes on the stars and focuses on what he wants to tell her, because if he doesn’t get it out now, he never will.

“My given name is Samael. It means Venom of God. And sometimes I see that in myself. I feel it, and I know that’s what I am. Just...poison. But then I look at the sky, and I think that if poison is all I am, then I couldn’t have done this. Venom is darkness, but this...this is light. Creation instead of destruction.”

He finally turns his head to look at her. There are tears in her eyes, and he aches. How many times has she cried for the Devil? Who else but her could know his darkness and love him anyway?

“I’ve always tried to hang on to my light,” he whispers to her. “That’s the other reason why the stars are my favorite. Because you can only see them when it’s dark. And perhaps, when the world ceases to exist, most of my existence will have been nothing but darkness. But there will have been light too. Or at least I hope so.”

“There is,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. “I see it every day.”

He rolls toward her, propping himself up on his elbow. “I know you do. Everyone else sees darkness. But you see stars.”

“I see the truth.”

“The truth,” he repeats, smiling down at her. He holds his hand up between them and takes a deep breath and reaches inward, down to the well of emotion where his light lives and breathes. A second later, his hand bursts into flame. She doesn’t startle in surprise or recoil from him in fear, and joy threatens to crack him wide open.

“The truth is that you did this,” he murmurs. “You made me into what I want to be.”

She shakes her head. “No, Lucifer.” She pushes his hand, still aflame, toward his chest and presses his palm against his heart. “You did.”

Warmth unfurls in his chest, but it has nothing to do with the flames flickering over his hand. He leans toward her. “I’m going to quote someone to you again.”

She smiles, wide and breathtaking. “Nerd.” 

He laughs, but her teasing doesn’t deter him. “All through it, I have known myself to be quite undeserving,” he whispers. “And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.”

Her eyes are glassy again. “Lucifer,” she murmurs, her voice wavering.

That feeling he can’t describe flutters in his chest again. Suddenly, the words of someone distant don’t seem like enough. He pulls his hand out from beneath hers, pressing her palm against his heart instead of his own, and then ducks forward to brush his mouth over hers. 

“Heart and soul, Chloe,” he whispers. 


“I don’t like to be summoned.”

Michael freezes with his gin glass halfway to his lips. He didn’t expect to get an answer so fast. He certainly didn’t expect that answer to be delivered in person, given how hard it was to arrange their original meeting. But maybe this is better. 

He hesitates, trying to decide how he wants to play this, and then he swallows some gin and turns around to face his guest. 

“We had a deal and you haven’t honored it.” 

The Dreamer lifts his chin. “You’re mistaken. I delivered on my end of the bargain. You requested a dream, and I gave you one.”

Michael shakes his head. “It’s not good enough. You were supposed to punish him.”

“And I have. He’s suffered considerably, and he suffers still. Everyone he cares for has turned against him.”

“Not everyone. Not her.”

“She’s suffering as well. You know that pains him.”

“But he still has her. It means nothing if he has her. You were supposed to take her.”

The Dreamer shakes his head. “That’s not what you asked for. I gave you the reality you requested. If she reacted differently than what you expected once she was immersed in that reality, that’s not my problem. I warned you that you were underestimating them. You chose not to listen.” 

Michael clenches his jaw. “You know he’s probably figured out by now that you’re the one who did this. He’ll come for you.”

The Dreamer lifts a shoulder. “Then let him come. Your brother has always appreciated a deal. If he cares for her as much as you say, then he’ll give me what I want in exchange for erasing the dream.”

Michael narrows his eyes. “That’s betrayal.”

The Dreamer shakes his head. “No, it’s not. I gave you what you wanted. You’re the one who misjudged your enemy. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

Michael opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn’t get the chance. The Dreamer evaporates into thin air, and suddenly Michael is alone. 

He clenches his jaw, tightening his hold on his glass, and then he gives up trying to control his temper and hurls the glass at the floor with a roar. It shatters into a thousand pieces and they scatter across the floor, glinting like stars. 

He paces across the floor, breathing heavily with his fists clenched, until he sees a shadow at the door. He immediately straightens his shoulders into a posture more reminiscent of his brother. 

“I can see you lurking, Heinrik,” he snaps, slipping into his brother’s accent. “Get in here.”

One of Lucifer’s demons scuttles into the room, his head bent respectfully. “Lord Morningstar. I apologize for the intrusion.”

“What is it?”

“We did as you requested, my Lord.”

“And?”

Heinrik bows lower. His entire body appears to be quivering in fear. “The human police have no information on the Detective, my Lord. They don’t know where she is. They know nothing.”

Michael clenches his jaw. How is that even possible? Three days with every cop in the state looking for them, and his brother and the Detective are nowhere to be found. It’s like they vanished into thin air. 

None of this is going according to plan. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. The Detective was supposed to lose faith the way humans always do. Lucifer was supposed to lean into his disgusting new nobility streak and let her go. He was supposed to hunt Dream down and start a war as retribution for losing her. There’s supposed to be a war.  

Heinrik clears his throat. “Uh...my Lord?”

Michael ignores him. Maybe all isn’t lost. If he can find the Detective before Lucifer finds Dream, then he can incite a war the same way he incited the rebellion. All he needs to do is repeat what worked the first time and hit his brother where he’s vulnerable. 

And nothing makes Lucifer more vulnerable than Chloe Decker.

“Find her,” Michael says.

Heinrik frowns. “My Lord?”

“The Detective,” Michael clarifies. “Find her. I don’t care what it takes. Just do it.”

Heinrik bows. “Yes, my Lord.”

He starts to scurry from the room, but Michael calls him back. 

“My Lord?” Heinrik says, turning around. 

Michael narrows his eyes. “Bring me Mazikeen.”

Chapter 23: Twenty-Three

Notes:

You know sometimes, when I’m reading over a chapter before I post it, I think to myself: “Why are all your chapters so long? Why can’t you be a *normal* person and write nice, short chapters for people?” And then the muse who lives in my head screams things like FLOW and CHARACTER AND THEMATIC ARCS and REMEMBER HOW MUCH YOU LOVE CLIFFHANGERS and I relent. (For the record, she’s a very cruel muse. All she does is demand coffee and tacos and scream at me to make Deckerstar suffer more.) Anyway, all that to say, I am very aware that my chapters and this fic are absurdly long, and I am very grateful to all of you who are sticking with me anyway. Love you boos.

Chapter Text

Chloe and Lucifer spend all day Thursday fighting. 

Well, okay, not fighting fighting. It’s more like...silence. Brooding, annoyed, frustrated silence. 

It sucks.

It starts the moment Chloe wakes up. She’s exhausted. There’s a dull headache throbbing in her temples. Her eyes feel like they’re burning, which always happens when she gets overtired. She’s a little nauseous too, another symptom of lack of sleep. If her discomfort was a result of stargazing all night with her boyfriend, she thinks maybe she’d be able to say it was a fair tradeoff. But she can’t say that because they didn’t stay out all night and that’s not why she’s tired. She’s tired because of her nightmares. 

They’re fucking awful.

She and Lucifer have established something of a routine since that first dream in Vegas. She wakes up at some point every night, gasping or sobbing or trying not to scream. He holds her until she settles down. When she’s breathing normally, he pulls her back onto the mattress and she falls asleep again, soothed by the gentleness of his fingers stroking through her hair. 

Last night, though, it didn’t go like that. Last night, she had two nightmares. The first was bad. The second was worse. After the second one, she couldn’t fall back asleep. She didn’t want to. She was afraid if she did there would be a third, so she stared at the stupidly cheerful painting hanging on the wall near the bed and tried not to think about how much she missed her kid and her home and her job and the L.A. sun. Eventually exhaustion pulled her under, but by then it was early in the morning. Her sleep was fitful at best. 

Now she’s awake. She wishes she wasn’t. She rolls toward Lucifer’s side of the bed, seeking warmth and comfort, but finds cold sheets and empty pillows instead. There’s no note. She rolls back to her side of the bed and checks her phone, but he didn’t text her either. He just...left.

She stares at the place where he should be, and then irritation flares in her chest. She sighs and throws the sheets off her body and stalks to the bathroom. 

She’s in the shower when he returns from wherever it is he disappeared to. He doesn’t come into the bathroom to greet her. There are plenty of reasonable explanations for that, but it makes irritation flare in her chest again. When she gets out of the shower, she doesn’t go out into the room to greet him. She’s not sure why. It’s not like she’s punishing him or anything. She’s just...annoyed. How hard is it for him to just be there when she wakes up?

When her hair is dry and her makeup is on and the only thing left for her to do is get dressed, she finally emerges from the bathroom. She finds him standing by the window, his back to her. When he turns to look at her, she’s surprised to see a glass of whiskey in his hand. Usually in the morning, he drinks his liquor with coffee or from his flask. She wonders what it means that he’s gone straight for a glass this early. 

“Good morning, Detective,” he greets.

“Hi.” 

He nods at the dresser. “Coffee’s there, though I suspect it’s cold by now.”

She tightens her hold on the towel wrapped around her body and tries to determine whether the phrase by now is a statement of fact or an irritated judgment. 

“You know I’d go with you if you would just wake me up,” she tells him.

He shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m perfectly capable of fetching coffee on my own.”

Irritation flashes through her again. “Right,” she says sharply. “Of course you are.”

She strides toward her suitcase without another word. He watches her rifle through her clothes, and the silence between them swells. If he crossed the room and reached for her, she’d go willingly into his arms. If she took a deep breath, acknowledged that her exhaustion and grief is making her short-tempered, and crossed the room to reach for him, he’d come just as willingly. But he doesn’t move, and neither does she. He just stares at her, and she waits and hopes and then realizes that he’s not going to take the first step because he never fucking does, so she grits her teeth and grabs her clothes and disappears into the bathroom with a slam of the door. 

It all just devolves from there. 

Despite his assurance that it’s terrible, she decides to peruse the continental breakfast in the lobby before they leave. That annoys him. As she eats a bowl of cereal, he announces that he’ll be driving all day because he can’t stand her deference to speed limits. That annoys her. It’s his day to pick what they listen to on the radio, and she hates what he picks, so she grabs the earbuds he left in the glove compartment and shoves them in her ears. They disagree about where to stop for lunch, but instead of the affectionate exasperation they usually bicker with, there’s an edge to it. She glares at him when he’s sarcastic with the waitress. He sighs at her when she stops to coo at a baby in a stroller and gets sucked into a conversation about teething with the baby’s mother. 

After lunch, Chloe tries to read a book she found at a gas station in Colorado. She can’t because Lucifer won’t stop tapping his hands on the steering wheel like it’s a damn drum set. She retaliates by returning the earbuds to her ears and using her phone to watch a Netflix show that he’s repeatedly said he wants to watch. She drinks too much iced tea and makes him stop at a rest stop, and he complains about losing all the time he’s saved them by speeding. He eats an entire bag of cool ranch puffs and gets cool ranch dust everywhere. It makes the car smell.

When they stop for gas about an hour outside of the tiny Illinois town where they’re planning to spend the night, Chloe goes into the gas station to get coffee and a bottle of Advil. Lucifer follows her. He hovers behind her like a shadow while she examines the coffee options, and then he’s rude to the cashier when they go to pay. The cashier is a jerk and he deserves Lucifer’s ire, but Chloe is tired and cranky and unwilling to admit that. So, as soon as they get back in the Escalade, she snaps at him. 

That’s when the dam breaks. 

It’s not pretty. It starts out passive-aggressive and slides into snide and then escalates until their voices are raised and they’re shouting at each other. It ends with both of them saying hurtful things they don’t mean. Chloe wants to cry but she refuses to give Lucifer the satisfaction of knowing he hit a nerve, so she glares out the window with her arms folded over her chest. 

They drive the rest of the way in complete silence. By the time Chloe slips the card key into the reader and then shoves the door of their hotel room open, the silence has become painful. She’s trying to decide whether they should talk now or eat some food first when Lucifer speaks. 

“I’m going out for some air.”

Chloe turns toward him with a frown. “What?”

Air,” he repeats as if she’s an idiot. 

She folds her arms. “What are you going to do, take a lap around the parking lot?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “I’m going to fly.”

“What if someone sees you?”

“I’ve had wings longer than you’ve been alive, Detective. No one will see me unless I want them to.”

“Well where are you going?”

“For Dad’s sake,” he says, throwing up his hands. “Are you capable of turning off your incessant need to interrogate everyone, or should I just learn to grin and bear it?”

Hurt blossoms in Chloe’s chest, and it must show on her face, because Lucifer goes suddenly still. 

“Detective,” he starts.

“Do whatever you want, Lucifer,” she cuts him off. “I don’t care.” 

She turns away from him, snatches the TV remote off the dresser, and then collapses onto the bed. She turns the TV on, and after a beat of silence, the sound of the local evening news fills the room. 

Lucifer doesn’t move. Chloe can see him out of the corner of her eye, pressing his lips together the way he does when he’s trying to make a decision. She’s mad and hurt and tired, but somewhere beneath all that, she wants to say get over here and cuddle me because I’m tired of fighting.  

She doesn’t though. He doesn’t say anything either. He just sighs heavily, turns on his heel, and leaves. 

As soon as the door slams shut behind him, Chloe buries her face in her hands. Tears prick her eyes. She shouldn’t have let him leave. She shouldn’t have snapped at him in the Escalade either. She shouldn’t have...well, she shouldn’t have done anything she did today. But it’s not like this is all her fault, right? He shouldn’t have snapped at her just now. He could have stayed, and he didn’t, and he could have apologized and called a truce at any point today just like she could have. But he didn’t, and now he’s gone, and it’s all just…

This day sucks. 

She watches the local news for a while. She isn’t really paying attention. There’s a story about a fall festival in a nearby town, and another story about a local high school football team. The weatherman’s suit is so ill-fitting she mutters Shit that’s bad under her breath. If Lucifer were here, he’d…well, it doesn’t matter. He’s not here. He’s off flying around, free as a bird, and she’s stuck in this damn hotel room watching a weatherman in a terrible suit. 

A thought suddenly occurs to her. Is she really stuck? Does she have to stay here? Lucifer left the car keys sitting on the desk. She’s got cash and a fake ID and they’re in a tiny rural town where no one knows her. She hasn’t eaten dinner yet. Why can’t she go out and grab some food, or maybe find a bar and have a beer? She doesn’t know if there are any good bars or restaurants around, but anything would be better than sitting on this bed, watching the local news and waiting for Lucifer to decide he’s had enough air.

Her sudden thought that Lucifer might be out there sitting at a bar, eating dinner and drinking whiskey and flirting with the bartender while she’s sitting here waiting for him, is the last straw. She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and searches for restaurants nearby. There aren’t many, but there’s a place called Teddy’s Bar and Grill about two miles away. She studies the menu and decides it’s appealing enough. At the very least, she can drink something other than absurdly expensive liquor for a change. 

She climbs off the bed and grabs the car keys and her wallet and a room key. She tucks the Glock into the back of her waistband since she’s going out alone. Her blazer is cut in such a way that no one will notice that she’s carrying, and she feels safer when she’s armed.  

She hesitates halfway out the door though. Should she at least text Lucifer and tell him where she’s going? Or maybe leave a note? He might worry if she doesn’t. 

Then again, he didn’t tell her where he was going. He was annoyed when she asked. Why should she give him a courtesy he can’t give her? She’s spent years wondering and worrying about him when he pulls his disappearing act. Let him wonder about her for a change. 

She doesn’t have trouble finding the restaurant. There’s a sandwich board sign on the sidewalk out front that says parking is in the back, but she drives past it slowly a few times first so she can gauge how crowded it is inside the restaurant. It doesn’t look busy, so she pulls around to the parking lot in the back. She double checks that she’s got her fake ID in her wallet, and then gets out of the car and heads for the door that’s marked with a sign that says Enter Here beneath the word Teddy’s.

She walks down a long hallway with several closed doors, and then finally steps into the main dining area. A jukebox in the corner is playing a rock ballad with a lot of electric guitar. She scans for cameras, but there aren’t any. There aren’t many people either. There’s a family with two young kids seated in a booth by the front window, and a group of men her age wearing Chicago Bears gear and sitting at a round table. Nobody sends more than a cursory glance her way, so she heads for the bar and slides onto a stool. 

There’s a football game on the TV, and the score line at the bottom says it’s the Packers versus the Bears, which explains the group of guys in Bears gear. Chloe glances at them over her shoulder, but they’re all focused on their food or the TV at the other end of the bar. 

“Hi there.”

Chloe turns around to find a guy standing behind the bar in front of her. He’s about her age, and he’s built like a linebacker. His blonde hair is cropped close to his head, and his eyes are an obnoxious shade of blue. A few years ago, she might have thought he was cute. Nowadays, though, she prefers her men tall, dark, and filled with innuendos.

The bartender smiles at her. “What can I get you?”

Chloe glances at the beer taps nearby. “Blue Moon,” she replies. “Please.”

His smile widens. “That’s what I drink too.” He grabs a pint glass and starts to fill it, but his eyes are fixed on her instead of the glass. Chloe glances back at the TV and pretends she doesn’t notice him studying her. She can’t tell if he recognizes her, if he’s about to hit on her, or if he’s just friendly. Her fingers twitch, ready to reach for her gun.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he says. “It’s a small town so I know everyone, and I’ve never seen you in here.”

“I’m just passing through on the way to a family funeral,” Chloe lies, giving him a tight lipped smile. The mention of funerals is usually enough to shut people up.

The guy grimaces. “Ah, I’m sorry. Someone you were close to?”

“Yeah. My grandfather. I don’t really want to talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

The guy nods. “Yeah, sure. No problem.” He sets the beer in front of her, and then leans against the bar. “So where you from?” 

Chloe has to try very hard not to sigh and roll her eyes. So much for social cues. At least he doesn’t recognize her from Hot Tub High School. If he did, he’d have already mentioned it and he’d be staring at her boobs instead of her eyes. If she was in L.A., she’d “accidentally” set her badge on the bar and that’d be enough to spook him out of wanting a conversation. But she’s not in L.A., and she’s currently a fugitive and not a cop, so she has to lie again.

“Chicago.”

He smirks. “City girl, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, forcing herself to laugh a little. “Born and bred.”

“You got a name, city girl?”

“Kate,” she tells him, because that’s the name on her ID.

He smiles and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Kate. I’m Justin.”

Chloe shakes his hand quickly. “Nice to meet you. Hey, can I order food?”

“For sure,” Justin says. “You want a menu?”

“Nope,” she says, shaking her head. “Just a cheeseburger and fries. Please.”

He nods. “You got it.”

He finally, finally turns away from her and heads back toward what appears to be the kitchen. Chloe quickly pulls her cell phone out of her pocket so that when he comes back, she’ll have an excuse to ignore him. Once it’s out, though, she finds herself staring at the screen, unsure of what to do. This isn’t her phone. It’s the phone Javier gave her a few days ago. The only number programmed into the contacts is Lucifer’s. There are no text messages, no emails, no photos. No social media apps to browse. 

She pulls up an internet tab and opens a search, and then types out the handle for her Instagram. She’s not going to log in or anything—that’d be stupid, because she’s sure the LAPD is watching all her accounts. She just wants to see some photos of Trixie. 

When she clicks on the link and her page appears, a few dozen familiar photos fill the screen. The most recent one makes her heart twist in her chest. It’s Trixie on her bicycle. She’s looking over her shoulder and smiling so wide the corners of her eyes are crinkled. The L.A. sky in the background is a gorgeous shade of blue, and there are palm trees lining the sidewalk. They were on their way to get ice cream when Chloe took this picture. Trixie smeared her sundae all over the front of her shirt somehow, and it took Chloe quite a bit of effort that weekend to get the stains out. She’d give anything to be back in L.A. right now, scrubbing ice cream stains out of one of Trixie’s shirts and fussing at her daughter to do her homework. 

Chloe swallows around the lump in her throat and keeps scrolling slowly through her page, desperate to see as much of Trixie as she can. She lingers on each photo for a minute or two, trying to memorize her daughter’s face. Scattered throughout the pictures of Trixie are a few snapshots of random scenery or a sunset. Trixie gets steadily younger as Chloe scrolls farther and farther back. A photo of her and Dan on their wedding day, which she posted on their last anniversary before things got rough, makes her wonder if Dan has posted anything lately. 

She tagged him in the photo, so she clicks his handle. He doesn’t post often. His most recent photo is a picture of him and Charlotte, which makes Chloe’s chest ache. But there are a few photos of Trixie before that one, and Chloe studies them hungrily. She’s gazing at a photo she can’t remember seeing before—it’s her and Trixie, who appears to be about three, at the beach, and Dan captioned it beach day with my girls—when Justin the bartender sets a plate of food in front of her. 

“Here you go. You need anything else?”

“Nope,” Chloe says, flashing him a brief smile before burying her nose back in her phone. “Thanks.”

Justin lingers for a second, maybe hoping that she’ll notice him still standing there and look up from her phone, but when she doesn’t, he wanders away. 

Chloe breathes a sigh of relief and refocuses on her phone. The photo of her and Trixie at the beach is staring up at her, reminding her of the last time she saw Trixie at the beach, and her throat suddenly feels like it’s closing up. 

Maybe she should look at something else before she starts crying in the middle of this bar. 

She closes the internet window and opens a new one and Googles her name, curious to see if the LAPD has any leads on her and Lucifer. She blinks at the screen for a second once the results load, taken aback by the sheer number that pop up, and then clicks on the first as she reaches for a french fry. She nearly spits it out when she reads the words The FBI conducted raids on several of Mr. Morningstar’s properties early this morning. 

From there, she falls into a black hole of news coverage. She reads article after article while she eats her dinner. In every piece, Lucifer is portrayed as a ruthless crime lord who preys on everything and everyone. How she’s represented, on the other hand, seems to vary based on the reporter. Some of them think she’s an innocent victim. Others think she was in on it all, just as guilty as Lucifer but now being protected by the LAPD so they can save face. And then there are the gossip columnists, those who seem more interested in her days as an actress and the “potentially romantic nature of Decker and Morningstar’s partnership.” 

She’s on the last few sips of her beer when she comes across what appears to be a video from KTLA’s evening news. It was posted just a few minutes ago. She fishes one of the earbuds she used earlier in the car out of the pocket of her blazer and slips it into her ear, then presses play. The video buffers for a moment and then starts rolling.

“And now, an update from KTLA’s own Anna Morgan about the ongoing search for a missing LAPD detective,” a bearded news anchor with a very prominent chin says. He tilts his head. “Anna?”

A pretty blonde woman appears on screen. She’s holding a microphone and standing outside the downtown headquarters of the LAPD, her hair blowing a little in the breeze.

“Thanks, Alex,” she says with a nod. “It’s been nearly a week since LAPD Homicide Detective Chloe Decker was kidnapped by Lucifer Morningstar, owner of the famed Lux Nightclub downtown.”

A photo of Chloe and Lucifer briefly appears on screen. Her hands are curled around the edges of her blazer and she’s looking off to the left, her eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. Lucifer is looming behind her, his body bent slightly and his head tilted toward her like he’s whispering something in her ear. 

Chloe’s never seen this picture before. She wonders where they got it, and if they picked it because Lucifer looks like the Devil whispering in her ear.  

“Despite concurrent raids conducted by the FBI early this morning on nearly a dozen of Mr. Morningstar’s properties, the LAPD appears to be no closer to locating Detective Decker or their former consultant. My sources tell me that despite repeated public assurances that the interagency taskforce has several promising leads, high-ranking officials have expressed behind closed doors that they are increasingly concerned about Detective Decker’s safety and whether she is, in fact, still alive.”

The screen cuts to what appears to be a press conference, and Chloe’s heart aches when she realizes it’s Jax behind the podium. He looks exhausted. 

“We’re not giving up,” he says, his voice like steel. “Detective Decker is one of our own, and we’re going to pursue every lead to get her back. We’re confident that we’ll find her alive and well, and that we’ll successfully bring Mr. Morningstar to justice.” 

The screen cuts back to the blonde reporter. “The LAPD has requested that anyone with information about the whereabouts of either Mr. Morningstar or Detective Decker please call the tip hotline listed on the homepage of their website. There is a reward available for any information that leads to the successful location of either party. In the meantime—”

Chloe pauses the video and stares at the frozen face of the blonde reporter. She can’t seem to wrap her brain around all this. The FBI is raiding Lucifer’s properties. There’s an interagency taskforce whose sole mission appears to be finding her and Lucifer. There’s even a reward. She didn’t see any national headlines about her or Lucifer during her earlier scan of the news—all of the media coverage is from California—and the taskforce clearly has no idea that they left Los Angeles, so she doesn’t think she needs to be worried about getting caught at a bar in a tiny town in rural Illinois. But that doesn’t change the fact that back in L.A., everyone thinks she might be dead.

Does Trixie think her mother is dead?

Chloe knows that pain. She knows how it feels to lose a parent—that gaping black hole that never seems to fill, that ache that’s so deep in your bones that nothing seems to soothe it—and the idea of Trixie feeling that way, of her falling asleep every night with tears in her eyes the way Chloe used to…

That’s too much. 

She pushes her beer glass away and gets to her feet. She doesn’t want to be here anymore. She wants to go back to the hotel and curl up in bed, and when Lucifer gets back from wherever it is he disappeared to, she wants to pull him into bed with her and tell him she’s tired of fighting and she just wants him to hold her. 

She’s pulling a twenty dollar bill out of her wallet when Justin the bartender appears. 

“Leaving already?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, setting the twenty down next to her plate. “I’m tired and I’ve got a long day of driving tomorrow.”

Justin nods. “Yeah, I get it. Well it was nice to meet you, Kate.”

“You too. Thanks.”

Chloe grabs her phone and slides it in her back pocket, and then heads toward the back of the restaurant. She’s halfway down the long hallway leading toward the parking lot when she sees a shadow appear on the wall next to her. 

She frowns and starts to turn around, her hand moving toward her gun, but she doesn’t get the chance to grab it. 

Pain explodes in the back of her skull, and everything goes black. 


Lucifer isn’t flying. 

He was flying. Despite his distaste for his wings and all that they represent, he’s always loved the freedom of flight. It’s the only time—other than when he’s plastered or entertaining a crowd or in the middle of a very good lay—when he doesn’t feel like he’s weighed down by millennia of darkness. 

Well, that and the Detective. He feels light whenever he’s in her presence. But she’s mad at him at the moment—very mad at him—and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t even know what he did. 

Well, all right, he knows he was a bit of a prick today. He snapped at her several times, including just before he left. And they had that fight in the Escalade, when they shouted at each other about nothing and everything and all the things in between. But he doesn’t...he doesn’t understand why she’s so angry.

Or maybe he does. Maybe it’s exactly what he’s always been afraid of. Maybe she’s finally sick of him. Maybe she’s realized how much effort it is to be with him. Maybe she’s decided she’s had enough. Enough of the celestial craziness, enough of the pain, enough of trying to love the world’s most loathed enemy.

Enough of him. 

That’s why he’s not flying. Because it hit him just after he left, when he was a thousand feet in the air above the hotel, that there was nothing stopping her from leaving him. He has no claim on her. She loves him, but he’s seen enough Hell loops and met enough unhappy couples to know that love isn’t always enough. It’s like the way water weathers rock. The storms seem inconsequential, at first. What could possibly break down a rock? But the storms don’t stop, and the water keeps flowing, and eventually the rock wears down and everything falls apart. 

He felt suddenly sick at the thought, so he hovered for a while instead of flying. The clouds wrapped around him, and the wind buffeted his suit, and he wondered: Were he and the Detective wearing down? His feelings for her hadn’t changed and they never would, but that doesn’t mean hers never would. 

He wanted to go back to her. He knew he should. He promised her that he wouldn’t run away anymore, and he was breaking that promise by hovering a thousand feet above her instead of staying at her side, but he just...he couldn’t. Because if she was down there planning how to let him go gently—it’s not you, it’s me—then he’d lose everything. He wasn’t ready to lose everything. 

He wasn’t ready to lose her. 

So, he’s here. Here being the middle of the woods in bum-fuck-nowhere Illinois, in a small clearing that probaby hasn’t seen anything but wildlife in decades. He’s sitting on a tree stump that is probably doing terrible things to his beautifully cut Prada suit, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

His hands are on fire. He’s been practicing. The Detective teased him yesterday that his laser beam hands make him look like the celestial version of Iron Man. He’s a little horrified by her comparing him to comic book heroes—he makes everything look good, but even he would have trouble pulling off the underwear-outside-his-pants look—but it made him wonder if he could make his light do other things than just the stuff she’s seen in the movies.

And, as it turns out, he can. It takes a considerable amount of concentration—and by concentration he means thinking about how much the Detective means to him and how warm he feels whenever she says I love you—but he can do things with his light. 

He can control how hot it burns. He can make his hand blaze like an inferno, the temperature so scorchingly high that when he presses his palm into a large rock, it leaves a handprint. He can do the opposite too. He can make his flames mild enough to heat the surface of the rock just enough to feel pleasantly warm, like it’s been sitting in the afternoon sun for a few hours. 

He can control the heat of his light beams as well. He can bring them to a boiling point that creates a softball sized hole straight through a tree trunk, or cool enough to leave just a small indentation in the bark.

But the best part? He can shape it. 

It starts as a light ball of sorts. Instead of expelling the ball from his palm like a projectile, he focuses on keeping it close. He shapes it between his hands the way someone might form a snowball, and he’s able to make it bigger. He makes it smaller after that, and then more elongated. He stretches it out longer and longer and lets one end go until it curls at his feet like a rope, sizzling against the leaves like a whip of fire. 

He suddenly wonders if, since it looks like a rope, he can use it as a rope. He feels like an idiot when he starts swinging a flaming length of light around his head like a Prada-clad cowboy, but when he flings the rope away from him and curls it around a tree branch and tugs, it brings the branch crashing down to earth.

“Bloody hell,” he murmurs.

He has to tell the Detective. 

He unfurls his wings and takes off, his jaw set in determination. She’s mad at him, but she’s been mad at him before. She gets mad at him all the time. All he needs to do is say something romantic to her, maybe pull her close and whisper that he’s sorry he left and he missed her while he was gone—both of which are true—and she’ll forgive him. She always forgives him. Maybe someday that might change, but he won’t let that day be today.

He touches down behind the hotel, folds his wings away, and strides around to the front entrance. He hurries toward their room, his heart racing, and then shoves the card key into the reader and pushes the door open.

“Detective,” he calls. “I know you’re angry, but—”

He stops short with a frown. She’s not sitting on the bed where he left her. The room is empty. He turns toward the bathroom but the light is off, and she’s not in there. 

She’s gone.


When Chloe comes to, the back of her head is throbbing. She winces and tries to lift her hands to rub it, but she can’t. Something is wound tightly around her wrists, and her arms are pulled behind her back. It feels like…

Duct tape.

She’s suddenly wide awake. She snaps her head up as her detective instincts kick into high gear. She’s sitting in a chair, and her arms are bound behind her. She appears to be in a basement of some sort. There are stacks of boxes, and shelves filled with cleaning supplies and other random items. A few empty kegs are clustered nearby. She can see a sandwich board sign leaning against a wall not far from where she sits, and it’s emblazoned with the words Teddy’s Bar and Grill.  

She must be in the basement of the bar. But why? How did she get down here?

She hears a door creak, and the rock music that was playing in the restaurant briefly floats down the stairs before the door creaks again and the music cuts out. She hears heavy footsteps on the wooden stairs. She watches as a pair of work boots appear, followed by jean clad legs and a navy shirt. 

Justin the bartender stops at the bottom of the stairs, meets her gaze, and grins at her. 

“Well look who’s awake. It’s Kate from Chicago.” He tilts his head. “Except that’s not your name, is it?”

Chloe swallows around the lump that’s suddenly in her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What the hell are you doing? You can’t just tape people up in your basement. Let me go.”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” he repeats. “So you’re not Chloe Decker then?”

Panic flares in Chloe’s chest at the sound of her name but she ignores it. “I don’t even know who that is.” She tugs against the tape holding her wrists. “Seriously, let me out of this. This isn’t funny.”

He shakes his head and stalks toward her. “You know, I knew I recognized you from somewhere. I couldn’t figure out where though. And then it hit me. You’re that chick from Hot Tub High School. The one who gets out of the hot tub.” He leers at her. “Naked.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He stops in front of her. “I Googled you just to make sure I wasn’t wrong. Found out some real interesting stuff. Did you know you’re wanted by the LAPD? Apparently there’s a reward for you.” He reaches behind his back and pulls her Glock out. “Explains why you had this in your pants.”

Every muscle in Chloe’s body tenses. 

Justin must notice, because he shakes his head. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t worry, I didn’t feel you up without your consent or anything. But I did have to pick you up to bring you down here, and that’s when I felt it. You know, you’re supposed to have a license to carry this around in Illinois.” He grins at her. “But I’m guessing you don’t really care about the law seeing as you’re on the run and everything.” 

Chloe presses her lips together and doesn’t say anything.

He tucks the gun into the front of his waistband where she can see it, and then he puts his hands on his hips and grins. “So what now, Chloe Decker?”

Chloe stares up at him and weighs her options. She could keep insisting that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but what’s the point? If he Googled her, he saw pictures of her. He knows who she is, and she’s not going to be able to convince him otherwise. The time to pretend to be Kate from Chicago has passed.

But what’s her next move then? He’s twice her size and he’s got her gun. If she had her hands free she could probably hold her own long enough to make a break for it, but her hands aren’t free. She’s duct taped to a chair. She could scream, but between the music and the football game on the TVs upstairs, she doubts anyone will hear her. Her phone is still in her back pocket. But she can’t reach it, and even if she could, it’s not like Justin would just stand and watch while she calls Lucifer. 

She needs to negotiate. 

“If it’s the reward you want, I’ve got money,” she tells him. “I can pay you more than the LAPD.”

Justin tilts his head, apparently considering the offer. “Where’s the money?”

“In my hotel room.”

He snorts. “You think I’m going to let you go to your hotel room and just trust that you’ll come back?”

She shrugs. “Come with me then.”

“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ll scream as soon as we get out of here, and I can’t be seen shoving a girl with a duct taped mouth around town.” 

“Fine. The card key is in my wallet. Go get it yourself.” 

And hopefully run into my boyfriend the Devil, she thinks. 

A smirk spreads slowly over his lips. “No, I don’t think so.”

Warning bells start to blare in the back of Chloe’s mind. She knows that look. She’s seen it from dozens of men, usually guys who want her to reenact their favorite scene from Hot Tub High School. 

Justin bends forward. “I think we can come up with a better way for you to buy your freedom, can’t we?”

Panic snakes around Chloe’s chest and squeezes until she’s breathless. He’s got her gun. Her hands are duct taped behind her back. No one’s coming to save her. No one even knows she’s here. She didn’t tell Lucifer where she was going because she was being petty and stupid, and now she has no way of—

Wait. 

Lucifer. 

Lucifer is an angel. 

And angels can hear prayer. 

Justin leers at her, oblivious to her thoughts. “Let’s make a deal.”

Chloe grits her teeth at the mention of a deal, calls on every ounce of knowledge she has about her boyfriend, and reaches out to him in desperation. 

Lucifer, I’m in the basement of Teddy’s Bar and Grill a few miles from the hotel. Some guy has me duct taped to a chair and I could really use a Devil rescue.  

Justin reaches out and brushes his fingertips over her cheek, and Chloe jerks away from him in disgust.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Justin says. “Just think of it as a business deal. You give me what I want, and I’ll let you walk out of here without telling the cops where you are.”

The way he’s looking at her makes Chloe want to vomit. She has no way of knowing whether Lucifer heard her prayer, but she doesn’t need confirmation. Nobody knows him better than she does—nobody has more faith in him than she does—and she knows he’ll come for her. It doesn’t matter where she is or where he is or how angry they are with each other. He’ll come for her. He’ll always come for her. 

She just needs to stall a little and give him some time to get here. 

“Are you religious?” she asks Justin.

The bartender frowns. “What?”

“Religious,” she repeats. “Do you believe in God?”

He snorts. “No.”

“What about angels?”

He gives her a bewildered look. “Are you some kind of weird church chick? No. That shit isn’t real.”

“So you don’t believe in the Devil then.”

Justin blinks at her for a second, and then he smirks. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it won’t work. I don’t believe in that shit.”

“Well I do.” 

He shrugs. “So?”

An earsplitting crash fills the air. Justin straightens in surprise, whirling toward the stairs leading up to the restaurant, and Chloe glances toward them too. The basement door, ripped clean off its hinges, is clattering down the steps. It skids across the floor and then slams into a shelving unit and stops. 

Chloe smiles up at her captor. “So I think you’re about to believe in him too.”

“What the—” Justin starts. 

He doesn’t get to finish. One second it’s just him and Chloe in the basement and then suddenly Lucifer is there, his eyes blazing red, his fingers wrapping around Justin’s throat as he hauls him off the ground and into the air so that the bartender’s feet are dangling above the cement floor.   

“If you touched her,” Lucifer snarls, his fingers tightening around Justin’s neck, “I will tear you limb from limb and incinerate the pieces.”

Justin chokes, clawing at Lucifer’s hand around his neck with a terrified expression. His other hand fumbles down toward the gun in his waistband.

“Lucifer,” Chloe warns. 

Lucifer glances down, sees what Justin is reaching for, and yanks the gun away from him. 

“This isn’t yours,” he growls. He hurls the bartender away from him, and Justin crashes into the cluster of empty kegs and then collapses on the floor, gasping and grasping at his throat. 

Lucifer glares at him as he tucks the Glock into his own waistband. Instead of striding after his prey, though, he turns to Chloe. The red in his eyes disappears as he crouches before her, reaching up to hold her face in his hands with a gentleness that seems shocking after what he just did.

“Did he hurt you?” he murmurs, his eyes dark with fear. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She smiles at him. “Really glad to see you though.”

He strokes his thumb over her cheek and smiles briefly, and then drops his gaze to look her over. When he notices that her hands are duct taped behind her back, his eyes narrow. He exhales a sharp, angry breath through his nose, and gets to his feet. He strides around to the back of the chair, and a second later Chloe hears the telltale sound of duct tape ripping. 

She pulls her arms forward and then peels the duct tape from around her wrists as she gets to her feet. She expects it to hurt since it’s stuck to her skin, but is surprised to find it doesn’t. 

Lucifer appears in front of her, and lifts his hands to her face again. “You’re certain he didn’t harm you?”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies, reaching up to wrap her hands around his forearms. He feels warm, and she squeezes him reassuringly so he won’t light up. “I’m okay, Lucifer. Nothing happened.”

Lucifer seems unsatisfied by her reassurance. “Was he planning to harm you?”

Chloe opens her mouth but nothing comes out because, well, they don’t lie to each other. 

Lucifer’s eyes flare red again. “I’ll kill him,” he hisses. 

“Lucifer—”

He ignores her, wrenching out of her grasp and striding toward Justin. The bartender sees him coming. He scrambles to his feet, grabs an empty keg, and hurls it at Lucifer with a grunt of effort. Lucifer bats it away like it’s a fly and keeps walking. Justin bends forward and grabs another keg, flinging it wildly in Lucifer’s direction. 

This time, Lucifer catches it. He pauses as his fingers wrap around the edge of the steel barrel, which hovers in mid-air in his grip. Chloe isn’t sure how much an empty keg weighs, but Lucifer’s holding it in one hand as easily as he’d hold a feather. 

Justin’s eyes widen in fear. “Oh my god.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “Dad won’t help you.” 

He pulls his arm back and then hurls the keg at Justin like a baseball. It smashes into the shelving unit less than a foot to Justin’s left with a deafening crash. The contents of the shelves explode into the air and land on the floor in a wild cacophony of sounds. 

Justin drops to his knees amidst the rain of items and curls into a ball with an inhuman wail that sends a shiver drilling down Chloe’s spine. She knows that if Lucifer wanted to hit Justin with that keg, he would have. But that doesn’t comfort her. She can feel the rage coming off of her boyfriend in waves, and she knows he meant what he said. He’ll kill Justin if she doesn’t stop him. 

Lucifer starts toward Justin again, and Chloe darts forward to grab his arm. “Lucifer, no.”  

Lucifer pauses just long enough to gently extricate his arm out of her grip. He doesn’t take his eyes off Justin. “If you’re uncomfortable, Detective, you can wait upstairs. I won’t be long.” 

He starts walking again, his expression murderous, and she lunges forward to put herself between him and Justin.

“Lucifer, stop,” she says, pressing her hands against his chest. “You don’t need to do this.”

He finally looks down at her. His eyes are blazing red. “He intended to harm you, and I intend to send him to Hell.”

He tries to step past her, but she steps in his way again.

“We solve murders, Lucifer. We don’t commit them.”

“You don’t. I do.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” 

Lucifer clenches his jaw but can’t argue.

Chloe tilts closer to him. “He didn’t do anything to me. You stopped him, okay? You saved me. Let’s just go.”

“He must be punished, Detective.”

“Someday he will be.”

“That’s not enough,” he thunders. “It starts now.” He wraps his fingers around her wrists and lifts her hands off his chest with a gentleness that belies the rage in his eyes and his voice. “This is who I am, Detective. If you don’t—”

“It’s not who you are,” she cuts him off. She yanks her hands free of his and reaches up to hold his face. “You don’t destroy things, Lucifer. You create. Remember?” 

He goes still. The fury in his expression shivers slightly, like he’s suddenly unsure of his decision, and she presses her advantage. 

“You’re not venom, babe,” she whispers. “You’re light. Be light.” 

Lucifer stares down at her. His chest is rising and falling faster than normal, like he’s an enraged bull who’s ready to charge, but he doesn’t move. Chloe can see in his eyes that he’s conflicted. He wants to listen to her. 

She pushes him a step farther. 

Please, she prays.

His gaze softens immediately. Chloe holds her breath. A beat passes, and then Lucifer exhales and leans forward to press his forehead against hers. 

“You’re okay?” he whispers, his hands sliding along her waist.

“I’m okay,” she promises. She drapes her arms around his neck. “We’re okay.”

“What the hell? ” an unfamiliar voice demands, shattering the moment.

Chloe snaps her eyes open and turns toward the stairs. The group of guys who were upstairs watching the football game are clustered on and around the bottom of the stairs. 

“Steve,” Justin rasps from the floor behind Chloe. “They’re trying to rob the bar. They want to kill me.”

Lucifer turns toward the bartender and growls—literally growls—and Justin cowers with a whimper.

Chloe squeezes Lucifer’s arm but keeps her focus on the guys standing by the stairs. 

“That’s not true,” she tells them. “This is all just a misunderstanding. All we want to do is go.” She grabs Lucifer’s hand and tugs him after her as she steps toward the staircase. “Just let us through and we’ll be out of your way.”

The guy in the front—Steve—sizes her up and then turns to look at one of his buddies. “Call the cops.” He turns back around to look at Chloe. “You’re not going anywhere until the police say you can.”

Lucifer pulls his hand gently out of Chloe’s then steps in front of her. “Stand back, Detective. I’ll move them out of our way.” 

He lifts his hands, and she knows he’s about to light up, and she can’t lunge at him fast enough. 

“Lucifer, no,” she hisses, grabbing his arm.

He shoots her an exasperated look. “I can manage the heat, darling. I won’t kill them.”

“That’s not the point,” Chloe mutters, glancing at the guys from the corner of her eye. “Normal people don’t just burst into flames. If you light them up, they’ll call the news once we’re gone. Everyone back home will know where we are.”

Lucifer sighs. “Fine.” He tugs on his jacket and then turns back to the men. “Right, it appears she’d prefer that we do this the old fashioned way. So which of you cretins would like their ass kicked first?”

“Is he serious?” one of the guys standing on the stairs asks.

“Oh yes, quite serious,” Lucifer confirms. “If you’re not going to move, then I’ll make you move.” He flicks his fingers over his arm as if he’s brushing away dust. “Try not to bleed on my Prada though, will you? It’s been through enough today.”

The men by the stairs exchange incredulous looks. 

Lucifer stares at them for a beat, and then he throws up his hands. “All right then, fine. Dealer’s choice.” He points at Steve. “You. Steve, is it? Let’s see what you can do.”

He strides toward Steve. Steve blinks at him in surprise, seems to realize that Lucifer is not joking, and then sprints toward him with a yell. 

Lucifer grins wolfishly. He dodges a punch, the top half of his body bending to the side, and then kicks his foot out and swipes Steve’s legs out from underneath him. Steve hits the ground in a heap. Lucifer bends down, grabs two fistfuls of Steve’s Chicago Bears sweatshirt, and then flings him toward Justin like he’s a frisbee. 

The other men on the stairs spring to life. They hurry toward Lucifer, their faces set in determination. Chloe watches as Lucifer catches a punch that’s thrown at him, and then twists the man’s wrist so hard a sickening crack fills the basement. The man screams, and Lucifer shoves him out of the way just in time to duck the next punch with ease. He pops back up like a jack-in-the-box, and as he does he delivers an uppercut to the bottom of the guy’s chin that’s so forceful it lifts the guy’s feet straight off the floor. 

Chloe’s mouth falls open. She’s seen Lucifer fight before, but she’s never had a front row seat with no distractions. Now that she does, she can’t take her eyes off him. He’s so damn smooth. Every movement is fluid and lethal, and there’s something about knowing that he’s keeping himself in check purely for her sake that’s…

Well, it’s kind of hot. 

“Get her,” Chloe hears Justin rasp from behind her. “He’ll stop if we have her.”

Chloe spins to face them, and is just in time to find Steve reaching out to grab her arm. His fingers close around her and squeeze. She digs her nails into his skin and rips his hand off of her, and then follows it up with a punch across the jaw.

Steve bellows in pain and stumbles backward. When he straightens and gapes at her in shock, she grins at him and lifts her fists. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

Steve narrows his eyes at her, and then charges. Chloe sidesteps him with ease—he’s big but unathletic and she’s pretty sure he’s half drunk—but dodging his punch doesn’t keep her out of harm’s way. Justin lunges forward to grab her foot. His fingers wrap around her ankle and he yanks, and she loses her balance and careens backward. She lands on her back, and her head snaps backward so hard that her skull smacks into the cement floor. 

It should hurt like hell. It should knock her unconscious or, at the very least, make her world spin. But it doesn’t. In fact, it doesn’t hurt at all. She barely even feels it. 

She doesn’t have time to be confused, though, because Justin is crawling on top of her, his hands grabbing at her wrists to pin her hands above her head. Chloe fights against his hold, gritting her teeth, but he’s stronger than her. 

He grins down at her. “Not how I thought I’d end up on top of the Hot Tub High School girl, but I’m not complaining,” he sneers.

Rage simmers in Chloe’s blood. She hooks her leg around his hip and then bucks upward and twists, and they roll across the floor so that she’s on top. He still has a firm grasp on both her wrists, but she leans all her weight onto her left knee and then brings her right knee straight up and into his crotch. 

Justin’s eyes bulge and he chokes on a strangled cry of pain. His grip goes slack, and Chloe yanks her hands free. 

“I don’t think you’ll be on top of any girls for a while,” she says, grinning at him.

She’s climbing to her feet when she feels a hand on her shoulder, and she turns around just in time to get a fist to the face.

That doesn’t hurt either. 

Steve blinks at her in shock, and Chloe blinks at him too, and then she snaps to attention and punches him in the mouth. His hands fly up to his face, and when he pulls them away, there’s blood on his fingers and spilling from his bottom lip.

“You fucking bitch,” he snarls. 

He pulls his arm back as if he’s going to try to punch her again, but his fist stops in mid-air when Lucifer catches him by the wrist. Steve turns around, and when he sees Lucifer standing behind him, eyes blazing with fire, he whimpers. 

Lucifer yanks on Steve’s arm, and Steve lets out a bloodcurdling scream of pain as his shoulder jerks violently and something snaps. Lucifer, undeterred by the screaming or the snapping, tugs Steve backward and slams him into a nearby shelving unit, pinning him in place with a forearm to the throat.

“I’m going to rip your tongue out of your mouth for that,” Lucifer snarls.  

“Lucifer,” Chloe warns. 

Lucifer sighs at her in frustration, but Steve’s tongue stays in his mouth. Lucifer’s eyes dart toward the shelf next to Steve’s head, and then he leans forward. 

“She won’t let me send you where you belong,” he hisses in Steve’s face. “But I’m going to make sure everyone knows what you are.”

He snatches a Sharpie off the shelf, bites the cap off and spits it out, and then proceeds to scrawl something across Steve’s forehead. When he’s finished, he leans back and surveys his work with a grin. 

“Excellent.”

He steps back and spins Steve to face Chloe. 

“What do you think, love?”

The words I am a twat are scrawled across Steve’s forehead in Lucifer’s handwriting. 

Chloe gapes. 

“You’re right,” Lucifer says. “It’s not enough. Come here, twat.” He yanks Steve back around, scribbles on his face some more, and then turns him back around to face Chloe again. “There. Better?”

Steve now has a Sharpie handlebar moustache and a unibrow. Chloe covers her mouth with her hand so she won’t laugh.

“Oh, now she approves,” Lucifer purrs in Steve’s ear with a wicked smile. “Splendid.” 

And then he grabs a fistful of Steve’s sweatshirt and hurls him toward the far end of the basement, where he lands on top of one of his friends with a groan. 

Lucifer dusts his hands off, humming in satisfaction, but then he sees Justin trying to crawl away from him and toward the stairs.

“Oh no you don’t,” he says. 

He bends forward, yanks Justin to his feet, and then spins him around so they’re eye-to-eye.

“You’re lucky my better half is more merciful than I,” he murmurs in a dangerously low voice, his eyes flashing red. And then he pulls his fist back and punches Justin square in the face, and the bartender is unconscious before he even hits the floor. 

Lucifer frowns down at him in distaste, tugs on his jacket to straighten it, and then turns toward Chloe. 

He notices her staring and frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. She can’t help but look him up and down. “You’re just kind of sexy when you’re defending my honor.”

Lucifer grins. “Am I?” And then his eyes widen. “Detective!”

Someone grabs her from behind, their arms wrapping around her like a vise. Lucifer’s eyes flash and he starts toward her, but he doesn’t need to. Chloe lifts her boot and stomps it down on her assailant’s toes, and then pulls her arm forward and rockets her elbow backward into his ribs. Whoever is behind her grunts in her ear as all the air rushes out of his lungs. Chloe twists out of his grasp and punches him across the face. He staggers away from her, holding his face, and then trips over one of his friends and sprawls across the floor. 

“Well speaking of sexy,” Lucifer murmurs.

Chloe grins at him over her shoulder. “Liked that, huh?”

“Oh very much,” he purrs, looking her up and down. “What is it the youths say these days? Step on me?”

Chloe laughs until she sees what appears to be a snow shovel hovering in mid-air behind Lucifer’s head.

“Lucifer—” she starts, but the word is barely out of her mouth before Lucifer’s hand shoots into the air and catches the handle before the shovel comes crashing down on his skull. 

He turns around and glares at the man who is wielding it. “Do you mind? We were having a moment.

He flicks his wrist forward, and the shovel smacks against the man’s forehead with a dull clang. The man crumples to the ground. Lucifer turns around and scans the rest of the basement, shovel still in hand, but everyone else is either unconscious or cowering. 

He tosses the shovel aside and turns to face Chloe with a grin. “Where were we? Ah, yes. You were going to step on me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “We need to get out of here before someone calls the cops.”

Lucifer gestures toward the stairs with a bow. “After you, darling.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “You want me to think you’re being chivalrous but we both know you just want to stare at my ass.”

He gives her a wicked smile. “Guilty.”

Chloe laughs, and they take off for the stairs.


Maze stands in the shadows, twirling one of her blades, watching Jack the Nerd type away on his computer. 

She’ll never understand humans and their fascination with the internet. The internet is only good for two things: watching porn and watching humans do dumb shit that ends with them getting hurt. 

Jack reaches for his bottle of Mountain Dew, glances briefly away from his screen, and finally realizes he’s not alone. 

“Holy shit,” he gasps, startling so badly that he bobbles the Mountain Dew bottle and liquid spills all over his pants. He looks down at his crotch in horror and then groans. 

Maze laughs. 

He whips his head up to look at her, but he knows better than to glare. He just stares at her, his eyes wide.

“What’s up, Jackie boy?” she says.

Jack purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. Maze knows he hates when she calls him that. She doesn’t care. 

She stalks across the room and around his desk to stand behind him. Jack tenses as soon as she’s close. Maze bends down behind him, breathing in his ear, and then trails her fingers over the Mountain Dew stain on the crotch of his pants. He sucks in a breath as his body goes rigid.

“Probably not the first time you got a wet crotch while sitting in front of a computer, huh?” she asks with a grin. 

Jack shifts in his chair. “I have something for you.”

“Oh do you,” she purrs, flattening her hand over him. 

He bats her hand away. “No, I meant...I mean, I’m not...I’m talking about the job you gave me.”

Maze snorts at his stuttering and straightens. She sits on the desk next to his monitor and crosses her legs so that one of her spiked heels is hovering over his dick. He stares at it, his eyes wide.

“Come on then,” she snaps at him. “Spit it out.”

He swallows and looks up at her. “I know where your friend is. Or at least where she was tonight.”

The grin drops off Maze’s face. She uncrosses her legs. “Explain.”

“Well you know I’ve got access to a shit ton of data thanks to my job.”

“Yeah, yeah, all that hacker shit,” Maze says, waving her hand. “Servers and sites and whatever. Get to the part about my friend.”

Jack exhales a breath through his nose like he’s trying to be patient. “When you asked me to find her, I set up search parameters. Basically, I run this program, and it goes through the data on thousands of sites and servers and flags keywords when they come up. Words like her name, her boyfriend’s name, that movie she was in. And tonight I got a hit.”

He reaches for his mouse and pulls up a picture of a stupid looking human. 

“This is Zack Lewis,” he says, gesturing at the screen. “He works for Akisa Manufacturing in Ottawa, Illinois. His company pays for his cell phone, which he probably thinks is a nice perk, but I doubt he read the fine print that says that if they pay the bill, the digital contents of the phone belong to them. Emails, photos, texts. They can access it all whenever they want. And thanks to my program, I can too.”

Maze shrugs. “So?”

“So about half an hour ago, Zack started texting his friend Justin—who works at some bar in this podunk town nearby—about how they just got their asses kicked by the chick from Hot Tub High School and her scary ass boyfriend.”

Maze perks up immediately. “Show me,” she demands.

Jack clicks his mouse a few times and then gestures at the computer. Maze shoves him and his stupid wheeled chair out of the way and bends forward to read what’s on the screen. When she’s done, she turns to look at Jack. 

“That’s all there is?”

He shrugs. “So far.”

“Did they call the cops?”

“Nope. I’m guessing they were too embarrassed about getting their asses kicked to report it.”

Maze straightens and twirls her blade, considering her options. “Can you track this phone and get me an exact location?”

“Yeah.”

“What about the other one? That bartender guy that knew who she was?”

“Yep.”

“Send the locations to me and keep looking. I’ll call you if I need something else.”

Maze strides away from him, pulling her phone out of her leather jacket as she goes. She dials and then lifts the phone to her ear as she closes the front door behind her. 

After two rings, a familiar voice answers on the other end of the line. 

Maze grins. “I found them.”

Chapter 24: Twenty-Four

Notes:

I had another hectic weekend, so I didn’t get around to replying to comments, but I saw them and I loved them and you guys are so great.

Also, y’all, this is one of my favorite chapters. I’m very fond of sixteen and nineteen, and there are a few coming up that I *really* love, but this one has a special place in my heart. I hope you love it as much as I do.

Oh, and remember when I told you that a Deckerstar road trip is a sexy road trip? Well, this was one of the chapters I was thinking of. Consider that your heads up.

Chapter Text

“Shit,” Chloe gasps. 

The sound of her panting fills the close confines of the Escalade, mingling with Lucifer’s equally harsh breathing. The glass of the window beneath her right palm is cool and the fabric of his suit is soft in her other hand as she clutches his shoulder. She’s distantly aware of the seat belt clip digging into her left knee, but she doesn’t focus on it. She can’t. All she can focus on is Lucifer. 

It’s dark outside. They’re parked on the side of an empty road that’s sandwiched between two corn fields, halfway between the bar and their hotel. Lucifer is still clothed and Chloe is mostly clothed and the car is still running. Taylor Swift is playing on the radio—In the middle of the night, in my dreams, you should see the things we do, baby—and Chloe is in Lucifer’s lap, riding him like it’s been years since they were last together instead of twenty-four hours. Anyone could drive by and see them but Chloe doesn’t care because her body is on fire and Lucifer just whispered something filthy in her ear and this is frantic sex, hard and quick and dirty, and it feels so damn good.

There’s sweat slicking her skin. Lucifer’s thumb is rubbing circles over her, and she’s close. She’s so close. 

“Tell me you’re close,” Lucifer gasps in her ear. 

His voice is strangled, and even through the haze of a building orgasm, Chloe grins. He’s only asking because he’s close. He’s been begging for car sex since they left Vegas, and now that he’s finally getting it, he’s struggling to last. He told her once that she should be proud of how fast she makes the Devil come. She is. 

“You gonna go first?” she whispers in his ear before nipping at his earlobe with her teeth.

“Never,” he growls. 

Chloe laughs. Now she wants him to. She adjusts the pace of her hips to a rhythm that usually makes his eyes roll back in his head, and triumph courses through her veins when he swears. It’s short lived, though, because the new rhythm is also making her eyes roll back in her head. She’s not going to last much longer. 

“Come on, babe,” she pants in his ear. “Let go for me.”

He growls at her, and then the pressure of his thumb between her legs changes. The speed changes too, and the rhythm of Chloe’s hips stutters because holy shit, how fast is his thumb moving? He feels more like her vibrator than her boyfriend and her body is…

Fuck,” she gasps.

Lucifer’s tongue trails obscenely up the column of her throat and then he grins into her pulsepoint. “Feel good?” he whispers. 

Chloe chokes on a yes and digs her nails into his shoulder. This is going to wreck her. 

“Come for me, Chloe,” Lucifer breathes into her skin.

The sound of her first name on his lips is like pulling a trigger. The orgasm hits and she’s gone, her head thrown back and his name on her lips as the world goes white hot and she comes and comes and comes. 

When she finally floats back to coherency, she’s still panting. Her forehead is resting against Lucifer’s shoulder. Her brain feels fuzzy. She can’t...she can’t focus. Her body feels like jello. Warm, buzzing, thoroughly fucked jello. 

“Holy shit,” she whispers.

Lucifer laughs, and it rumbles through his chest. He grabs a fistful of her ponytail and tugs gently. She follows his lead and lifts her head from his shoulder, and he kisses her. 

It’s sweet, the complete opposite of the kind of kiss she’d expect to receive from the Devil after he fucked her senseless in a car on the side of the road, but it feels right. He feels right. She holds his face in her hands and kisses him back until she realizes she has no idea if he got off. 

She leans back to look at him. “Did you…?” 

“Oh yes.” He gives her a wicked smile. “Impossible not to when you say my name like that.”

She chuckles, and then she thinks about it, and she frowns. “Wait, what did you do?”

“It’s called an orgasm, darling.”

She shoves him. “Ass.”

He laughs again, his smile wide and devastatingly sexy.

“I mean what did you do with your fingers?” she clarifies.

“Ah. Well, let’s just say I’ve certain capabilities that the average human male does not.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m able to move a little faster.”

Chloe gapes at him. “Does that...do you have super speed?”

“I don’t think I’d call it super,” he says. And then he furrows his eyebrows. “Detective, do you have a comic book fetish? Am I going to be asked to don tights and a cape at some point in the near future?”

She swats his shoulder. “You cheated.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You cheated. I totally would have made you finish first if you hadn’t whipped out your vibrator fingers.”

“My what?

“First laser beam hands, now vibrator fingers,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “What’s next? Do your legs do something cool too?”

He arches an eyebrow. “No, but my dick—”

She smacks her hand over his mouth before he can finish. He grins, and then his eyes darken and he flicks his tongue over her palm. She sighs and drops her hand.

“I’d ask if you liked it,” he says, reaching up to twine his fingers into her ponytail again, “but the answer was quite apparent.”

“You are so full of yourself.”

He smirks. “You’re also quite full of me at the moment.”

She rolls her eyes and leans away from him, preparing to make the not-at-all-graceful transition back to her side of the car so they can clean up and get moving, but he darts his hands out to stop her. She turns to look at him, expecting him to tell her that he’s ready for round two in the backseat, but she finds him gazing at her with an earnest expression on his face. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “For the way I behaved today. I was a prick.”

She blinks at him in surprise, and then leans toward him again. “Me too.” 

“Did I do something that upset you?”

He says it hesitatingly, like he’s afraid of what she’ll say, and her heart aches in her chest. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I mean, yeah, but nothing that was…” She sighs and presses her lips together and tries to find the words. “I’m just tired, Lucifer. The dreams are…” 

She trails off again and can’t help a shudder at the memory of her last dream. Guilt and concern and grief shine in Lucifer’s eyes. Chloe presses her hands against his chest, caught between wanting to comfort him and wanting him to comfort her. She doesn’t want to make him feel bad about the dreams, but maybe not telling him the truth about how much they’re affecting her is worse. 

“I hate them,” she murmurs. “They scare me, and they hurt, and they make it harder to be away from home. I’m afraid to fall asleep, and it’s hard to go back to sleep after, so I’m tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing. “So you’re not having second thoughts about us?”

Chloe frowns at him. “What?”

He won’t meet her gaze. “I know that being in a relationship with me is difficult. I’ve no experience, and Doctor Linda says I sometimes have trouble remembering that I’m not the center of the universe, and our current situation is—”

“Lucifer,” Chloe cuts him off, lifting her hands to his face. She waits until he meets her gaze to continue. “I’m not having second thoughts. I’m never going to have second thoughts.”

He frowns. “But we fought all day.”

“Yeah, sometimes that happens. Couples fight, babe. I’d be worried if we didn’t.”

He looks confused. She drapes her arms around his neck and strokes her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. 

“I’m in love with you,” she tells him. “But being in love doesn’t mean that every day is filled with candles and stargazing and romantic speeches. Sometimes you’re going to annoy me, or I’m going to frustrate you, and we’re going to fight. And that’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” she says, laughing a little as she scratches her nails over the back of his head. “Healthy relationships have conflict. As long as we apologize when we need to, and we try to do better next time, then we’re going to be fine. Okay?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “May I make a request?”

“Sure.”

He gives her a look that makes her think he’s about to say something really serious, and then he says, “I request that makeup sex be mandatory after every fight.”

Chloe couldn’t keep a smile from her face if she tried. 

“Deal.”


They go back to their hotel, but only long enough to grab their stuff from the room. Chloe thinks it’s a bad idea to stay put, just in case the guys from the bar do end up calling the cops, so she and Lucifer pack the car up and hit the road again. 

Lucifer drives. He reaches for her hand and tells her about what he did after he left her at the hotel. He’s excited, and it’s adorable. She’s not surprised he figured out how to bend his light to his will. When he tells her about the burning rope, though, she thinks of Trixie’s Wonder Woman doll and grins.

He notices immediately. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she says, squeezing his hand in both of hers. “I’m just really proud of you.”

He beams.

“You know, you’re basically a superhero now.”

The smile freezes on his face. “For Dad’s sake, Detective,” he sighs. “Are you certain you don’t have a comic book fetish?”

She laughs. 

They sit in comfortable silence after that, the radio playing softly in the background. Hardly anyone else is on the road. Chloe tilts her head back against the headrest and watches him drive, admiring the way the shadows play over his face in the darkness. He smiles beneath her gaze but doesn’t tease her for looking. She thinks he likes the way she looks at him, which is probably for the best because she doesn’t plan to stop. 

She knows she needs to tell him about what happened back at the bar when she hit her head and got punched and felt nothing. But she doesn’t want to interrupt the comfortable atmosphere between them, and she doesn’t want to have a potentially complicated conversation in the car, and they’re only planning to drive for an hour or so. It can wait. 

The hotel where they end up only has two rooms available: one with a queen bed and the honeymoon suite. Lucifer winks at Chloe and accepts the honeymoon suite. 

When the woman behind the front desk holds out two plastic card keys and tells them to enjoy their stay, Lucifer snatches them eagerly and takes off for the suite. Chloe thanks the surprised looking hotel worker and follows him. She can barely keep up because his legs are so damn long. She doesn’t bother asking him why he’s excited. She’s pretty sure it’s sex related. It almost always is.

When they get to the suite, he can’t get the door open fast enough. He doesn’t bother to hold it open for her, and Chloe barely catches it before it slams in her face. She sighs at him, but he doesn’t notice. She shoves the door open, and holds it ajar with her foot as she tugs her suitcase in after her. 

She’s barely a few feet inside the suite when she runs straight into Lucifer’s back. She stumbles backward because he’s so solid, and reaches out to steady herself on the wall. The door slams shut behind her. 

She frowns at the back of his head. “Lucifer?”

“What the bloody hell is this?” he demands.

Chloe peers around him with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

She scans the suite, but nothing seems out of place. The decor is hideous, but the suite itself is clean and spacious. There’s a king bed, and a separate seating area with a loveseat and a TV, and a small refrigerator. It’s way nicer than the room they were planning to stay in before the incident at the bar. 

“It’s awful,” Lucifer says in disbelief.

Chloe glances up at him. “What are you talking about? It’s the nicest room we’ve been in yet.”

“No, no, there must be some kind of mistake,” he says, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.” He glances around like he’s looking for something. “Maybe…”

He turns toward the bathroom and strides inside and flips the light on. Chloe peeks around the doorframe after him. It’s a perfectly normal bathroom, though slightly bigger than she expected. There’s a shower and a separate soaker tub, which surprises her. The tub must be the “honeymoon” part of the suite, because it’s plenty big enough for two people.

Lucifer seems unimpressed. “White bloody towels,” he mutters, picking up a white hand towel and then dropping it back onto the counter in disgust. 

“What do you have against white towels?” Chloe wonders. 

He doesn’t answer her. He strides out of the bathroom, and Chloe has to step back so he doesn’t plow her over. He beelines for the closet and flings open the doors, but there’s nothing inside except an ironing board and an iron and some hangers. He stares at the ironing board as if it’s deeply offensive, and then turns on his heel and crosses the suite. He stops in front of the windows and shoves the curtains back and forth like he’s searching for something. 

Chloe watches him with her eyebrows raised. When he yanks open the drawer of the bedside table and declares, “A bloody Bible but no flavored lube?!” as if that’s a totally normal thing to say, she starts to worry about his sanity. 

“Lucifer,” she calls in the voice she usually reserves for armed suspects or Trixie on the verge of tears, “what are you doing?” 

He turns to face her with an appalled expression. “What am I doing? What is this bloody establishment doing? This is a disgrace.” 

“What are you talking about? This is a perfectly normal hotel room.”

“It’s supposed to be the honeymoon suite.”

“So?”

“So then what the hell is this? ” he demands, gesturing at the bed.

Chloe frowns. “Uh, a bed?”

“Yes, but why is it a boring square instead of heart-shaped? Where are the rose petals? Why isn’t there chilled champagne on the table, and a tray of chocolate covered strawberries?”

Chloe tilts her head. “You do realize we’re not actually newlyweds, right? We got this room because you didn’t want to sleep in a queen bed and this is all that was left.”

“But if we were newlyweds, we would be staying in this suite,” he insists. “And it’s all wrong. It’s not sexy. It’s boring. I don’t even think this bed vibrates.”

Chloe snorts. 

Lucifer frowns at her. “This is no laughing matter, Detective. It’s false advertising.”

She presses her lips together and tries to take him seriously, but she can’t. “Lucifer, what makes you think that honeymoon suites have vibrating, heart-shaped beds?”

“I saw it in a movie once. There was a heart-shaped vibrating bed, and a jacuzzi tub with red towels, and mirrors on the ceiling.” He gestures at the ceiling. “How are you supposed to watch me go down on you when there are no mirrors on the ceiling?”

“I’m pretty sure I can do that without mirrors on the ceiling.”

He huffs at her. “Well it’s not as sexy. None of this is sexy. It’s completely unsuitable for a honeymoon.”

“Look, babe, I hate to break it to you, but whatever movie you saw wasn’t accurate. That’s not really how most honeymoon suites look.”

He tilts his head like a confused puppy. “You mean you and Daniel didn’t have your first go as husband and wife in a vibrating heart-shaped bed?”

“No,” she says, trying not to laugh again. “Just a boring square mattress.”

Lucifer gives her a look. “Is it because he took you somewhere cheap? I know he’s cheap.”

“He’s not cheap,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s because heart-shaped vibrating beds aren’t a thing. I mean, maybe you can find that stuff in Vegas or Reno or something. But not in rural Illinois.”

He glances around the suite, and then slides his hands into his pockets with a sigh of disappointment. “But I had so many puns ready,” he whines. “Now I can’t use any of them.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she says dryly. 

He glares at her. She grins at him. Mischief flickers suddenly in his eyes, and he crosses the room and stops in front of the bathroom and peers inside. He hums like he’s noticed something interesting, and when he turns to face her again, there’s a predatory smile on his lips.

“That bathtub is big enough for two.” 

“Is it?” she says, pretending to look for herself. “I didn’t notice.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

He steps toward her. She takes a step back, because they need to talk and the look on his face says that the only words he’s got on his mind are the filthy kind that make her body hum, but she bumps into the wall behind her. She starts to slide sideways, but Lucifer’s smile deepens and he lifts his arms to plant his hands on the wall on either side of her body and trap her in place. 

He leans closer, looming above her, and eyes her mouth.

“Lucifer,” she warns, brandishing her finger in the infinitesimal space that’s left between their bodies. “We need to ta—”

He kisses her. She hums in the back of her throat without meaning to. He smiles because he likes when she’s vocal. She presses her hands to his chest as if to push him away, but then he slips his tongue in her mouth and she hesitates. Why does he have to be so damn good at this? He kisses her like his life depends on it, and yet somehow it always seems so effortless. She hates it. 

That’s not true. She doesn't hate it. Not even a little. 

He lifts one of his hands away from the wall and wraps it around her throat. His fingertips press gently into her skin, and heat flares in her body. 

Damn it, now she’s turned on.

“So what should we do first?” he whispers into her mouth. He sucks lightly on her bottom lip, and then his index finger strokes over the jut of her jaw. “Should we take a bath? Or would you like to watch me go down on you without any mirrors?” 

She shivers at the tone of his voice. Isn’t she supposed to be saying something? She’s definitely supposed to be saying something. She can’t remember what though. Her body—oh, her body. Shit. That’s it. She needs to tell him she might be invulnerable again.

He smiles against her lips. “Would you like me to go down on you in the bath?”

A fantasy of sitting on the edge of the tub and fisting her hand in his wet hair as his head descends between her thighs materializes, and oh, she is so tempted. Maybe they should scratch the itch, so to speak, and then…

Nope. No. They need to talk, damn it. 

She sighs at herself. This is what she gets for falling in love with the Devil. She has to turn down what she knows will be absurdly good head so they can talk about how she might be bulletproof. 

“Lucifer,” she says, pressing her hands against his chest so he’ll lean back from her mouth. “There’s something we need to talk about.”

He frowns. “There is?”

He looks adorable when he frowns. He also smells good, and his hand is still wrapped around her throat, and yeah, okay, she needs some space so she can think straight.

She pushes him gently away from her and then slips past him and walks to the other side of the room to put some distance between them. When she turns back to face him, he looks wounded. 

“I’m not mad at you,” she says before he can ask. 

“Then why are you all the way over there?”

“I just need some space, okay? Stop it with the kicked puppy look.”

He pouts at her for a second, but then he smirks. “You need space because I’m devastatingly sexy and you find me hard to resist.”

She rolls her eyes. “I need space because you’re devastatingly arrogant and I find it hard not to smack you.”

His smirk deepens. “I’ve no objections to being spanked.”

She can’t help but laugh. “We need to talk about something important, Lucifer.”

“What could possibly be more important than—”

“I think I’m invulnerable.”

He stares at her, his mouth open. There’s a beat of shocked silence, and then he croaks, “You what?

She tugs absently on her blazer. “You remember Steve from the bar?”

His handsome face screws up into a look of disgust. “The twat.” 

She remembers the Sharpie graffiti he scrawled across Steve’s forehead and grins. “Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“Well, he kind of punched me in the face.”

It’s a good thing they’re alone and the curtains are closed, because Lucifer straightens to his full height and his face flickers briefly toward his Devil form. 

“He did what? ” 

“It didn’t hurt,” Chloe says, holding her hands out reassuringly.  

“Detective—”

“It didn’t hurt, Lucifer,” she insists. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I didn’t feel anything.”

He stares at her for a moment, and then his rage seems to bleed into confusion. “Nothing?”

“No. And that wasn’t the only time. Justin tripped me, and I hit my head on the cement floor when I fell, but that didn’t hurt either. Neither did the duct tape when I peeled it off my skin. I didn’t feel any of it.”

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. “Why?” 

“I don’t know. I mean, Justin knocked me unconscious so clearly I was vulnerable at some point. But then I just...I don’t know. I wasn’t anymore.”

“Well are you now?

“I don’t know. I haven’t checked.”

“Well give us that knife you’ve got, let’s test it.”

She crosses the room and brushes past him to grab her purse from where she left it sitting on top of her suitcase, and then passes him again and heads for the desk. He follows her. She sets her purse down next to a pad of hotel stationary, and then unzips the front pocket and pulls out the knife. She hands it to Lucifer to hold, and then takes her blazer off and tosses it onto the bed. Lucifer hands her the knife again when she turns to face him, and she takes a deep breath and then presses the blade into the skin on her forearm. 

She feels a dull pain, and a blossom of red appears. Her heart sinks. 

“I swear I was invulnerable,” she says, looking up at him. “I swear, Lucifer.”

He flashes her a brief smile. “I believe you.” 

He takes the knife from her and sets it on the desk, and then plucks the pocket square out of his jacket and bends forward to carefully wipe the blood from her arm. 

Chloe’s throat feels suddenly tight. Maybe it’s how gentle he’s being with her arm. Maybe it’s the realization that he wouldn’t sacrifice his pocket square for anyone but her. Maybe it’s just that she’s tired and it’s been a really long day and she misses Trixie and home. Whatever it is, she feels like she’s going to burst into tears.

“I don’t get it,” she whispers. Lucifer must be able to hear how upset she is, because he glances up at her with concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me?” 

He tosses the pocket square onto the desk and lifts his hands to her face. “Nothing is wrong with you, love. You needn’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

She closes her eyes. He leans forward and kisses her forehead and then pulls her gently into his arms. She wraps her arms around him and lets herself just be for a minute. Nothing makes sense, but at least she’s got him. 

“Maybe it was your dad again,” she murmurs into his chest eventually.

Lucifer snorts and leans away from her. “I doubt it. He’s in an entirely separate universe, so it’s highly unlikely that—”

He stops abruptly and gets a funny look on his face. 

Chloe frowns. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “My father didn’t claim credit for that,” he murmurs, more to himself than to her. 

“For what?”

“For saving your life during the cartel shootout. I asked him if he was responsible, and he wouldn’t say.”

Chloe has no idea why that matters. “Okay?”

“And when you asked him, he told you that it was complicated,” Lucifer continues. He’s staring off into the distance like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “He said you weren’t ready for the answer. And then today, when he was well out of your reach, you were invulnerable again.”

“So?”

He finally lifts his gaze to hers. “Did that imbecile knock you unconscious before or after you prayed to me?”

“Before.”

“And everything else that happened? The things that should have hurt you but didn’t. Were they before or after you prayed?”

“After.”

He looks stunned. They stare at each other for a minute, her with a confused frown and him with his mouth open in apparent shock. In the corner of the room, the heater kicks on with a rattle and a whir. Neither of them glance at it.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Lucifer finally breathes. And then he smiles. “You really are a miracle.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, trying not to sound irritated. She hates feeling out of the loop.

He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Do you remember when I gave you my mojo?”

“Yeah. But what does that have to do with...” She trails off when she realizes what he’s getting at. “Wait, you think you gave me your invulnerability? ” 

“Well why not?” he says with a shrug. “Doctor Linda said that when you care about someone, you give up power. I care about you. I gave you my mojo. Why not my invulnerability too?”

Chloe gapes at him. “I don’t…” 

She can’t seem to finish her thought. Probably because she has no idea what her thought even is. Her brain feels like a TV that’s set to a channel of nothing but static.

Lucifer doesn’t seem to be experiencing the same struggle. His eyes are alight with discovery. 

“What if, when you prayed to me that you were in danger, I transferred my invulnerability to you so that you’d be safe? That must be what happened during the cartel shootout as well. That’s why my father didn’t claim credit. Because he’s not the one who made you bulletproof. I am. And I did it again tonight.”

Chloe stares at him. It takes her a moment to find her voice, but when she does, there’s really only one thing to say. 

“But how?

“Hell if I know,” he says with a laugh, throwing up his hands. “It’s the same as my being vulnerable with you. It's a physical manifestation of a subconscious desire. In this case, I wanted you to be safe and so you were.” 

“Huh,” Chloe says. She can’t seem to formulate any other response. If they were working a case, this would be the moment when she would roll her eyes and tell him that she doesn’t have time for his outlandish theories. But this isn’t a case, and she’s seen far too much in the past week for her to think that his theory is outlandish. He’s got laser beam hands for god’s sake. Anything is possible.

“Wow,” she murmurs.

“Wow indeed.” Lucifer grins at her suggestively. “You know, you really are quite good at getting my body to respond to you.”

She ignores the innuendo. “So you’ve never done it intentionally?” 

“No. As far as I know, I’ve only done it twice. Once when you had those cartel bullets coming at you, and then tonight when you prayed.” He frowns thoughtfully. “Perhaps it’s an involuntary reaction when I believe you’re in mortal peril.” 

Chloe nods. “Yeah, maybe. I mean—”

An epiphany strikes like lightning and she freezes.

Lucifer notices. “Detective?” 

She reaches out to grab his arm. “Light up your hands.” 

He looks confused but does as he’s told. He holds his hands out between them, and a moment later they burst into flame. 

Chloe reaches out and weaves her fingers through his. The flames engulf her hands, licking along her skin the same way they do his, but she only feels a pleasant warmth. She stares for a second, struck by how beautiful the flames are, and then she looks up at Lucifer. 

“Why doesn’t this hurt me?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “I’m controlling the heat—”

“No, Lucifer,” she cuts him off gently. “It’s never hurt me. Not outside the club. Not in Vegas by the pool, or Utah in the car, or Nebraska under the stars. Even before you knew how to control it, it never hurt me.”

He stares at her, and she watches as the realization dawns in his eyes. “Because I didn’t want it to,” he breathes. 

She nods. “Yeah. Subconsciously, but still. You didn’t just make me invulnerable tonight and during the cartel shootout. It was all those other times too. Maybe even more.” 

He drops his gaze down to their still joined hands with a look of awe, and Chloe follows his gaze. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to the sight of her hands on fire, but she’s not afraid. He’ll protect her. 

“Detective,” Lucifer murmurs.

She looks up at him.

“What if it’s just like my light?” 

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the first time I summoned my light, it was a subconscious reaction. But now it’s not. I can summon it at will. Perhaps I can do the same thing with my invulnerability. Maybe...maybe I can control it.”

Chloe blinks at him for a second in surprise, and then she squeezes his hands. “Try it.”

He pulls his hands back from hers and the flames extinguish. “Not with the light,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to burn you.” He casts a sideways glance at the knife sitting on the desk. “I don’t think I can make myself hurt you.”

The tone of his voice makes her ache. She wants to tell him she loves him but she swallows the words and reaches for the knife. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She presses the knife to her skin and looks up at him expectantly, but he shakes his head. “I don’t know how.”

“Well what do you do when you want to summon your light?”

“Think about you.”

That catches her off guard. She knew his light was tied to her. He told her so. But there’s something about hearing the words fall so easily from his lips that makes her want to bury herself in his arms and never let him go. 

He steps closer to her. “Can you…?”

He swallows instead of finishing. He looks nervous, like he knows what he wants to say but is afraid to say it. 

“Can I what?” she murmurs, reaching out to press her free hand against his chest. 

He leans into her touch and covers her hand with his own. “Tell me you love me.” 

Chloe stares at him. She’s worried so many times that she says it too often, or that he wishes she’d never said it at all, and now...

“Please,” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“I love you,” she says immediately, tilting toward him. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Heart and soul, Lucifer.” 

He closes his eyes and his hand tightens on hers. “Do it,” he whispers.

She doesn’t hesitate. She lifts the knife to her arm that’s stretched out between them and presses the blade into her skin hard enough to draw blood.

She doesn’t bleed. 

Shock flares in her chest. She ignores it and presses the knife down harder, hard enough that she should be slicing through skin and muscle and down into bone, but nothing happens. She feels nothing except the racing of her heart, which is pounding so hard that she’s afraid it might beat right out of her chest.

“Lucifer,” she whispers in awe. 

He opens his eyes. He glances down at her arm, sees there’s no blood, and exhales a sharp breath. She can’t tell if it’s surprise or relief. 

“You did it,” she tells him.

“Do it again,” he murmurs, squeezing her hand that he’s still clutching to his chest. “I want to see if I can take it away.”

“Okay. Ready?”

He nods.

She presses the knife into her arm again, watching as her skin dips inward beneath the sharp edge of the blade, and this time blood surfaces. She winces a little at the pain, and Lucifer must notice because his hand flies up and pushes the blade away from her skin. He lets go of her hand on his chest and snatches the pocket square off the desk, and then presses it against her wound. 

“You pressed too hard,” he says. “You need to be more careful. Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine.”

He frowns and moves the pocket square so he can study her cut. “We need to clean this.”

“Do it to yourself,” she says, covering his hands with one of hers so he’ll stop fussing over her.

He looks up at her. “What?”

“You can make me invulnerable, which means you can do it to yourself. So do it to yourself.”

“Detective—”

“Please. For me.”

She knows that’ll get him, and it does. He presses his lips together, and then he holds out his hand and exposes his palm to her. 

“Go on then.”

She hesitates. She doesn’t want to cut him. 

He sighs at her.

“You couldn’t do it to me either,” she points out.  

He hums but doesn’t argue, and then wraps his hand around hers and guides the knife toward his palm. They press the blade into his skin together, and nothing happens. She pushes harder, but there’s still nothing. It’s like trying to cut steel.

She looks up at him with a grin. “You did it. You’re invulnerable again.”

He doesn’t return her smile. “Try yourself again.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Just do it. Please.”

There’s a waver in his voice that makes her want to insist on an explanation, but she doesn’t. She holds her arm out and presses the blade into her skin tentatively, and blood appears. He flinches as if he’s the one who can feel the sharp edge. 

“Again,” he whispers. 

She frowns. She knows he wouldn’t let her experience pain—even on a small scale like this—unless he had a reason. He’s testing a theory, and she wants to know what it is.

“Lucifer—”

“Again, Detective,” he says firmly. 

She sighs but obeys, and moves the knife up a few inches and presses into her arm again. This time, the surface of her skin bends but doesn’t break. She doesn’t bleed. 

Lucifer exhales a heavy breath. It draws Chloe’s eyes up to his face. She can’t read his expression, and he doesn’t meet her gaze. He turns away from her and strides across the suite without a word, disappearing into the bathroom.

Chloe stares after him, confused. She hears the faucet turn on and then off, and a few seconds later Lucifer reappears with a wet washcloth in his hands. He stops in front of her, taking the knife from her hand and setting it down on the desk, and then he proceeds to wipe the washcloth over her skin. It’s warm, and he’s being gentle. 

“We’ll have to call the front desk,” he murmurs, still avoiding her gaze. “Request some bandaids. Perhaps some antiseptic and ointment if they have it.” 

“Lucifer,” she says, reaching out to cover his hands. 

He goes still beneath her touch.

“What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”

“Detective—”

“Tell me the truth. Please.”

Her request hangs in the air. He releases her arm and drops the washcloth onto the desk next to the knife. He rolls his shoulders and clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. She’s opening her mouth to prompt him to answer her when he finally speaks.

“Only one of us can have it at a time. When I’m invulnerable, you’re not.”

She stares at him because she doesn’t understand why that would upset him. 

“Hasn’t that always been the case? You’re an angel, I’m human. You’re invulnerable, I’m not. That’s how it works.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

He finally looks her in the eye. “Now that I can give it to you, I’m not taking it back.”

Chloe stares at him. He holds her gaze without a trace of regret in his eyes. It takes her a minute to wrap her mind around what he’s saying. When she finally does, though, a cold wave of horror washes over her. 

She shakes her head. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes I can.”

“No—”

“It’s already done, Detective. You’re invulnerable and you’ll stay that way for the rest of your life until old age claims you and you ascend to the Silver City.”

She gapes at him. “Lucifer, you can’t just...you can’t just do that.”

He gives her a sympathetic look. “Detective—” 

No,” she interrupts, suddenly angry. “You can’t do this. I won’t let you.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“It’s my choice—”

“It’s not, actually. It’s my power. I’m free to do with it what I please.”

She clenches her jaw and clenches her fists and tries to control her temper. “If you give it to me, then you’re vulnerable all the time. Not just when you’re near me. All the time. If you have to go back to Hell, or if Michael shows up again, or if Dream comes after you, you’ll be vulnerable.”

“That’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

“Well I’m not! Lucifer, you could die.”

“So could you.”

“I’m human—”

“You’re mine! ” he cuts her off, his eyes blazing. 

She blinks at him, taken aback by his vehemence.

“I’m the Devil,” he tells her, his voice as hard as his gaze. “I can’t take comfort in the fact that if something terrible happens to you, I’ll see you again someday. I’m not like everyone else, Detective. This is all I get with you. This is all we get. And if you think I’m going to let it end one second earlier than it has to, then you’re a damn bloody fool.”

She should be angry, maybe, about that last phrase. But she’s not. Her heart twists in her chest, and she does the only thing she can do—she reaches for him.

“Lucifer,” she breathes, lifting her hands to his face. 

“I won’t change my mind,” he says resolutely, shaking his head. “You can be mad all you want. You can yell or give me the silent treatment or leave me, even, but I’ll never change my mind. If it’s a choice between myself and you, I choose you. Always you.”

The anguish in his eyes is too much for her. Her own eyes start to well up with tears. “What about me?” she whispers. “What am I supposed to do if you…”

She can’t bring herself to say the word. She sucks in a breath and struggles to find solid ground again. Lucifer’s expression softens. He pulls her hands down from his face and presses his lips to her knuckles but doesn’t say anything. 

“You came back before,” she says, searching desperately for something to hang onto. “When I got poisoned. You died and went to Hell and you came back.”

He nods.

“So if something happens to you, could you do that again?”

His thumbs stroke over the insides of her wrists. “If a medical professional was able to resuscitate me the way Doctor Linda did, yes.”

Chloe thinks of bombs and bullets and stab wounds and terror squeezes her throat so hard she feels like she’s choking. “And if they can’t?” 

He doesn’t answer her right away. He seems to be choosing his words carefully. 

“The only way to travel between Hell and earth without assistance from my father is with wings,” he says quietly. “And I have wings.”

She thinks she’s supposed to find comfort in that, but she’s watched him offer a sliver of truth and let people believe what they want far too many times to just take his words at face value. She wants a yes or no.

“So if you die with your wings, could you come back?” 

He presses his lips against her knuckles and says nothing, and she knows he’s not saying yes because he can’t lie. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers. “Tell me you could come back.”

“I can return only if I’m not stuck in a loop.”

She frowns. “You’re the king. How would you get stuck? You have absolute control over the loops. You said that.”

“I did say that. And it was true the last time I was in Hell. But I’m not certain it would be true if I returned now. My father arranged it so that Hell no longer requires a warden. That’s why I’m able to stay with you instead of returning to rule.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means that if I die, I could arrive as a soul and not a king. And if I’m nothing more than a soul...”

He trails off, and the truth of what he’s saying hits her like a bullet to the heart.

“You end up in a loop,” she whispers.

He nods. 

What he said to her in Vegas when she asked about souls leaving their loops comes crashing back. Only if they let go of their guilt. It’s never been done. She thinks of that masquerade party, of talking him down from the precipice of self-hatred that he always hovers on the edge of. That was difficult and she was there for that. She could look him in the eye and reason with him and soothe him and challenge him, just like she did in Vegas when he tried to be noble and let her go.

But if he ends up in a Hell loop, she won’t be there. She won’t be able to help him. Hell loops are manifestations of guilt, and no one has more guilt than Lucifer. She can see it in his eyes even now, as he struggles to stand his ground, and suddenly she’s terrified for him.

“Take it back,” she pleads. She fists her hands in his jacket and clings to him, trying not to drown in her desperation. “Please. I don’t want it. Take it back.” 

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Lucifer,” she begs. There are tears streaming down her face all of a sudden. “Please.

He lifts his hands to her face and wipes away her tears. “I can’t, love,” he whispers. “I have to protect my home.” 

A sob finally escapes her throat, and her entire body shudders with it. 

“Chloe,” he murmurs softly, wiping away more of her tears. “You needn’t be this upset, love. I’ve been mortal in your presence nearly our entire partnership. This isn’t new.”

“But you were king then. And I wasn’t...I didn’t know the truth. We weren’t together. It was different.”

“Maybe so,” he acknowledges. “But this is no different than if you fell in love with a mortal man.”

“It is different. You just said that. This is all we get, and even if you never get hurt and I live to be a hundred it’s not going to be enough. I want forever.”

Lucifer goes still. 

Chloe stares at him, her breath caught in her throat. She didn’t intend to say that—not like this—but she should’ve known it would slip out eventually. She’s been thinking about it since that night at his piano when he told her that he’d storm the gates of the Silver City rather than be separated from her for eternity. She knew she loved him that night. She knew she didn’t want to be separated either. But after this last week, and everything they’ve been through…

She can’t spend forever without him. She can’t.

“I’m barred from the Silver City,” Lucifer says quietly. “And you’ve asked me not to start a war. Unless one of those things changes, I can’t give you forever.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not true.”

He furrows his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

She fidgets with the lapels of his jacket and tries to find the right words. “When I die,” she starts, swallowing around a sudden lump in her throat, “what if you...what if you took me down to Hell to be with you?”

He stares at her.

“I know you don’t know if you’re still king,” she says in a hurry. “So you’d have to, like, you know, go down and check. But you said you could do that with your wings, right? So you could check, or maybe you could just ask your dad, and if you’re still king then...then I could go with you when it’s time.”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s like he’s too stunned to speak. She doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not, so she keeps talking.

“You said you have complete control over the loops,” she forges on. “So you could...you could make us a loop, right? Or maybe a few? And we could just—”

“No,” he cuts her off. 

She licks her lips and tries not to panic. “Like, no you’re not interested in eternity with me, or no—”

“No I won’t take you to Hell.” He steps away from her, out of her reach, and it stings. “I will never take you to Hell. I’d sooner throw myself on Azrael’s blade than take you to that place.”

“Lucifer—”

“Do you know who resides in Hell, Detective? The worst of the worst. The kind of scum you’ve devoted your life to bringing to justice. Men and women who are so evil that you can’t even begin to fathom...”

He shakes his head instead of finishing. He takes another step back from her, and it hurts even worse than the last one. 

“And the demons,” he murmurs. He stares at the floor for a moment, his eyes glassy and unfocused, and then he looks up at her. “You think you know what to expect because you know Mazikeen, but she’s unique, Detective. The others aren’t like her. They’re vindictive and violent and cruel. They enjoy causing pain. They’d sooner skin you alive and dip you in acid than smile at you, and if I looked away for a single second they would.”

Chloe winces. 

“That,” he says, lifting his hand to point at her. “That’s why I’ll never take you there.”

“That’s not fair,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re trying to scare me—”

“You should be scared!” he thunders at her. “You should be bloody terrified. Hell is ash and darkness and despair and torment. It’s Hell. And you expect me to willingly subject you to that? You expect me to force the only person that I’ve ever lo—”

He stops abruptly. The rest of his sentence hangs in the air between them and they stare at each other, both their eyes wide. 

He’s the one who looks away. 

“I refuse,” he says quietly. “I refuse to let you see the cruelty that ruling that place requires of me. I refuse to surround you with hatred rather than love. I refuse to damn you to an eternity of illusions. I can’t—”

His voice breaks, and he hangs his head and takes a deep breath. When he looks up at her again, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. 

“I’d never forgive myself if I took you there,” he whispers. “And you’d never forgive me either.”

She can’t stand the devastation in his voice. She closes the distance between them and reaches for him, her hands curling into his jacket again. “What about here?”

“Here?” 

“Earth,” she clarifies. “You’re immortal. Why can’t I be immortal too? I mean, between Constantine and Zatanna there has to be a spell that can make me immortal, right?”

He brushes his thumb over the swell of her cheek and doesn’t say anything. She feels anxiety flicker in her chest.

“I don’t want to force you into anything,” she forges on. “I know we haven’t been together very long, and maybe you’re not...I mean, maybe you’re not ready for that kind of commitment. And if you’re not, that’s fine. I just—”

He cuts her off with a kiss.

She freezes in surprise. It’s a gentle kiss, chaste and sweet, and when he pulls away he presses his forehead against hers. 

“I want forever too,” he whispers.

She exhales a breath. “You do?”

“Yes.”

Joy threatens to eat her alive but she pushes it aside so she can focus. She leans back to look him in the eye. “So is it possible? For me to be immortal, I mean.”

He drops his hands from her face. “It’s possible.”

She feels anxiety flare in her chest again. “But?”

“But I won’t ask you to make that sacrifice.”

“You didn’t ask me. I offered.”

“You don’t understand what you’re offering. You—”

“Don’t do that,” she says, brandishing her finger at him. “Don’t treat me like I’m some dumb human. I know what I want.”

“You’re not dumb, Detective,” he says gently. “But you are human. You don’t understand what it’s like to be frozen while everything else moves. You won’t change, but the world around you will. The places you like to eat. Your favorite spot on the beach. That coffee place you love. All of it will cease to exist except in your memory, and someday even that will fade.”

“That’s just stuff, Lucifer. It’s not—”

“People?” he cuts her off. “Because they’ll go too. Everyone you’ve ever loved will grow old and die, and you’ll never see them again. Beatrice. Your mother. Ms. Lopez and Doctor Linda and Daniel. You’ll watch them all die, and they’ll be reunited, and you won’t be there.”

Chloe feels suddenly sick. She thinks of Trixie, of game nights and bike rides and the comfortable weight of her body when she falls asleep next to Chloe on the couch, and her heart hurts. 

“It’s not just them, either,” Lucifer says softly. “If you choose to stay here, you won’t see your father again. And I have it on good authority that he’s eager to be reunited with you.”

Chloe’s vision suddenly blurs. She sniffs and sucks in a breath and tries not to cry but it’s too late. She already is.

Lucifer smiles sadly and reaches up to hold her face again, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “This nightmare we’re living right now would become your reality, Detective. You would lose everything. And I won’t let you pay that price. Not for me.”

She feels like her heart has shattered in her chest, and the broken shards are pressing into her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She wraps her hands around his forearms. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye again,” she whispers. 

His eyes are brimming. “Neither do I.”

Another sob wracks her body. He breathes her name, and then he leans forward and brushes his lips over hers. His palms are warm against her cheeks, and there are tears sliding down her skin, and it feels too much like that night on his balcony. It feels too much like goodbye. 

He starts to lean away from her and she panics. She tightens her hold on his arms and leans closer to him, kissing him deeper, murmuring his name against his lips like a request. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for. She knows what she wants but she can’t have it, and neither can he, and it makes her ache. It hurts. They want the same thing and desire is his superpower but desire isn’t enough. 

His hands slide from her cheeks down to her neck, and then down the length of her body until they wrap around her hips. She pushes his jacket off his shoulders. He curls his fingers around the hem of her shirt and lifts, and their lips part just long enough for him to pull it up and over her head. She unbuttons his shirt and drops it to the floor near his jacket. He unhooks her bra. There’s his belt next, and hers, and then shoes and pants and everything else until they’re both bare.  

His hands are firm on her waist, holding her against him, and he walks her back to the bed. The way she crawls backward on the mattress isn’t graceful because she refuses to stop kissing him, but he murmurs the word beautiful against her lips and she believes him. 

His body radiates heat. She can feel it in his chest pressing against hers as he lays her beneath him, and in his hands on her skin and his thigh nestled between hers. She wonders if someday they’ll both just burst into flames—if they’ll burn hotter and hotter until they go supernova and cease to exist like his favorite star. At least then she wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

His fingers stroke between her legs, and she finally breaks the kiss to suck in a breath. His touch is gentle but sure and she forces herself to focus on this moment, this night, this man and the way he worships her. She’s drowning in emotion and her eyes are still full but he knows her too well and he’s too damn good with his hands for her body not to respond. She tips her head back and arches and he whispers it again. Beautiful.

He works her right up to the edge and then stops. She whimpers at him when he pulls his hand back. Usually he’d say something arrogant or filthy or both, but not tonight. Tonight he just nudges her legs open wider and settles his body between her thighs. He kisses her, his tongue stroking leisurely into her mouth, and then the rest of him strokes inside her too, and it’s almost too much. She loves him too much.

He goes still above her as if he senses she needs a second. She wraps her arms around him and closes her eyes and pretends they’ll have forever. 

He nuzzles into the curve of her shoulder. “Without knowing how, or when, or from where,” he whispers into her skin. “Without problems or pride.”

She knows he must be quoting someone to her again. She has no idea who. She doesn’t ask. It doesn’t matter. They’re his words even if they’re someone else’s, and she’s his too. 

He lifts his mouth to hers. “I don’t know any other way to love,” he whispers against her lips. 

Her eyes fly open. He pulls back far enough to meet her gaze, and they stare at each other. 

He moves before she can say anything. He slides out and then pushes back in and she inhales. He keeps his eyes locked on hers and does it again, and then again, slowly at first and then faster until he’s settled into a rhythm that he knows she likes. She can’t tell where he ends and she begins. 

It’s nothing like earlier. She fucked him in the car but he’s making love to her in this bed and she can barely breathe. She arches beneath him and rakes her nails over his back and doesn’t try to swallow the moan in her throat. 

It doesn’t take him long to get her there. Pleasure starts to crest within her, and she digs her nails into his skin. 

“I love you, Lucifer,” she tells him. 

He breathes her name into her neck. She can tell by the strain in his voice that he’s close too. 

She lifts her mouth toward his ear. “I love you,” she whispers.

And then she shatters.


The bartender wakes with a start. 

When he realizes that the person next to his bed is holding a knife to his throat, he sucks in a breath and whimpers. Whimpers. He’s tall and built like a tank and he’s whimpering. Like a little bitch.

Maze sneers at him. She hates humans. 

Well. Okay. Most humans. 

“Hi,” she says, smiling at him with her teeth bared.

The bartender whimpers again. “Who the hell are you?”

“Your worst nightmare if you don’t answer my questions.”

He swallows, his throat bobbing beneath her blade, and nods. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you want. I’ll tell you whatever you want.”

Maze holds up her phone. “Do you know this woman?”

The bartender glances at her phone screen, and when his eyes widen, Maze knows the answer. But she lets him say it anyway. “Uh,” he says. “Sort of?”

“It’s a yes or no question, moron.”

“Yes,” he sputters. “Yes, I know her.”

“How?”

“She came into my bar tonight. She said her name was Kate and she was from Chicago and she was traveling for her grandfather’s funeral, but I...”

“You what?”

“I recognized her from Hot Tub High School. Chloe Decker. That’s her name. She’s a cop now, I guess. The LAPD is looking for her. Are you the LAPD?

Maze smiles but doesn’t answer his question. “Was she with a guy?”

“He didn’t come in with her but he showed up later.” 

Maze holds up her phone. “This guy?”

“Yeah. Dude’s a fucking freak. Like, demon-possessed or something.”

Maze doesn’t bother correcting him. “Where is she now?”

“I don’t know.”

Maze presses her blade harder against his throat. “Wrong answer.”

“I swear I don’t know,” the bartender says, his voice tilting into a higher pitch. “All I know is she had a hotel room key in her wallet. The Super 8. It’s like ten minutes from here. That’s all I know!”

Maze sizes him up and decides he’s telling the truth. She straightens and pulls the knife away from his throat and glances over her shoulder at Heinrik, who is skulking in the corner. He’s always fucking skulking. She’s missed home, but she didn’t miss Heinrik’s skulky ass.

“Get the others,” she snaps at him. 

He snaps to attention and obeys. She’s halfway to the door when she hears the bartender mutter under his breath, “All this shit for some slutty bitch.”

Maze freezes. 

Heinrik notices and lingers at the bedroom door. 

Maze meets his gaze. “Search every room in that hotel. I’ll meet you there.”

Heinrik nods and disappears. 

Maze turns back around. She twirls her knife. The bartender glances at it, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. She lifts it to her mouth and licks along the blade obscenely. The bartender swallows so hard his throat bobs.

She points the end of the blade at him. “Why’d they kick your ass?”

“What?”

“Chloe doesn’t hurt people unless she needs to,” Maze says, stalking back toward the bed. “And I know that shit you texted your friend about how she followed you down into the basement for a quickie isn’t true. So what really happened?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I didn’t do anything.”

He’s lying. 

Maze lunges forward. The bartender tries to scramble out of bed and away from her, but Maze catches him by his shoulder and yanks him backward. He grunts in pain. She pins him to the mattress and presses her knee against his throat. He chokes. She lifts her blade to his face, and presses the tip of it just hard enough against his cheek to bring blood to the surface. 

She bends forward. “You know what I think?” she hisses in his face. “I think you were going to hurt her.”

His eyes are bulging out of his head and his face is turning crimson. He claws at her leg, struggling to breathe beneath her knee, but she doesn’t let up. 

She twirls her blade and grins. “And now I’m going to hurt you.”


Lucifer has never taken a bath with a woman before. 

Not like this, anyway. There’s nothing sexual about this. The Detective is gorgeous, so he looks as she climbs into the tub. Of course he looks. But he knows she’s tired. The only reason they’re not sleeping is because she’s afraid of the nightmares they both know will come, and he wants to give her something else to think about for a while. He wants to make this about her and not him. 

So, he keeps his admiration for her body to himself and focuses on finding some background music. He settles on a pre-made playlist he finds in his music app called Timeless Love Songs. He sets it to shuffle and then puts his phone on the sink and climbs into the opposite side of the tub from where she’s settled. She seems amused by his self-imposed distance, but doesn’t comment. 

“Did you pour the whole bottle of bubble bath in?” she asks, her index finger prodding a massive pile of bubbles that’s floating near her chest. 

“Bubble baths require enough bubbles to live up to their name, Detective. Otherwise it’s just a bath.”

She smiles. “Yeah, but the bottle said a few capfuls was enough.”

“That was a suggestion, not a rule. I know you love your rules, darling, but I’m afraid bubble baths are out of your jurisdiction.”

She snorts. 

He stares at the bubbles floating in front of her chest. He won’t admit it now, but he wishes he’d used less bubble bath. He can’t see any of her that’s not above the water, which means most of her is hidden because she’s sunk down to her collarbone. At least he can see the chain of the necklace he gave her. She hasn’t taken it off since that night in Denver. He hopes she never takes it off.

He leans his back against the edge of the tub, and then reaches down into the water and pulls one of her feet into his lap. She arches an eyebrow at him. He ignores her. He saw a man do this for his wife on a TV show once, and it seemed to go over quite well, so he wants to try it. When she doesn’t object, he sets to work rubbing the tendons in the arch of her foot. 

He’s not surprised to find that she’s tense. The muscles in her shoulders are always tense too. She needs a vacation. Someday he’s going to take her to Tuscany. Not just for a weekend, either. He’s going to make her use all those vacation days she’s accumulated thanks to her workaholic tendencies and he’s going to steal her away for an entire month. He’s going to teach her how to make pasta and introduce her to expensive wine. He’s going to let her drink coffee in silence and go shopping in the village and fall asleep reading a book in his garden. He’s going to have sex with her on every surface in his villa, at all hours of the day and whenever the desire strikes, and on clear nights he’s going to take her outside and make love to her beneath the stars. 

Someday.

But someday isn’t tonight. Tonight they’re in a bathtub at a chain motel in Illinois, and she’s tired and emotionally worn down, so he’s going to rub her feet and give her something mindless to focus on that isn’t the nightmare hanging over their heads or the separation they both know they’ll eventually have to face. 

“Would you rather,” he asks her, “have no belly button or two belly buttons?”

She blinks at him. “What?”

“Personally, I prefer you with two belly buttons,” he says, digging his thumb into her arch. “I’ve a fantasy of taking a tequila body shot off you, and if you had two belly buttons I could have two shots.”

She studies him for a second the way she’d study a suspect during an interrogation, and then she smiles. “I think I’d rather have none. Belly buttons are weird.”

“Pity,” he muses. “Fortunately for me, though, you do have one. And body shots will commence the moment we’re finished in this tub.”

She laughs, and it brings a smile to his lips. 

“Would you rather be constantly itchy or constantly sticky?” he asks next.

She tilts her head. “Like, all over? Or just in one spot?”

“One spot.”

“Sticky.”

He makes a face at her. “Why on earth would you choose sticky?”

“Because I’m a mom,” she says with another laugh. “I spent the first six years of Trixie’s life sticky in one place or another. Wouldn’t be much of an adjustment to go back.”

He hums. “I suppose that’s reasonable. Would you rather—”

“Wait a second,” she says, nudging him gently with her foot. “You can’t just move on and not answer for yourself.”

“Can’t I?”

“No. You can’t.”

He smirks at her stubbornness and gives her what she wants. “Itchy,” he replies. “I loathe sticky things.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Guess we’ll be steering clear of apple pie in the future then.”

“Sticky sex doesn’t count.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course not.”

He digs his knuckles into a particularly tense spot on her arch. “Would you rather be ten feet tall or ten inches tall?”

“Ten inches,” she says immediately. “So no one would stare when I’m out in public.”

He snorts. “I’d much rather be ten feet.”

“Why?”

He gestures at himself. “Look at me. I’m sex personified. People should stare when I’m out in public. It should be a crime not to.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Also, if I was ten feet tall then my cock would be—”

She splashes him with a laugh. “Shut up, Lucifer.”

He splutters. “Did you just splash me? How dare you.”

She grins and leans her head back on the edge of the tub. “Can I ask one?”

“By all means.”

“Would you rather wear every shirt inside out or every pair of pants backward?”

He gasps at her. “That is a horrifying question and I refuse to answer it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. You mustn’t joke about crimes of fashion, Detective. My wardrobe is off limits.”

She rolls her eyes. “Really? That’s the only thing that’s off limits for you?”

“Well which would you prefer?”

She reaches out and scoops up a handful of bubbles. “Pants backwards, I think.” She studies the bubbles and then lets them go. “I’d just wear yoga pants everywhere so no one would know they were on backward.”

He crinkles his nose. “I refuse to wear yoga pants.”

“So inside out shirts then?”

He shudders. “Yes. But not because of what everyone would think. I’m a trendsetter, so if I wore my pants backward then everyone else would too. It’d be all the rage because everyone wants to be me.”

She gives him an unimpressed look. “Why not wear your pants backward then?”

“Well because the next time you decide you want to shag me senseless in a car, you wouldn’t have such easy access to my—”

“Oh my god,” she groans, tilting her head backward to stare at the ceiling. “Literally every question is somehow going to come back to sex or your—” She waves her hand at him instead of saying the word. “Isn’t it?”

“Well as you’re well aware, I’m very good at sex and also very well endowed. Seems only natural that one or both would repeatedly come up.” He gives her a wicked grin. “You do have a way of making things come up, Detective.”

She sighs at him. He remembers all of a sudden that he was supposed to be making this about her and not about sex, and he searches for a more appropriate question. 

“Would you rather live without music or TV for the rest of your life?”

She tilts her head. “You know, that’s actually a good question.”

He preens. “Yes, I know.”

She ignores his arrogance. “I’d rather live without TV.”

“Because?”

“Because I could still read. And I’d still have movies. So I don’t think I’d miss it as much as I’d miss music.”

“Well look at you finding loopholes.”

She smiles. “I learned from the best. And I already know what your answer is. You can’t live without music.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “You think so?”

“I know so. It’s too important to you.”

He smiles. “You’re right.”

She smiles back at him, clearly pleased that she guessed correctly. 

“I’m actually surprised it’s books and poetry you keep quoting at me instead of songs,” she says, playing idly with a mass of bubbles again. “I would’ve thought the opposite.” 

He shrugs. “You didn’t seem to enjoy our celestial karaoke jam. And the whole point of quoting to you is to make my feelings clear in a way you appreciate. So I’ve steered clear.”

She chews her lip but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t really need to, because he can see the affection shining in her eyes. He wonders if she wants to ask him about what he quoted to her in bed not long ago. As he wonders, the music from his phone floats through the comfortable silence between them. Take my hand, Elvis croons. Take my whole life too. For I can’t help falling in love with you.

Desire and fear tangle in Lucifer’s chest, and he chooses desire.

“There are plenty of songs I’d like to quote though,” he says softly. 

He holds her gaze, wondering if she’s listening to the song and understands what he’s trying to say. 

She smiles. “Don’t hold back on my account.” 

It’s a subtle challenge, but it’s a challenge nonetheless. Say it, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. Tell her what she wants to hear.  

He opens his mouth but can’t seem to verbalize his feelings. He wants to—by Dad, he’s never wanted anything more—but he can’t. It’s like trying to strike a match, except no flame will appear. It frustrates him. It angers him.

“I’ve got another question,” she says, her fingers brushing over his ankle beneath the water. She smiles at him. “It’s a good one too.”

He knows she’s giving him an out. He hates that she has to, but he loves that she does. He wants to tug on her foot and draw her across the tub and into his lap so he can wrap her in his arms, but he resists.

“I’m all ears.”

“Would you rather spend the weekend at Comic-Con with Ella, or at an improv retreat with Dan?” 

He blinks at her for a second, and then he frowns. “You know, maybe I should put you in charge of Hell loops. That’s an even more horrifying question than the last.”

She snorts. “Come on, it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“It most certainly would.”

“Well you have to pick. So which would you choose?”

He thinks it over as he puts down her foot and picks up the other one. He presses the heel of his thumb along the curved arch of her foot. “Before I answer, give me your word that you won’t tell whomever I choose that I chose them.”

She shakes her head. “No way.”

“Then I won’t answer.”

She grins. “You don’t have to. You just told me exactly who you’d choose.”

He frowns. “I did?”

“Yeah. If you were going to choose Dan, you wouldn’t care if I told him because you know he’d never take you with him. But Ella? She’ll be shopping for a costume for you within thirty seconds of me telling her.” 

He narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t tell her.”

She lifts a shoulder. “I might.”

He brandishes his finger at her. “If I’m going down, Detective, I’m taking you with me. Prepare to spend your weekend wearing a leather and spandex getup that highlights all of your assets.”

She laughs. “Sounds like a silver lining for you.”

He perks up at that. “You know, you’re right. I’d endure Comic-Con if it meant seeing you in something slutty.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Who says you need Comic-Con for that?”

His body responds immediately, which is extremely unfortunate given that he’s trying his damndest to keep this bath innocent. “Detective,” he whines. “I’m trying to behave.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’re trying very hard.

Her foot shifts in his hands and bumps gently but purposefully against his dick. He sucks in a breath and his whole body goes rigid. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” he hisses, tipping his head back. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and tries to think about unsexy things. Like...children. Crocs. Daniel in a speedo. 

“You okay over there?” the Detective asks, amusement threading through her voice.

He opens his eyes. “I’m resisting temptation,” he announces to the ceiling. “I’m behaving like a good Devil because I have self control.”

“Well look at you,” she hums in a low tone. “So much growth.”

He lifts his head to glare at her. “If you don’t stop making sex puns I am going to get out of this bathtub.”

She grins. “You mean incessant sexual innuendos aren’t always appreciated? Gosh, I never would have guessed.”

“Your sarcasm has been noted.”

She laughs.

He shifts in the tub, rearranging himself a little with a grimace, and then sets to work once again on the arch of her foot. “I’ve another good one if you’re game.”

“Hit me.”

“Would you rather have a pause button or a rewind button?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “You mean, like, for my life?”

“Yes.” 

She hums. “That is a good one.” She coasts her hand over the surface of the water, scraping gently through a pile of bubbles. “A pause button, I think.”

“Why?”

She presses her lips together and doesn’t answer right away. He waits for her. 

“For Trixie,” she says eventually, her voice soft. “She’s growing up really fast. Sometimes I wish I could just, like, pause everything. Breathe it all in and take a few minutes to memorize the moment so I won’t forget it.”

He frowns. “Wouldn’t it be better to rewind and relive it all again?”

She shakes her head. “No. I think I’d end up taking it for granted. Like, if I could go back in time whenever I wanted, then I wouldn’t feel the urgency to live in the moment. Knowing that you only get to experience something once makes it more special, you know?”

A memory long forgotten surfaces in Lucifer’s mind. 

It’s knowing there’s an end. That’s what makes the rest of it count. 

“What would you choose?” the Detective asks.

“Neither,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “I’d want a fast-forward button.”

She frowns. “What would you fast-forward?”

“Every moment before I met you.”

She stares at him, stunned. He stares back, unblinking and unflinching, because he said once it would take a miracle to make him fall in love and that’s exactly what’s happened. Everything before his miracle—before her—doesn’t matter.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true, Adele sings from his phone. Nothing that I wouldn’t do. Go to the ends of the earth for you. To make you feel my love. 

The Detective’s eyes are glassy with tears. She bites her lip, and then she slides gracefully toward him through the water and puts her hands on either side of his face and kisses him. It’s soft and sweet and perfect. Nobody’s ever kissed him this way. Nobody ever will. Nobody but her.

“I’d pause this,” she whispers against his lips.

He wishes she could.

Chapter 25: Twenty-Five

Notes:

Guys, this chapter was really difficult to write. It wasn’t the hardest one—that one took me a solid three weeks and I’m *still* editing it—but it was hard. So let me take a quick second here to thank my buddy Jess, who is the only reason I got it done. She has been my sounding board from the moment I chatted her and said, “I think I have to write a fic about this show.” She has spent hours listening to me rant and complain and whine when Chloe and Lucifer refuse to do what I want them to, she’s read every chapter multiple times without complaint, and she’s never annoyed when I send her random messages that say shit like OMG WHAT IF I DO THIS?! I had a meltdown at midnight on Sunday night about this chapter and she was so patient. She is the best, y’all, and I wanted everyone to know it.

Kay, that’s all. Hope it’s sunny where you’re at. Love you boos.

Chapter Text

The Detective has her second nightmare at 3:17 in the morning. 

She bolts awake in the darkness, her body shooting upward in bed, and Lucifer hears his name on her lips.

For a second, he’s frozen in surprise. He can see her shoulders heaving in the darkness, and he can hear her sharp inhalations as she struggles to breathe, but he doesn’t move. 

Why did she say his name?

She curls forward, burying her head in her hands. He sits up and reaches for her. She flinches at his touch, which isn’t new. She flinches every night. But she said his name—she dreamt of him—so he pulls his hand back. Maybe she doesn’t want him to touch her.

A sob tears out of her throat, and that’s enough to propel him forward again. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest, and she curls into his body and sobs again. He can feel her tears on his skin. She feels small in his arms, fragile, and grief and guilt threaten to swallow him whole. 

It takes her a long time to calm down. He holds her, rocking her a little, rubbing his hand over her back. When she finally relaxes, he pulls her gently back onto the mattress. She nuzzles into his side, her legs tangling with his. Her breath fans over his collarbone. He combs his fingers through her hair.

“You dreamt of me,” he whispers.

He feels her body go rigid against his. She doesn’t respond.

He turns his head toward her. “What did you dream?” he murmurs into the crown of her head. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispers. “It wasn’t real.”


Lucifer doesn’t go back to sleep. 

He can’t. Not after hearing the Detective wake from a nightmare with his name on her lips, and not after she avoided answering his question. He has a sneaking suspicion that the reason she sidestepped him is because he was the villain in her dream. If she’d imagined losing him, she would have said so. But she didn’t. She flinched at his touch and she tensed when he asked her about it and he knows. She didn’t say it, but he knows.

She’s having nightmares about him. 

He imagines a thousand scenarios. In all of them, he’s in full Devil form. His skin is red and hot, cracked and scarred. His eyes are flames and his wings are gruesome. In every scenario, she’s terrified. Sometimes he towers above her, and she cowers. Sometimes he wreaks havoc, unleashing violence and torture and murder on thousands of innocent lives, and she watches with horror and hatred. Sometimes he’s hurting someone she loves, and she cries and screams and begs him to stop, but he doesn’t. 

The room gradually lightens with the dawn, but his mind stays dark. Eventually, he stops imagining what she’s dreaming and starts drowning in memories. The way she stared at him, eyes wide, when she first saw his Devil face. The way she flinched at his touch on the bridge. The sound of her voice in his penthouse—because I’m terrified!—and the way she struggled to look at him when he went full-Devil after the masquerade. 

She didn’t run that last time. She didn’t run at the Mayan either, when he transformed and roared at his demons to go back to Hell. She no longer startles in surprise when his eyes flash. She didn’t hesitate to stand between him and that bartender. She says she isn’t afraid of him. 

But maybe she is. Maybe her fears are subconscious the way his vulnerability and his light used to be. Maybe she’s trying to pretend they aren’t there, but the spell Dream cast is exposing the cracks in her facade and what lies beneath. 

She told him last night that she wants forever. And he thinks that right now, when she’s so far from home and all she has is him, she does. But over the course of the last few hours, as he’s imagined her nightmares and relived their past, Mazikeen’s voice keeps whispering in his ear. 

It won’t last. She ran when she found out who you are. And she’ll run again when she realizes that you’re never going to change. 

The Detective’s voice whispers too. I choose you. I see you. I love you. But the longer he lies here, terrified that she’ll wake any second from another nightmare about him, the further he sinks into the realization that he won’t be able to hang on to her. Someday she’ll slip right through his fingers. There’s no other way this can end. She’s his father’s greatest creation, goodness and light, a bloody miracle, and he’s...he’s her antithesis. Evil where she’s good, dark where she’s light. How could someone like him possibly keep someone like her for a lifetime? 

He learned a long time ago that living in the present was the only way to protect himself from tomorrow’s disappointment. When you don’t expect anything—when you don’t dare to hope—then you don’t shatter when it all falls apart. Hope is dangerous. Hope hurts. He won’t let himself hope for a lifetime with her. 

But by Dad does he want it. 

He feels that familiar weight on his chest, suffocating him with emotions he can’t name, so he turns his head toward her. She’s on her side facing him, curled beneath the sheets, her head cradled on the pillow. He watches her breathe. He memorizes the lines and curves of her face, the gentle slope of her nose, the swell of her lips. He closes his eyes and pictures her face, and then opens his eyes again to check his imagination against reality. He wants to remember this. He wants to know that someday, when the cracks grow too big and everything shatters and she walks away from him like everyone does, he’ll be able to close his eyes and see her and know that once, for a little while, she belonged to him. 

The Detective stirs. She murmurs sleepily and Lucifer’s heart does that flipping thing in his chest. He watches as her eyelashes flutter and then her eyes open slowly. 

He’s lived millennia and shared a bed with millions, but he’s never seen eyes as beautiful as hers. 

She smiles. “Hi.”

He smiles despite himself. “Good morning.”

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“Depends.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “On what?”

“On whether you think it’s sexy or creepy.”

She laughs, and it soothes the ache in his chest. She brushes her fingers along his jaw. “How about sweet?” 

He shakes his head. “The Devil isn’t sweet.”

She leans forward and presses her lips against his. “My Devil is,” she murmurs. 

His heart skips and then falls into a new rhythm. Yours, it beats. Yours yours yours.

She scoots her body closer to his and drapes her arm over his chest so she can rest her chin in the crook of her elbow and smile at him. Her skin is warm and soft against his. She lifts her other hand and brushes her fingers through his hair, and he wants to purr like a cat. He wants every morning to be like this. He wants to stare at her and kiss her and whisper into her skin. He wants to spend forever in this bed, watching the morning light turn her hair gold. 

But the Devil doesn’t get forever. Not with someone like her.

“Thank you for being here,” she murmurs.

He thinks of last night, when they lay tangled together after their bath and she whispered Can you be here when I wake up?  

“You asked me to be,” he reminds her.

She smiles. “And you did it. Thank you.”

Guilt stretches its jaws and threatens to devour him. What does it say about how often he fails to fulfill her desires if she’s this grateful when he does something so simple?

“Can we go out to breakfast?” she asks, oblivious to his thoughts.

He lifts his hand and traces the curve of her spine. She arches beneath his fingertips, and he thinks of last night and the way she arched beneath him when she came.  

“Would you like to?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Then we will.”

She smiles, and leans forward to kiss him briefly before climbing out of bed. He watches her pad across the floor toward her suitcase. She gathers her shampoo and conditioner and everything else she’ll need for a shower, and then glances over her shoulder at him with a sly smile. 

“You coming?”

“You know how much I like coming in the shower,” he replies with a leer. He can’t help it. 

He expects her to roll her eyes, but she smirks instead. “Yeah, you’re not the only one.”

She saunters into the bathroom with a wink, and he nearly trips over his own two feet in his haste to follow her.


Lucifer forgets, for a while, how he spent the early hours of the morning. Rivulets of water running down the Detective’s naked body are more than enough to distract him. 

After that there’s breakfast—eggs and bacon and pancakes in a run-down diner, and the Detective sitting across from him in a booth, laughing into her coffee about how much syrup he puts on his pancakes. 

They stop for gas around 10:30. She wants more coffee, and he follows her inside like a loyal puppy. They’re flirting in the candy aisle when a child appears. 

It’s a little boy. He’s clearly younger than the Detective’s offspring, though Lucifer doesn’t know by how much. He’s never been good with children and ages. When you’re immortal, they all look young and helpless. 

“Hi,” the little boy says. 

Lucifer stops talking abruptly and glances down, but the little boy isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at the Detective. Well, looking seems to be an understatement. He’s staring.

Lucifer frowns. He had the most fabulous oral sex pun all teed up, and now this miscreant is preventing him from making the Detective blush. 

The Detective doesn’t seem to share his annoyance. “Hi,” she repeats, her lips breaking into a wide smile. 

“You’re pretty,” the little boy says. 

Lucifer huffs in offense but the Detective’s smile gets even bigger. 

“Thank you.” She bends down to look him in the eye. “What’s your name?”

“Matthew James Harrison,” he recites. “But you can call me Matt cause you’re pretty.”

The Detective laughs and holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Chloe.”

He shakes her hand, his sticky little fingers curling around hers, and Lucifer narrows his eyes. Is this anklebiter moving in on his girlfriend?

“Do you wanna see my rock collection?” the child asks.

Lucifer scoffs. “Why on earth would she—”

He stops talking abruptly when the Detective shoots him a death glare. 

“I would love to see your rock collection,” she says to the child. 

The miscreant’s eyes light up, and then he plops down right in the middle of the aisle and starts pulling handfuls of rocks out of his jacket. 

“What in the blazes?” Lucifer says. 

But the Detective just laughs and crouches down next to the child, setting her hand on the floor to steady herself. 

“Detective,” Lucifer huffs. “That floor is filthy.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine, Lucifer.” She picks up a boring gray rock that looks like all the other boring gray rocks this flirtatious imp of a human is pulling out of his pockets, and makes a show of admiring it. “Oooh, I like this one. Where did you find it?”

“The playground at school!” the child says brightly. “I found it last week.”

Very impressive,” the Detective tells him.

The child beams.

Lucifer glances between them incredulously. What is happening right now, and why on earth has the Detective never told him he’s impressive in that tone of voice? He has laser beam hands, for Dad’s sake. Surely being able to incinerate things is far superior to a bloody rock collection.

A blonde woman appears at the end of the aisle. “There you are,” she says, throwing up her hands. Then she sees the rocks all over the floor. “Oh, Matty, not again. We’ve discussed this. You can’t just pull your rocks out in public.”

Lucifer snorts. “I disagree.”

The Detective shoots him a look, and he leers at her. 

“But Mom, Chloe wanted to see them!” the child insists. “And she’s pretty.

Lucifer frowns. “Child, must you continue calling the Devil’s girlfriend pretty?”

For the first time, the child looks up at him. He frowns. “Who are you?”

Lucifer lifts his chin toward the Detective. “I’m her boyfriend.”

The child crinkles his nose. “But you’re not pretty.”

The Detective snorts.

Lucifer’s mouth drops open in offense. “How dare you.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the child’s mother says, hurrying forward. She puts a manicured hand on Lucifer’s arm. “Seriously, I’m so sorry. He’s not good with social cues and people.” She bends forward and starts collecting rocks. “Come on, Matt, we have to go. Pick these up.”

The child looks disappointed, and begins picking up his rocks with his bottom lip sticking out in a pout.

“It’s my fault,” the Detective says, reaching forward to help them collect rocks. “He asked if I wanted to see them and I said yes.”

The woman looks surprised. “He did?” She looks at her son. “You did?”

The child nods. “Cause she’s pretty.”

“Yes, yes, we get it,” Lucifer huffs. “She’s pretty.”

The boy’s mother ignores him and glances back and forth between her child and the Detective. “Well that’s new,” she murmurs. “He’s usually really shy with strangers.”

The Detective shakes her head. “Oh, I’m not a stranger.” She winks at the child. “We’re old friends, aren’t we, Matt?”

The child smiles so wide it looks almost maniacal. “Yeah!” He looks up at Lucifer. “Do you want to be friends too?”

Lucifer opens his mouth to say that no, he absolutely does not want to be friends with a sticky-fingered imp who collects rocks and flirts with his girlfriend, but then he sees the Detective watching him.

“Sounds lovely,” he says instead. 

The child beams, and so does his mother, but it’s the Detective’s soft smile that makes Lucifer feel warm all over. 

The child and his mother finish collecting all the rocks from the floor and then get to their feet. The Detective straightens too. 

“Thank you,” the child’s mother says. 

The Detective waves her off. “Of course.” She smiles down at the child. “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

The child studies her for a second, and then he holds out one of his rocks. “This is for you.”

The blonde woman puts her hand to her mouth, and Lucifer barely swallows an incredulous remark when he realizes that her eyes are glassy with tears. What is with these people and rocks?

He glances at the Detective, still incredulous, and then freezes. She’s smiling, a wide and beautiful thing that seems to light up the entire gas station. She bends forward to take the rock out of the child’s hand. 

“Thank you,” she says softly. “I’ll keep it somewhere really special. I promise.”

The child smiles as if she’s just told him the secrets of the universe, and then turns around and bounces down the aisle, his pockets click-clacking with rocks. His mother thanks the Detective one more time, still teary-eyed, and then hurries after her son.

Lucifer glances down at the Detective. She watches the child go with a smile, and then pockets the rock. 

“You’re going to keep it?” he asks her in surprise. 

“Of course I’m going to keep it.”

“It’s a rock.

She smiles up at him. “It was a gift.” She squeezes his arm. “Come on. We should go.”


It hits Lucifer somewhere in Indiana just how kind it was of the Detective to treat that child the way she did. 

He wasn’t her child. She had no relation to him, no vested interest, no incentive. He interrupted their conversation to talk about bloody rocks for Dad’s sake. She could have easily been annoyed or dismissive. No one would have blamed her. But she wasn’t. She stopped what she was doing and made that little boy feel like he was the most important person in the world, and she did it just because she could.

He, on the other hand, had not. He’d scoffed and huffed and rolled his eyes. If not for her, he would have ignored or snapped or insulted. And that’s the difference between them, isn’t it? There are plenty, of course, but most of them can be distilled down to that one point. 

She loves others. 

He loves himself.

He tries not to think about it. About how kind the Detective is, and how kind he’s not. About how good she is, and how good he’s not. About her nightmares, and everything he realized this morning. But it lingers in the back of his mind like an incessant whisper, cruel and painful because the truth hurts and it’s only a matter of time before she sees it. 

She’s too good for you.

When they stop for lunch, the Detective catches his hand in the parking lot and asks if he’s okay. Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern. She’s worried about him.

He knows he should tell her what he’s been agonizing over. He promised her in Vegas that if something was wrong then he would talk to her about it, and he wants to keep that promise. He wants to tell her that he’s worried that her dreams are about him. He wants to tell her that sometimes he looks at her and wonders how someone like her could possibly love someone like him, and that he’s afraid she’ll wake up one day and finally see him for who he is and run.  

But he doesn’t. They’re living a nightmare. She’s exhausted and far from home and she misses her child and he doesn’t want to be another burden for her. He’s tired of asking her to reassure him. He’s tired of taking instead of giving. 

He’ll tell her. He’ll keep his promise. Just...not right now.

He lifts his hands to her face and smiles. “What could be wrong?” he murmurs. “I’m with you.”

She runs her hands down his lapels. “You seem preoccupied.”

“I’m tired.”

Which is true, for the record. It’s just not the whole truth.  

“Why don’t you let me drive after lunch?” she says. “You drove all day yesterday and this morning. You need a break.”

His heart aches in his chest. She just can’t help herself, can she? Always looking after everyone else. Even the Devil. 

He leans forward and kisses her, and when she smiles against his lips, he swears to himself that he’ll stay out of his head and focus on her while he still can.  


He breaks that promise a few hours later. 

They’re parked at a rest stop. The Detective has been drinking inordinate amounts of coffee, and that means they stop more than they normally would. She’s apologetic, but Lucifer doesn’t mind. They’re ahead of schedule, and it’s good for her to stretch her legs. 

He offered to accompany her to the building, but she waved him off with an eye roll and an If I can raid a sex trafficking ring I’m pretty sure I can handle a public bathroom. So he’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Escalade, head tipped back and eyes closed as he waits for her. 

He’s thinking about car sex again. He thought last night would get the desire out of his system for at least a few days, but he can’t stop thinking about the way she sounded when she came. Just the thought of it has his body ready for a repeat performance. He thinks when she returns, he’s going to ask her if they can have a quickie in the backseat. Or, at the very least, if he can get her off so he can hear her again. 

She has a 90s radio station on. The final strains of *NSYNC’s It’s Gonna Be Me are playing. He curls his lip in disgust. Such a horrid, ridiculous song. Perfect for a Hell loop.

The song ends, and a new one begins. It sounds very 90s, and Lucifer can’t help but smile. He’s never heard this song, but he’d bet his flask that the Detective loves it. This is exactly the kind of bubblegum pop she loves. 

A male voice starts to sing about blue eyes, and Lucifer perks up. The Detective’s eyes are blue. Very blue, in fact. Is this a romantic song that he can sing for her and make her swoon? He loves to make her swoon. When she gives him that look—that I think you’re sweet and I love you look—it makes him feel warm all over. But also, if he’s being totally honest, the sex after he does something romantic is unfathomably good. He would venture to say it’s the best he’s ever had, though their makeup sex in the car last night was pretty earth-shattering too. He’ll have to do more research before he decides. Such a hard decision. 

He grins to himself. Nobody does puns better than he does. Nobody does the Detective better than he does either. She said so.

He tunes back into the song, and listens as the whiny singer declares that he can’t live without his lover and doesn’t want anyone else. Lucifer tilts his head. That’s also applicable to the Detective. Maybe he should sing her this song. He glances at the screen embedded in the dashboard, curious to see who the artist is, but freezes when he sees the title. 

I Love You Came Too Late. 

He feels suddenly sick to his stomach. He thinks of the evidence closet at the precinct, and the tears in the Detective’s eyes when he couldn’t say it. He thinks of all the times she’s said it to him, and how he’s either said nothing in return or offered her someone else’s words. He thinks of last night in the bath, when she all but asked him to say it, and he couldn’t. 

He swallows and glances out the window. The doors to the building in the distance swing open, and the Detective walks out. Her hair is down today, and she’s wearing that black bomber jacket he bought her in Vegas. She’s stunning. She’s also smiling, and Lucifer smiles too until he realizes that she’s smiling at a man. 

He's an attractive man. Broad shouldered and strong jawed and well dressed. They pause just outside the building, and when the Detective tips her head back and laughs, jealousy burns so hot in Lucifer’s gut that his hands briefly flame. 

So she found someone to give her what she needed, the singer croons. Somebody else—

“Shut up,” Lucifer snaps at the radio, smashing his finger on the power button. The car falls silent. 

Lucifer turns back to the window. The Detective gives the man a cute little wave, and then heads for the Escalade. Lucifer watches her approach. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows that he’s being ridiculous. The man was just a man. They’ll never see him again. But he made her laugh, and he was handsome and well dressed, and he probably wouldn’t have a hard time saying I love you. Hell, he probably said it just now. Who could meet her and not love her?

The driver’s side door opens, and the Detective climbs into the car.

“It’s so nice out,” she says, flashing him a smile. “No wonder people in the midwest get so excited about fall. I’d never go inside on days like this.”

Lucifer hums in agreement. 

She turns toward him. “Are you sure you don’t—”

“Who was that?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

The Detective furrows her eyebrows. “What?”

“The man you were talking to. Who was he?”

Her expression smooths out. “Oh, his name was Brad. Nice guy.”

“Funny too, I take it.”

She furrows her eyebrows again, her gaze flickering over his face, and then she rolls her eyes. “Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Seriously? You’re jealous of the rest stop guy?”

“I’m not jealous. I was just wondering what he said that was so funny. You seemed quite amused and I—”

“He was talking about his husband, Lucifer. They’re on a trip for their anniversary.”

Lucifer stares at her. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. What’s with you today?”

He frowns. “Nothing’s with me.” 

“Something’s definitely with you. You’ve been bouncing between broody and hyper all day.”

“I don’t brood. Brooding is for vampires and teenagers.”

She considers him for a moment, and then reaches across the car and puts her hand on his arm. “Seriously, babe. Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he snaps, yanking his arm out of her grasp. “Leave the shrinking to the Doctor, would you?”

He knows as soon as he says it that he shouldn’t have. Hurt shivers across her face, and fear blossoms in his chest. This is how he loses her. This is how it starts. She’s already out of his league and he’s already on borrowed time and she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he’s hurting her. 

“I apologize,” he blurts out. “I didn’t...”

He trails off. She watches him, waiting, and he wants to tell her what he’s afraid of but he’s afraid to find out that he’s right. 

“Forgive me,” he murmurs instead. 

Her expression softens into compassion and it makes him ache. She deserves so much better than a brooding, short-tempered Devil that she has to forgive every five minutes. 

“Come here,” she whispers, and then she leans across the console and pulls his face toward hers and kisses him like she loves him. 

“I love you,” she says. 

Why? he wants to ask. For how long? 

He aches again. She leans back and smiles at him, and he forces himself to smile in return. She brushes her thumb over his chin and tips her head toward the radio. 

“You get sick of listening to 90s?”

He thinks of the last song he heard and feels his stomach drop. “Yes.”

She snorts. “I knew it was only a matter of time. We can listen to something else.”

She leans back to her side of the car and turns the radio on, and he winces. She hits the seek button as soon as she turns it on, though, and he’s spared another encounter with that awful song. 

She bypasses a country station, a few stations of static, and a classical music station, and then comes across an upbeat song. 

She gasps. “I love this song.”

Lucifer glances at the screen and reads the title. “What A Man Gotta Do? That’s atrocious grammar. What on earth do they teach you humans in your little schools?”

She rolls her eyes. “And you say you’re not a nerd.”

He ignores her. “Another boy band too, I see. How utterly predictable of you.”

She shoves the gear shift into reverse and backs the Escalade out of their parking spot. “Just because they’re a boy band doesn’t mean they’re not awesome. This song is great.”

“This song is terrible.You need to have your head examined.”

“There will be no Jonas Brothers slander in this car,” she says, holding up her finger. “If you don’t like it, you can ride on the roof until we get to New York.”

He scoffs at her. She ignores him. She turns the volume up and bobs her head in time with the beat and starts singing along as she merges onto the highway, her gaze darting between her rearview and side mirrors. She’s not entirely on key, but Lucifer can’t bring himself to care. It’s adorable. She’s adorable. 

“Admit it,” she says, shooting him a smirk as if she can read his mind. “It’s catchy.”

It is catchy, but there’s no way he’s going to admit it. “It’s something,” he says instead.

She rolls her eyes and proceeds to sing every single word of the rest of the song. He watches her and tries not to smile. When the song is finally finished, she leans back in her seat with a contented sigh. 

“So good,” she murmurs. Another song comes on, and she crinkles her nose and turns the volume down. “Less good.” 

“So what’s the answer?” 

She frowns at him. “Huh?”

“The song,” he clarifies. “The Jonas Brothers wanted to know what it takes to—what was the phrase? Be totally…”

“Locked up by you.” 

“Right. So what would it take?”

Her smile is dazzling. “Are you asking for yourself?”

Of course he’s asking for himself. He wants an instruction manual called How To Keep The Detective Happy. He wants an itemized list of all the things she loves and all the things she hates so he can keep doing the first and stop doing the second. He wants a ph-fucking-D in Chloe Jane Decker so he can make sure that she always, always loves him. But he doesn’t want to come across like a raving lunatic who’s obsessed with her—even if he is—so he tries to play it cool. 

“I’m merely curious,” he says, waving his hand in what he hopes is a casual way. “I wasn’t fishing, if that’s what you’re after.”

She smirks but doesn’t argue with him.

“So?” he prompts.

“So what? You want me to give you a list of what I look for in a man?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “You’ve made a list?”

“No,” she snorts. “People only do that in rom-coms.”

“Well if you did have a list, what would you put on it?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Well no wonder you married a douche.”

She sighs at him. 

“I’m just saying that if your standards were higher and you’d made a list, perhaps you wouldn’t have walked down the aisle toward a man who wears gem bracelets and eats pudding.”

“You used to wear one of those bracelets too,” she points out. 

He scoffs. “I was forced.”

“No you weren’t. And considering you steal his pudding all the time, I don’t think you’ve got much of a leg to stand on here.”

“Nevermind all that,” he says, waving his hand impatiently. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“What was the question?”

“Why did you marry Daniel?”

She gives him a look. “Are you going to get all jealous if I talk about it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m more likely to be jealous of a sack of potatoes than Detective Douche. Now focus, please. Why did you marry him?”

She shrugs. “Because I loved him.” 

“Yes but why? What did he do that made you decide you were willing to spend the rest of your life as Mrs. Douche?”

She rolls her eyes, and then chews her lip and seems to consider the question. He tries to be patient and resist the urge to prod her to think faster, but it’s difficult. He’s desperate for an answer. He didn’t plan on having this conversation right now, but it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. If he can determine what made her say yes to spending the rest of her life with Daniel, then maybe he can figure out what would make her want to stay with him despite what he is.

“I guess part of it was that he made me laugh,” the Detective says at last.  

“Daniel?” Lucifer says incredulously. “Daniel made you laugh? How? He’s the least funny person I know.”

“Well then you don’t know him very well,” she retorts with a smile. “Despite his terrible stand-up comedy skills, he’s actually pretty funny. We used to have a lot of fun together.”

“And that was important to you? Laughing and having fun?”

“Well yeah. Life is hard, but it’s easier if you’re with someone you can have fun with.”

A wave of relief crashes over Lucifer. He makes her laugh all the time. And they have fun together. That’s good, right?

The Detective isn’t finished yet though. 

“He tried to teach me how to surf once,” she says, smiling a little. “I love the beach, but surfing is not my thing. I was terrible. But he didn’t care. He was patient, and he gave me advice without being a dick. And then when we were done, he asked me to teach him something I was good at. I liked that. The idea of a power balance, you know? Like we could complement each other.”

Lucifer swallows. He’s not patient. In fact, he’s the opposite of patient. She’s called him a dick on more than one occasion. And he’s never asked her to teach him something she’s good at. He supposes work might count, considering she’s the best detective in the LAPD and she’s taught him quite a bit about solving crimes. But Daniel said once that she’s more than just work, and Lucifer can’t remember the last time he asked her to share something with him that she’s interested in. In fact, he made their first date—well, half date—all about things he’s interested in. 

“He actually got serious about us before I did,” the Detective continues. Her voice has gone soft, and even though she’s focused on the road there’s a distant look in her eyes. She’s lost in memories. “I mean, I loved him. I just...wasn’t sure he was the one.”

“What made you sure?”

“It was a few things, I guess.”

“Like?”

“Like how he handled the anniversary of my dad’s death. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he just straight up asked me what I needed. And when I told him, he did it.” She shoots him a smile. “Kind of like how I asked you to be there when I woke up this morning, and you were.”

Lucifer smiles at her because he knows she’s trying to reassure him, but he’s not reassured. Maybe he finally did something right this morning, but how many other times has he guessed rather than simply asking? Worse yet, how many times has she explicitly told him what she wants and he’s ignored her? Isn’t that exactly what he did in Vegas? 

The Detective adjusts her grip on the steering wheel. “There was this one time at work, too. We were working the L.A. Marathon. It’s all hands on deck for stuff like that, and Dan and I were assigned the same zone right by the finish line. And this teenage kid—couldn’t have been more than seventeen—just, like, collapsed. The EMTs were there and they did everything they could, but it was massive heart failure. He died right there, twenty feet from the finish line.”

She pauses and chews her bottom lip. Her eyes are glassy. Lucifer wants to comfort her but he’s frozen, afraid of what she’s about to tell him. 

“His mom was there,” she continues quietly. “And when the EMTs told her there was nothing more they could do, she just...I mean, she lost it. Screaming and crying. Nobody could get her to settle down, and then Dan just...hugged her. I don’t think he even thought twice about it. He just hugged her, and she hugged him back, and she calmed down. I didn’t think about it in the moment, obviously, because there was a dead kid in the street. But later, I thought about it. I mean, if he could act like that with someone he didn’t even know, then what did I have to worry about if he loved me?”

Lucifer isn’t sure he’s breathing anymore, because what she’s just described is exactly what happened back in that gas station with that little imp and his rocks. Someone needed kindness, and Daniel offered it without a second thought just like the Detective did, and he’s...he’s not like that. He’s not capable of that. He’s not kind or compassionate or good. 

He’s the Devil.

The Detective clears her throat and seems to snap out of her memory. “Anyway,” she says, waving her hand, “now we’re divorced so maybe I should’ve been a little more worried.” 

She laughs at herself, and then glances at him. “Does that answer your question?”

He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yes. Yes it does.”

“What about you?”

He frowns at her. “What about me?”

She smiles. “What would it take to lock you down?”

He stares at her, taken aback, because no one has ever asked him that question. No one’s ever cared. He isn’t the settling down type, and everyone knows it, and no one has ever wanted to settle down with him. 

No one until her. 

He wants forever with her. He wants it so badly, and she’s smiling at him like she wants it too, and he hopes. He knows he shouldn’t because he knows what he is, but he hopes anyway. 

“You,” he murmurs. “It takes you.”


They’re spending the night in a small town in Pennsylvania. 

The hotel is nothing spectacular, but it’s clean and the room is a little larger than some of the others they’ve stayed in. They go to a brewery a few towns over for dinner. They sit outside on a patio in front of the restaurant to eat, and they watch as the street in front of them slowly fills up with people and booths and tents.

“What’s happening?” the Detective asks the waiter when he brings them dessert. 

“Oh it’s Fall Flung,” the waiter answers brightly.

The Detective frowns, and so does Lucifer. 

The waiter laughs at their expressions. “We have two annual traditions here,” he explains. “Spring Fling and Fall Flung. They’re like festivals to celebrate the seasons. There are booths that sell stuff and live performances and food and games. This year, it’s Homecoming weekend too. That’s why there’s so many people in maroon and gold.”

Lucifer glances out at the crowd, and sure enough, a majority of the people walking by or milling around in groups are outfitted in maroon and gold attire with the name of their town emblazoned somewhere on the fabric.

“You guys should walk around when you’re done,” the waiter suggests. “It’s, like, classic small town stuff.” He puffs his chest out. “They filmed a Hallmark movie here once. It was called Falling Inn Love on Main Street. Two N’s in Inn. Like, a hotel.” He tips his head toward the end of the street. “They used the Main Street Inn to film.”

“How thrilling,” Lucifer says dryly. 

The corners of the Detective’s mouth quirk upward. “That is exciting,” she says, only she sounds like she believes it. 

The waiter beams at her, clearly proud. “Yep. Anyway, here’s your check. No rush, of course. Just whenever you’re ready.”

He flashes them a smile and wanders away. 

Lucifer watches the Detective while they share the chocolate cake she ordered for dessert. She can’t keep her eyes off the street that’s bustling with people. He can tell that she wants to walk around and explore, so after he pays the bill and they rise from their table to leave, he suggests it.

She tilts her head back to look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“I have wings and laser beam hands. What are small town cops going to do against that?”

She smiles. “Well when you put it that way.” And then she frowns. “Are you sure you want to though?”

Guilt gnaws at his chest. This is something she wants to do, but she’s so accustomed to doing what he wants—so used to hearing him whine about doing what he doesn’t—that she’s willing to give it up for him. 

He reaches for her hand and lifts it to his mouth. “There’s nothing I’d like more,” he murmurs into her knuckles. He motions toward the street. “After you, darling.”

She smiles and leads him eagerly into the crowd. 

For a while, everything is fine. They wander hand-in-hand past booths and through tents, examining trinkets and clothing and baked goods for sale. He buys her hot apple cider, and she likes it so much that he buys her another. They somehow get roped into playing an absurd game called cornhole with an older couple, and end up being very good at it. They play a few rounds, but when they draw a crowd after they dethrone a couple who’s apparently famous for beating everyone, they share a knowing look and purposely lose the next game. 

“Maybe I should purchase a few sets of that game for Lux,” he says, draping his arm around her shoulders as they walk away. 

She grins and reaches up to hold his hand that’s on her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sure the bachelorette parties would love throwing bean bags at wooden boards.”

“You’d be surprised what people will do if free liquor is involved.”

“No I wouldn’t,” she says with a laugh. “Let’s go back to the hotel.”

“Done with Mayberry, are we? I suppose there’s only so long a city girl can handle a small town until she misses her steel towers and vagabonds yelling obscenities.”

The Detective gives him a sly smile. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m kind of wondering what you’d look like in one of those letterman jackets everyone’s got on.”

He blinks at her in surprise, and then his brain immediately conjures up an image of her wearing a tiny cheerleader skirt and what it’d be like to bury his head between her thighs while she’s still wearing it. 

“We should role play,” he blurts out. 

She laughs. “Should we?” 

“We should. We absolutely should. I can steal a jacket from one of these miscreants and then you—”

“Lucifer.”

“Yes, yes, I know you have a moral opposition to theft, but I—”

Lucifer,” she repeats, tugging him to a stop.

He looks down at her. “What is it?”

She’s staring at something off to her right, her eyebrows furrowed, and he follows her gaze toward a side street that’s cast in shadow. There’s a woman pressed up against the brick wall of a building, and a man twice her size is looming over her. He appears to be yelling at her. He has his finger brandished threateningly in her face, and his other hand is wrapped around her bicep. He must be squeezing her arm, because she’s twisted toward his hand and there’s a grimace of pain on her face. 

The Detective immediately starts toward them, her strides long and purposeful. Lucifer follows. When they’re a few yards away, he opens his mouth to suggest that she let him handle it, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“Hey,” the Detective says, her voice hard and authoritative. “Let her go.”

The man glances over his shoulder. He looks the Detective up and down with a sneer, and then turns back around. “Piss off lady.” 

Lucifer clenches his jaw and clenches his fists. He doesn’t like this man’s tone.

The Detective doesn’t seem to like it either. She stops next to him and reaches out to push his shoulder. “I said let her go.”

The man steps back, blinking in surprise as he finally releases the woman’s arm, and then he curls his lip in a snarl. “This is none of your business.”

“It is if you’re hurting her.”

The man scoffs. “I’m not hurting her. Am I, baby?”

The woman sniffs and says nothing.

“Yeah that’s why she’s got bruises on her arm,” the Detective snaps, gesturing at the woman’s arm. She gives the man a disgusted once over, and then turns toward the woman. The disgust on her face dissolves into compassion, and she slides her body between the man and the woman as if she’s a human shield. “Are you okay?”

The woman is crying, but she nods. She reaches up and brushes her hair back from her face, and Lucifer spots the glint of a wedding ring on her fourth finger. The anger that was already pulsing in his blood starts to simmer. This man stood before this woman and promised to love and cherish her, and this is what he does?

The Detective reaches out to wrap her arm around the woman’s shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

“Hey,” the man snaps. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch.”

The epithet is enough to raise Lucifer’s rage to its boiling point. But then the man wraps his fingers around the Detective’s arm, and the world narrows. The Detective is invulnerable. She can’t feel this man’s hand squeezing her arm. She feels no pain. He can’t hurt her. But it doesn’t matter. 

Lucifer sees red. 

He steps forward and yanks the man’s hand off the Detective’s arm, and then he grabs a fistful of the man’s shirt and hauls him forward so that their faces are inches apart. 

“Do not speak to her that way,” he hisses.

The man sneers at him. He smells like alcohol. “What are you going to do about it?”

Lucifer punches him in response. The woman gasps, and the Detective’s eyes widen, and the man staggers backward from the force of the punch. 

Lucifer tugs on his jacket and then adjusts his cufflink. “That, for starters.”

The man straightens. “Think you’re a tough guy, huh?” He lifts his hands to his face and curls them into fists. “Let’s go then.”

“Lucifer,” the Detective calls. 

Lucifer ignores her. He starts forward, and the man steps forward too. He’s already swinging, and it’s a pathetic excuse for a punch. Lucifer dodges his fist, catches his wrist, grabs his shoulder, and then pushes down while bringing his leg up. The man’s elbow slams into Lucifer’s knee, and a sickening crack fills the air followed by a scream of pain. Lucifer releases the man’s arm, and then punches him across the jaw so hard that blood and spit go flying through the air. 

“Oh my god!” the woman exclaims.

The man tumbles down to the pavement and lands on his side, gasping as he clutches his broken arm. Blood leaks from his mouth and drips onto the concrete. 

“Lucifer,” the Detective says. He feels her fingers curl around his arm. He doesn’t try to wrench free of her grasp, but he doesn’t heed her unspoken request either. He bends down and grabs the man by the front of his jacket and yanks so that his head snaps backward.

He leans forward so they’re eye to eye. “Apologize to her.” 

The man spits a mouthful of blood and saliva into Lucifer’s face. “I don’t apologize to whores.”

Seriously? ” the Detective says, sounding furious. 

It’s nothing compared to the rage that explodes in Lucifer’s chest. 

He snarls and pulls his arm free from the Detective’s grasp and punches the man in the face again. And then again. His hand flames when he pulls it back for a third time, and he’s glad. He wants to leave a mark on this foul little worm’s face. He wants to brand his fist into this human’s flesh so that he never, ever forgets what happened here.

“Lucifer!” the Detective exclaims, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Stop.” 

Lucifer forces his flame to extinguish, but he refuses to walk away. He bends toward the man and lets his eyes go red. 

“You like terrorizing women, do you?” he spits. “We’ve got a special place in Hell for men like you. Let me give you a preview.”

He lets his face transform briefly into its Devil form. The man’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open in a soundless scream. Lucifer tries to tug his arm free of the Detective’s grasp, but she digs her nails into him. 

“Lucifer, stop,” she commands. “You’re drawing a crowd. They’re going to see.”

The desperation in her voice gives him pause. He makes sure his Devil face is gone and then glances over his shoulder. Sure enough, there’s a crowd forming. Most of them look confused, but a few of them look frightened. 

“Someone call the cops,” he hears a voice say.

“There are some over by the gazebo,” a woman shouts. “Taylor, go get them!”

A teenager shoves through the crowd and takes off toward the gazebo. Lucifer straightens. The man collapses into a heap at his feet, bloody and broken and groaning. Lucifer wipes the spit and blood from his face, and then glances down at his hands and freezes when he sees his knuckles stained with red.  

The Detective reaches for him. “Lucifer,” she starts, her voice gentle, but he doesn’t let her finish. He recoils from her touch, stumbling away from her as if she’s burned him. 

She frowns at him. A man in a jacket emblazoned with a firefighter logo bursts out of the crowd and hurries toward them. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, stopping next to the Detective. He shoots a disgusted look at Lucifer, and then reaches out to touch the Detective’s shoulder. “Did he hurt you too?”

Lucifer freezes. His breath catches in his throat as the words ring in his ears. 

The Detective shrugs out of the firefighter’s grasp with an annoyed sound. “I’m fine. He’s not the one who’s the problem.”

Lucifer starts to back away. 

The Detective notices. She snaps her gaze in his direction. “Lucifer,” she says, holding out her hand as if he’s a wild animal she’s trying to calm. “It’s all right.”

He turns and flees. 

She takes off after him. 

He sprints down the street toward the back edge of the brick building. No one follows him except her, but that’s not enough to slow him down. He’s not running from the others. She’s the one he’s trying to escape. It’s not safe for her to be near him. He’s got blood on his hands and he can’t control his temper and she’s better off without him. She’s safer without him.

“Lucifer,” she calls. “Lucifer, wait.”

He rounds the corner and finds himself behind the building, standing next to a dumpster and the employee entrance for a toy store. No one is around. That’s good. No one needs to see this.

The Detective rounds the corner after him, and he turns to face her.

“Lucifer,” she repeats, her voice soft. He can’t stand the concerned look on her face. She holds up her hands. “Just stop, okay?”

He rolls his shoulders and his wings unfurl. 

She freezes, and then her expression hardens and she brandishes her finger at him. “Don’t you dare.

He ignores her and takes off, shooting up into the sky.


Lucifer isn’t sure how long he’s up in the air, hovering among the clouds, before the Detective prays to him.

Lucifer, her voice echoes in his mind. 

His eyes snap open. It’s jarring to hear her when she’s not physically nearby. He doesn’t dislike it, of course. He can’t. He likes the sound of her voice too much. But it’s been millennia since anyone has consistently prayed to him, and he’d forgotten how intimate it feels to have someone else’s voice inside your head. 

I know you can hear me, she continues. Get your feathery ass back to our hotel room right now. We need to talk.

He’d smile at the phrase feathery ass if she didn’t sound so furious. A beat passes, and then her voice fills his mind again. It’s softer this time.

Please, she prays. You said you wouldn’t run.

Guilt grabs him by the throat. She’s right. He gave his word that he wouldn’t run, and then he ran. He should go back.

But he knows what will happen if he does. He thought he’d have more time before she hit her breaking point, but he knows, deep in his bones, that this is it. She’s going to be apologetic. She’s going to feel guilty. She’ll probably cry. I’m sorry, she’ll say. But I can’t be with a man who can hurt people that easily. She might even mention the child. It’s not just me I have to think about. It’s Trixie. And she’s right. He’s dangerous. They’re better off without him.

If she ends things, does that mean it’s the end of their professional relationship too? Will she want a clean break, or will they still be able to solve cases together? He doesn’t want to lose all of her but he’s not sure he can handle having only a piece. He’s not sure he can see her every day and know that she’ll never be his again. 

He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to lose her. 

But he’s a Devil of his word. 

It only takes him a few minutes to fly to their hotel. He lands amongst some trees behind the building, and then tucks his wings away and walks around to the front entrance. When he finally gets to the door of their room, he hesitates. He feels short of breath for some reason. His heart is racing, and his chest feels tight. If he were human, he’d worry that he was experiencing a heart attack. But he’s not human. 

He clenches his jaw and slots the card key into the reader and pushes the door open. 

The Detective is on the far side of the room. She’s sitting in the armchair by the window with her elbows on her knees and her eyes closed as she rubs her temples. She snaps her head up when he walks in the room, and then shoots to her feet. 

The door slams closed behind him. For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just stare at each other from opposite sides of the room, silence hanging in the air. She’s still wearing that black bomber jacket, and it reminds him of Vegas. 

He wishes they’d never left this room. He wishes that when she suggested dinner, he would’ve just pulled her close and whispered in her ear that he didn’t want to share her with the world so they should stay in. 

“Nobody followed me,” she says into the silence. “No one knows where we are, so we should be safe here for the night. Not that you thought of that before you took off and left me.” 

Shame washes over him like a wave. He wants to drop to his knees and grovel at her feet but he stands rooted to the floor instead, his head bowed. 

“You’re angry,” he says quietly. It’s not a question.

She laughs humorlessly and folds her arms over her chest. “What tipped you off?” 

He swallows. If she’s mad, this is going to hurt worse than he thought. 

“I apologize,” he murmurs. “I should’ve controlled myself. I shouldn’t have hurt him. I shouldn’t have shown him my face or—”

“Wait, is that why you think I’m mad?” 

He blinks at her, confused. 

She looks incredulous. “He was beating his wife, Lucifer. If you hadn’t punched him, I would have.”

“But you tried to stop me.” 

“Yeah because I thought you were going to go supernova,” she says, throwing up her hands. “You can’t just light up whenever you feel like it, babe. Not when we’re on the run. I know you’re impulsive but you can’t...sometimes you have to think first, okay?”

The pet name makes his heart stutter in his chest, and the sudden lack of anger in her tone catches him off guard. 

He furrows his eyebrows. “But then...?”

She gives him a look. “You flew away and left me standing there alone. We’re supposed to do things together, remember? You can’t promise me that you won’t run anymore and then turn around and run.” She brandishes her finger at him. “And I swear to your dad if you say you didn’t run because you flew, I will punch you.”

He gapes at her, completely bewildered. This isn’t...this isn’t the conversation he thought they were going to have. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. 

“Oh,” he says at last. 

“Oh?” she repeats incredulously. “That’s what you have to say? Oh?

He swallows and says nothing.

Her expression hardens into determination. “Okay,” she says. She takes a step forward and brandishes her finger at him again. “You’ve been acting weird all day, and I’ve tried to be patient and let you sort it out on your own, but enough is enough. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He opens his mouth but nothing will come out. His brain is still stuttering over the realization that she’s not disgusted by what he did. That she’s not disgusted by him.

“Lucifer, I thought we were past this,” she says. “Why are you keeping me at arm’s length again?”

That strikes a nerve. He narrows his eyes at her. “I’m not the only one doing that.”

She frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“I know your nightmares are about me.”

She goes still, and all the color drains from her face. 

“You said my name this morning,” he continues. “I heard you. And then I asked you about it, and you wouldn’t tell me, and I know why. I know what image your subconscious conjures up when your guard is down. I know that when you wake up crying, it’s because you saw me in my true form.” 

She presses her lips together. He already knew he was right, but it still hurts that she isn’t contradicting him. 

“So it’s true then?” he demands. He’s being a masochist, maybe, but he wants to hear her say it. “I’m the villain in all your dreams.”

She shakes her head. “You’re not…” She licks her lips and pushes her hair behind her ear. “It’s complicated.”

He barks out a harsh laugh. “You know, you’re right, Detective. Those words are awful to hear.”

She closes her eyes as if his words have physically hurt her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You’re not the one who’s so horrifying that you give your partner nightmares.” 

You’re not doing that. Dream is. They’re part of the spell, Lucifer. They’re not real.”

“Are you sure?” he challenges. He holds his arms out. “I am the Devil, am I not? I have the eyes and the face and the terrible, horrifying past. Did I not just punish a human?”

“You were standing up for that woman—” 

“I couldn’t care less about that bloody woman!” he nearly shouts. “I didn’t care about her anymore than I cared about that child at the gas station. I was cruel to him.”

“No you weren’t. You said you’d be his friend—”

“Because you were there! I only did it for you. Can’t you see that? For Dad’s sake, Detective. I’ve watched you sniff out murderers like a damn bloodhound and yet here I am, right in front of your face, and suddenly you’re incompetent. Stop being so bloody dense. It doesn’t suit you.”

Her eyes flash with anger. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“The Devil stands before her with blood on his hands and she’s worried about his tone, ” he sneers. “You do like to keep me on a tight leash, don’t you?”

She clenches her jaw. “Stop it.”

He doesn’t stop. 

“Let me spell it out for you since you’re so determined to be blind. I am rotten to the core. There’s nothing redeeming about me. I have no conscience, no angelic impulse, no desire to do the right thing. The only thing that keeps me from following my baser instincts is you. You, who have devoted your entire life to protecting the innocent, are the only thing standing between the Devil and the rest of the world. And that, Detective, is why you’re still here. I know that’s why you’re here. Because you’re too bloody good to drop the damn leash and let me wreak havoc.” 

He expects her to be mad. He expects her to snap at him, or yell at him, or storm away.

He doesn’t expect her to look heartbroken. 

“Is this what you’ve been thinking all day?” she murmurs. “You’ve been torturing yourself because you think I’m only with you so I can keep you on a leash?”

He hates the compassion in her eyes. He hates the tremor of emotion in her voice. He hates how kind she is.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” he snaps at her. “What matters is the truth.”

She folds her arms. “And what is the truth?”

“I’m not good enough for you. I never have been. I know it, and so does everyone else, and it’s only a matter of time until you know it too. This isn’t a fairytale, Detective. I don’t transform into a good guy if you love me hard enough.” He stretches out his arms. “This is what you get. This is all you get.”

“Lucifer, this is what I want. I want you.

He shakes his head. “You can’t. You don’t. I refuse to believe that.”

“Lucifer,” she whispers. There are tears welling up in her eyes. She closes the distance between them and reaches for him, but he jerks away from her. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

She looks devastated. He hates that, but he can’t let her touch him. If she touches him, he’ll fall apart. He can smell her perfume and that bloody shampoo and she’s close, so close that he could bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe her in if he wanted, and he wants to. He wants to collapse into her arms and beg her to love him and hold him and never let him go, but he can’t. It’s time to rip off the band-aid. It’s time to stop torturing himself and punishing her. It’s time to let her go. 

He pushes past her and stalks toward the windows. The curtains are closed but there’s a sliver of space between them, and he stares through it at the parking lot outside. The sun has set. It’s dark out. Fitting, he thinks, since they’re finally confronting his darkness. 

She doesn’t follow him across the room. He hates that he wishes she would have. Silence hangs in the air, suffocating and oppressive. It’s nothing like the comfortable silences he’s grown accustomed to over the last week. This one is painful. He’s hurting her, and he’s hurting them, but he can’t stop. The truth hurts.

“I love you, Lucifer,” the Detective says softly into the silence. “I’m in love with you. I know you know that.” 

He turns to face her. “Knowledge and understanding aren’t the same thing, Detective. You can say it—”

“Because it’s true.

“—but it makes no bloody sense. Why do you love me? Why, when the whole world would fall at your feet if you asked, would you choose to love a monster?” 

“Stop calling yourself that.”

“It’s what I am! Demons bow to me. Do you understand what that means? They terrorize and torture for fun and they’re so bloody terrified of me that they bow.

The Detective shakes her head. “I’m not bowing, Lucifer. I’m not afraid of you.”

He narrows his eyes. She doesn’t look away. He stalks across the room toward her. The air crackles like lightning in a summer storm, but she doesn’t recoil from him. She tips her chin back to hold his gaze when he stops in front of her, her jaw set in defiance. 

He curls his hands into fists. “Maybe you should be,” he snarls. He lets his eyes transform into red. “I could hurt you. It wouldn’t be hard. I wouldn’t even need two hands. I could break you.” 

She leans closer to him. “Then do it.”

He blinks at her, taken aback. 

“You want me to flinch,” she tells him. “You want me to run so I can prove every awful thought you have about yourself right. But you’re wrong. I’m not afraid of you, Lucifer. I’m not running. You want to prove yourself right? You want to be the big, bad Devil? Then do it. Break me.”

He stares at her for a long time, his breathing short and shallow, his heart pounding in his chest. She stares back, unflinching in the face of his rage. 

He’s the one who looks away.

“You can’t hurt me,” the Detective whispers. “You couldn’t cut me with that knife last night, and you can’t hurt me now. You know why? Because you’re not evil, Lucifer. Evil doesn’t love. And I know you love me.”

“How would you know?” he demands, snapping his gaze back up to hers. “I can’t even say the bloody words—”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t feel it. And that doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded.  

“Lucifer,” she breathes. Her eyes are glassy with unshed tears again. “Did you really think I didn’t know? Did you really think that just because you can’t say three words, it negates everything else you’ve said? Everything you’ve done?”

He can feel his eyes starting to warm. His throat is tight, and his chest is tight, and he sucks in a breath. Why does he feel like he can’t breathe?

She reaches out and presses her hand over his heart, and this time he doesn’t pull away. “You said you believe in me,” she whispers. “You said I’m the only thing you believe in. Was that a lie?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t lie.” 

“Then why do you have so little faith in me? Why can’t you believe me when I say that I love you and I want you? Why don’t you believe me when I say you’re good?” 

He wants to kiss her. He wants to hold her. He wants to wrap himself around her and never ever let her go. 

He turns away from her. “You don’t understand.”

“Explain it to me then,” she says, catching his hand before he can walk away. “Stop walking away and talk to me.” 

He goes still. He stands for a moment, focused on the pressure of her fingertips against his wrist, and then he turns to face her.  

“You could love anything, Detective,” he murmurs, pulling gently out of her grasp. “Anyone. I’ve seen you do it. I’ve seen you show compassion to murderers and monsters—”

“You’re not a monster,” she interrupts. “And compassion isn’t the same as love. That’s not what we have, Lucifer. This isn’t pity. I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m in love with you.”

He closes his eyes. “Stop saying that.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve better.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. He feels her before he hears her. She steps into his space again, and then curls her fingers around his forearm. 

“Look at me.”

He opens his eyes. 

“This isn’t about me. It’s—”

“Of course it’s about you,” he interrupts, tugging his arm out of her grasp. “It’s always about you.”

“Lucifer—” 

“I lit the sun,” he says, suddenly desperate for her to understand. “I spread the stars across the sky. I looked God himself in the eye and dared to say no. I ruled Hell. I’m the Devil. And yet here you stand, a tiny, frail human with no conceivable power, and I obey you. I worship you. I am consumed by you. Everything, all of me, the fire and the blood and the Devil and the angel, all of it is yours. I am completely, utterly at your mercy and I—”

A sob stops the rest of his sentence. He swallows around his painfully tight throat and sucks in a breath, and then another, but it’s not enough. He still can’t breathe.

The Detective’s eyes are overflowing. There are tears falling slowly down her cheeks, and he wants to wipe them away but he can’t bring himself to touch her. He doesn’t deserve to touch her.

“I’m a man walking to the gallows,” he whispers, choking on the words. “I’m Joan of Arc at the stake. I know how this ends. I know that someday I’ll open my eyes and you’ll be gone. Mazikeen was right. It would be so much easier to walk away before you realize what I am and leave like all the rest. But I can’t.”

“Why?” she presses. “Why can’t you, Lucifer?”

“Because you pierce my soul. I’m half agony, half hope. In all my life, I’ve loved none but—”

He stops when he realizes that he’s unconsciously slipped into quoting someone to her again. She stares at him, her blue eyes wide, and then rage flares in his chest and explodes. 

He curls his hands into fists and turns away from her. He grabs the closest thing he can find—the TV remote sitting on the dresser—and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall with a smack and bounces off. He kicks his suitcase next, and it slams into the end of the bed. He kicks it again, relishing the pain that radiates through his foot, and then he buries his fingers in his hair and yanks so hard it brings tears to his eyes.

“Dad damn it,” he snarls. “Dad fucking damn it. I can’t even use my own words when I bloody want to.”

He stalks across the room, lowering his hands and curling them into fists again. He wants to punch something. He wants to throw things. He wants to destroy this room and everything in it and this whole bloody hotel too, all of it, the whole damn state of Pennsylvania and maybe all the states around it too. 

“Lucifer,” the Detective calls gently.

Just the sound of her voice soothes some of his agony away, and that infuriates him all the more.

“You might not be afraid of me, but that doesn’t change what I am,” he growls, turning to look at her again. “You told me once that you didn’t think I was that guy, but I am, Detective. I am. You don’t want me to start a war, but I already did. You don’t want me to hurt people, but I already have. I broke Julian’s back, remember?”

She winces, just a little, and that’s enough for him. He seizes the moment, determined to be as merciless as everyone thinks he is so that she’ll finally hit her breaking point.

“I’ve tortured demons just for speaking too loudly in my presence. I spent millennia standing in loops, watching men and women scream and beg and cry, and I felt nothing. I’ve used people. I’ve manipulated them. I’ve granted favors and destroyed lives and caused death and destruction and pain. I am everything Kinley told you I was and more. I’m venom. I’m a nightmare you’ll never wake from. And even you, even a bloody miracle, can’t love something this dark and twisted for very long.”

She’s crying again. He’s crying too. His vision is blurred and he can barely speak around how tight his throat feels but he has to get through to her. He has to make her see. 

“I’ll ruin you,” he croaks. “Maybe not right away, but I will. I’ll eclipse you. I’ll take everything good in your life and I’ll poison it. And I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to ruin you. So please, Chloe, I’m begging you, just put me out of my misery. Just go. I’ll fix the dream. I’ll give you back your child and your life, you have my word. Just...just stop giving me hope.”

She doesn’t say anything. There are still tears streaming down her face, and when she sucks in a breath, her chest hitches with the inhale. He thinks maybe, if she’s this upset, that he’s finally gotten through to her. That she’s finally going to say you’re right, I’m done. He tries not to think about how much it will hurt when she does.

She lifts her hands to her face and wipes her tears away. He wishes he could have done it for her. She tugs on her jacket the way she always does, and then she starts to walk across the room. He steps aside so she has a clear pathway to the door and closes his eyes so he won’t have to watch her walk away from him. He doesn’t want that image burned into his brain for the rest of eternity. He wants to remember her the way she looked this morning, fast asleep and more angelic than he’ll ever be.

A moment passes. When he doesn’t hear her gathering her belongings or the door opening and closing, he opens his eyes.

She’s standing in front of him. Her eyes are rimmed red from crying but she’s never looked more beautiful.

She meets his gaze, and there isn’t a trace of uncertainty in her eyes. “I’m not leaving. If you want to leave, there’s the door. But I’m not going anywhere.” 

Hope sparks in his chest and then flames, roaring into an inferno. He tries to stifle it, tries to douse it before it eats him alive, but her presence is like gasoline. She’s still here—she hasn’t left—and she’s lighting him up from the inside out.

She steps into his space, and suddenly he’s surrounded by the scent of her. She smells like early mornings and soft smiles over the rim of a coffee mug. Like late night stakeouts and shared snacks. Like laughter and sunshine and sex and love. 

Like home.

“I know you’re scared,” she murmurs. “I know the people who were supposed to love you unconditionally didn’t. I know you spent millennia alone, hating yourself for what they told you that you were, and now it’s hard to believe me when I tell you that you’re something else. And I know that at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter what I say or what I believe. It matters what you believe.” 

She lifts her hands to his face, her skin warm against his, and her touch is so gentle it makes him ache.

“But you said you believe in me,” she whispers. “So let me tell you what I see when I look at you. Let me tell you what I love about you.”

“Detective,” he starts, his voice unsteady. 

She shakes her head. “You had your turn, Lucifer. Now it’s mine.”

She drops her hands to his chest, and her gaze follows. She curls her fingers around his lapels and trails them down and then back up, and he wonders if she’s searching for the words. He wonders if it’s hard for her to think of things that she loves about him. 

She flattens her hands against his chest and lifts her gaze to his, and he knows as soon as their eyes meet that he’s wrong.

“I love the way you wear a suit,” she murmurs, smiling a little. “I love the way you smell, and the sound of your voice. I love the way you smile when you eat gummy bears and the way you close your eyes sometimes when you play the piano. I love that you wore a bracelet for Dan, and that you let Trixie paint a unicorn on your cheek, and that you have a picture of me and her in your wallet. I love how loyal you are to Linda, and how much you love Amenadiel even though you’d never admit it. I love that when I’m doing paperwork, you go to the lab and listen to Ella talk about boring science shit.”

He swallows. He didn’t realize that she’d noticed his trips to the lab. He should’ve, though. She notices everything.

“You’re a good man, Lucifer,” she continues. “And I love that man. But you’re more than that. You’re not just a man.” She curls her fingers into his lapels again. “Show me your wings.”

His heart shoots into his throat. 

“Please,” she murmurs, tilting closer to him. 

He hesitates, but there’s no point. He’s powerless against her when she looks at him like this. He glances from side to side, and then shuffles a few feet to the left and takes a step forward so that he won’t hit anything. She follows him, still clinging to his lapels. He takes a deep breath, and then rolls his shoulders and his wings unfurl. They feel massive in the hotel room, out of place and foreign, and he’s immediately self-conscious. 

She trails her gaze along his wingspan, and then down over his feathers, and then she looks up at him and smiles. 

“I love this part of you,” she tells him. “I love the way you stand a little straighter when they’re out, like you know how beautiful they are. I love how happy you are when you fly. I love the way it feels to be a thousand feet in the air and know that I’m safe because you’d never let me fall.” 

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and then reaches out and strokes her fingertips lightly over his feathers. He flinches. She pauses, watching his face, and then strokes her fingers over him again. He doesn’t flinch this time. She holds his gaze, her hand traversing the length and height of his wing, and he feels his body start to relax beneath her touch. 

“I love this,” she whispers. “I love that you trust me enough to let me touch them. That you loved me enough to shield me from Pierce’s bullets. That you were strong enough to protect me from Dan at the beach, and to fly me away in L.A.”

She lowers her hand from his wing and he misses her touch immediately, but he doesn’t dare say so. She reaches for his hands next. She curls her fingers around his, the pads of her thumbs stroking along his skin, and then she lifts their hands up between them. 

“Light up your hands.” 

He doesn’t hesitate to obey. Why would he? The only reason he can summon light at all is because of her. It’s her power as much as it’s his. 

His hands burst into flame. They’re unusually bright and hot, but she doesn’t recoil. She drops her gaze to stare at the fire blazing over her skin, but he keeps his eyes on her face. She looks awed by the light, but it’s not the awe humans usually express when they see divinity. It’s something else, something he can’t name. He just knows he likes it.

“I love that you’re the Lightbringer,” she says, looking up at him. “I love that there’s nobody else who can do what you can do. I love that my whole life, even before I knew you, you were with me because you put the sun and the stars in the sky. I love that even before you learned how to control it, you were protecting me. You’ve always, always protected me. That’s why you made me bulletproof.”

He shakes his head. “I did that for selfish reasons.”

“Loving me so much that you don’t want to say goodbye isn’t selfish, Lucifer.” 

“And if I keep you when you deserve better?” he challenges, though his voice is soft. “How is that not selfish?”

She smiles. “You can’t keep me if I don’t want to be kept. You asked me to choose. I chose you. I’ll always choose you.”

The resolve in her voice is unmistakable. He stares at her, searching for a trace of hesitation in her eyes, but there isn’t one. He doesn’t lie, but he knows when others are. And she’s not lying.

She swallows, the elegant line of her throat constricting, and then she squeezes his hands. 

“Show me your Devil face.”

He’s so stunned by the request that the flames on his hands extinguish instantly. He gapes at her, and then he tries to pull his hands back, but she tightens her hold on him. 

“Don’t run,” she whispers. “You promised you wouldn’t run.”

“Detective…”

“You asked me once if I trusted you to keep me safe. And now I’m asking you the same thing. Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

There’s so much sincerity in her eyes it takes his breath away. “I want to,” he whispers.

“That’s not an answer.” She squeezes his hands again. “Yes or no, babe.”

He studies her. He thinks of L.A., and how all the people she loves most in the world begged her to abandon him, and she wouldn’t. He thinks of Vegas, when he tried to leave her and she wouldn’t let him. He thinks of Denver, and the certainty in her voice when she said every second of it, and the ring that’s hanging around her neck right now. He thinks of kissing her beneath the stars, and the sound of her laugh in the bath last night, and the way she looked at him this morning over breakfast.

He swallows around the tightness of his throat. “Yes.”

“Then show me your face. Your wings. All of it. Show me the Devil.”

His heart is racing, pounding, slamming in his chest. His angelic wings are still out and they feel suddenly heavy, as if they know what they’ll soon transform into. The room feels small and frigidly cold, but her hands are warm and soft in his and her eyes are the bluest he’s ever seen them.

I choose you. I see you. I love you.

He takes a deep breath, and then pulls his hands gently from her grasp and takes a few steps away from her. Her hands fall to her sides. He holds her gaze for a moment, wanting to remember how she looks when she’s not terrified, and then he closes his eyes and wills his body to transform into its darkest form. 

There’s a ripping sound, and he knows it’s his shirt, but he doesn’t lift his hands to brush the tattered pieces of fabric off his body. He waits for her sharp inhale of horror, but it never comes. There’s no gasp. No muttered exclamation. No sound of fleeing footsteps or the door slamming closed. 

“Look at me,” her voice cuts through the room. It’s filled with gentle authority, the kind she uses with her daughter, and for some reason that makes him want to cry. 

He opens his eyes. He stares at the floor between them for a minute, trying to work up the courage, and then he lifts his gaze slowly to meet hers. 

He doesn’t see fear. There’s no horror or terror or disgust. All he sees is the same blue eyes he saw a moment ago, looking at him with so much love it takes his breath away. 

She steps forward, slowly erasing the distance between them. He goes rigid, his wings spreading wider as his body goes taut, but she doesn’t startle in surprise when he looms even larger. She doesn’t pull back or hesitate. She keeps going. She reaches out, and when he feels her hands curl around his fingers and their talon-like nails, he sucks in a surprised breath. She holds his gaze and doesn’t let go. She waits until he exhales, and then she looks down at their hands. He follows her lead. 

His hands look monstrous compared to hers. Huge and misshapen and hideous. But her thumbs are stroking over his red skin the same way they have over his normal skin so many times before. 

She lifts her gaze to meet his, and then he watches as she lifts his hands to her mouth and presses a kiss against one set of his knuckles, and then another. He freezes, waiting for revulsion to shiver across her expression, but she doesn’t seem at all bothered by the roughness or the heat beneath her lips.

“I love you,” she whispers into his hands.

She lowers their hands slowly, and then her fingers trail over his wrists, up his forearms and along his biceps, and then over to his chest. Her touch is cool, her skin smooth, and he tries not to shiver in pleasure. He watches as she traces her fingertips gently over his scarred and scarlet flesh, her bottom lip tucked beneath her teeth. She brushes the tattered remains of his shirt off his body and onto the floor, but even once it’s gone, she doesn’t stop touching him. Her hands move over him, tracing every line and ridge and crater of his ruined body as if she wants to memorize him. 

She leans forward and presses a kiss to the center of his chest. “I love you,” she whispers into his skin. 

He closes his eyes. Half of him wants to pull away from her, to recoil from the gentleness that this version of him doesn’t deserve, but the other half of him is straining forward, desperate for her touch, desperate for another reassurance and another and another. The compulsions war in his chest, and he can’t seem to choose, so he just stays rooted in place, his chest rising and falling a step faster than normal. 

She kisses his chest again, and then again, and then she leans back and lifts her head to look at him. She slides her hands upward, along his neck and up to his face, and then she steps forward and the front of her jacket brushes against his skin. 

“I love this part of you,” she whispers, her thumbs stroking over his cheeks. “I love that you treat justice like it’s sacred. I love that even though you hate it, you became this version of yourself again and went back to Hell so that the world would be safe. I love that even when you sat on that throne, and you had no reason to show anyone mercy, you saw that Nada didn’t deserve the hand she’d been dealt, and you gave her peace even though you got nothing out of it. But most—”

Her voice breaks, and she stops and presses her lips together. Her eyes are brimming with tears. His own eyes feel full too, but he’s trying desperately to stay in control. 

She clears her throat and tries again. “But most of all,” she says, her voice unsteady, “I love that even though you have every reason not to trust me with this because of the way I’ve acted in the past, you’re standing in front of me right now showing me who you are. Because seeing you, loving you, is the greatest privilege of my life.”

She tilts a little closer to him, and her chest presses against his. 

“I told you, Lucifer,” she whispers. “You’re my last love. Devil, Lightbringer, angel, the guy in the Prada suit who drinks whiskey like it’s water. It doesn’t matter what form you’re in. I’m going to love you until the day I die. And then I’m going to love you for all of eternity after that. Even if I don’t get to spend it with you.”

She strokes her thumbs over his face, and then she pulls his mouth down toward hers and kisses him.

The dam finally breaks. Tears flood from his eyes. She brushes them away and keeps kissing him, murmuring against his lips that she loves him, only him, forever and always with all her heart and soul.  

He transforms. The scarred red monster disappears and it’s him again, the smooth skin and human body that she fell in love with, and she leans back from his mouth in surprise. He pulls her back against his chest again, burying a hand in her hair and kissing her like his life depends on it. He thinks maybe it does. He kisses her through his tears until he can’t anymore, and he has to tilt forward and bury his face in the curve of her shoulder and cry. 

She wraps her arms around him and holds him, one of her hands combing softly through the hair on the back of his head. He fists his hands in the fabric of her jacket and clings to her, sobbing. It feels like an exorcism, like digging blood and grime out of a festering wound and then dousing it in alcohol, but for the first time, he doesn’t shy away from the pain. He doesn’t try to run or hide. He just stands in her arms, broken, and she puts him back together. He’s raw with grief, but her presence is a balm on every part of him that burns. 

Eventually, his tears dry and his breathing evens out. He nuzzles into her neck, breathing her in, and then leans back to look at her. 

She smiles at him when their eyes meet. She’s beautiful. She’s the sunrise, the blazing noon, the sunset, the stars. He’s fire, but she’s the match.

He lifts his hands to her face and then presses his forehead against hers. “This is real,” he whispers.

“Yeah, babe,” she whispers back. “This is real.” 


Lucifer is staring at the ceiling when the Detective bolts awake from a nightmare. 

Unlike the previous night, it’s her daughter’s name she’s gasping this time instead of his. She sounds devastated. Lucifer sits up and reaches for her. She flinches, but he doesn’t pull back. He smooths his hand down her back and murmurs her name. A sob catches in her throat, and she turns toward him and buries her face in his neck and cries. 

He holds her, rubbing a gentle pattern on her back, but she can’t seem to settle down. He aches. He lifts his hands to her face and gently pushes her back so he can look her in the eye. 

Her cheeks are streaked with tears. He brushes her hair back from her face. “Tell me what you need, love,” he whispers into the darkness. “Tell me what to do.” 

She sucks in a shaky breath, searching his eyes, and then leans closer to him. “Make me feel something else.”

He frowns, confused, but then she tilts even closer and brushes her lips over his and he understands.

“Detective,” he murmurs, unsure. 

She presses her forehead against his. “Please,” she whispers. “Remind me what’s real.”

He hesitates. But then he remembers what she said earlier—and when I told him, he did it—and he leans forward to kiss her. She responds instantly, her arms lifting to circle his neck, and he pulls her as close as he can.

It isn’t the first time he’s been asked to be a distraction. But this feels different. She feels different. She always has. He can feel it in the way her fingertips trace his skin, the way her mouth moves over his, the way she arches against him. She loves him. She loves him. 

He loves her. 

He doesn’t tell her. He’s ready, now that he’s faced down his past and knows she loves all of him, to say the words. But he doesn’t want her to associate them with this nightmare. He doesn’t want to say what he knows she’s longing to hear when everything around her has fallen apart. She deserves more than that. Better than that. 

He shows her instead. He makes love to her. He worships her. He caresses and kisses every inch of her skin. He memorizes every dip and curve and freckle and scar, tracing them with his tongue. He calls on thousands of years of experience and on all the things he’s learned about her body and he makes her forget everything except him. 

She’s beautiful. He tells her so, his lips painting the words over the inside of her thigh. When he strokes his tongue over her, she makes a soft, desperate sound in the back of her throat and grabs a fistful of his hair. He sets to work, slowly bringing her right to the edge, and then stops just before she flies over. 

He lifts his face to hers and kisses her until her breathing slows. Then he works her up again, this time with his fingers, whispering in her ear that he wants to do nothing but this, nothing but her, for the rest of eternity. When her body starts the tell-tale shudder, he stops and kisses her again. She floats down from the precipice, and then he trails his lips down her body and starts again with his mouth. 

He’s never edged her like this before. He’s built her up and then left her hanging on the precipice but never so many times without relief. Never like this. 

She lasts longer than he thought she would. She’s so absurdly efficient in every aspect of her life but here, tonight, she lets him draw her out and wind her so tight that she’s nearly incoherent when she finally hits her limit. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers. 

“I’ve so many things to tell you,” he breathes in Italian as he curls his fingers inside her. “Or rather only one, but that one as huge as the ocean, as deep and infinite as the sea. You are my love and my whole life.”

They’re someone else's words again—Puccini’s words—and they feel like a meager offering when the ones she wants are just on the tip of his tongue, but he won’t compromise on this. She deserves better than a heated confession in bed. 

“Please,” she begs. “Please, Lucifer.”

“My love,” he repeats, this time in English. 

And then he closes his mouth around her and finally gives her the release that her body is begging him for. She gasps, her skin flushed and her head thrown back, and he stares. He’s never seen anything so beautiful. He’ll never love anyone more. 

He kisses his way up her body as she shudders through the final waves of pleasure. He buries his face in her neck and inhales the scent of her skin. Her nails trace over the back of his head as her breathing evens out. 

“I love you,” she whispers in his ear.

He presses his lips to her skin and mouths the words silently into her neck. 

I love you too.

Chapter 26: Twenty-Six

Notes:

A few things:

1. You guys continue to say the absolute nicest things in my comments and I continue to love you for it. Thank you. I want to respond to all of you, I promise I do, but like...there are a lot of you now. (Insert internal screaming GIF here.) I apologize if I didn’t get to yours. Please know I saw it and I loved it even if I didn’t reply.

2. Yes, I saw the trailer. No, I did not change anything in this fic in response. Please don’t read this chapter or any of the other chapters I post from now on as my “responses” to the trailer or to 5b once it’s out. They’re not. They’ve been written for weeks and the plot has been set in stone for months. There are going to be some things that are similar, and there are going to be some things that are direct contradictions, but it’s all just coincidence. I promise.

3. This fic is divided into four arcs: 1) The one with all the background and set up, 2) The one where the spell hits and screws everything up, 3) The one with the road trip, and 4) The finale arc. This chapter starts the finale arc. It is a rollercoaster, y’all. Buckle your seatbelts, put your helmets on, keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times, and prepare yourselves for some of my best (and by best, I mean absolute meanest) cliffhangers yet.

4. I am starting to think y’all come back and read my comment replies to other people cause I made *one* comment about maybe creating a Twitter account in a chapter 24 reply and BOOM y’all up in my comments in chapter 25 asking me to join. You guys are so cute I can’t stand you. I bit the bullet and made an account. I’m not familiar with Lucifer Twitter (be patient with me) and I don’t know how to find y’all, so you’ll have to find me if you’re interested. I’m JCBeckett_. I’ve got somewhere to be for a few hours after I post, so I won’t be active right away. Just FYI.

Kay, that’s all. Love you boos.

Chapter Text

Maze is drinking whiskey when her phone rings. 

She glances at the screen, reads the name on the Caller ID, and then lifts it to her ear. 

“You better have good news for me, Jack,” she snarls. “They weren’t in that stupid town in Illinois you sent me to, and they’re not in Bumfuck Pennsylvania either, and if you send me to one more damn farm town that they’ve already left, I’m going to kill you and make it hurt.”

“I found their license plate number.”

Maze frowns. “What?”

“You said they were in that Super 8 in Illinois, right? But they left before you got there. So I nailed down a potential time frame, and then I programmed my algorithm to check traffic cams within two hundred miles, and—”

“I don’t give a shit how you did it, Jack. Just get to the point.”

“I found them,” he says, excitement lifting his voice. “They’re in an Escalade. I’ve been waiting for the license plate to ping, and it just did. I know where they are right now. Like, right now.”

“Where?”

“They went through a toll booth in New Jersey two minutes ago.”

A memory surfaces in Maze’s mind.

Once upon a time, the Devil went to New York City. 


Chloe and Lucifer get to New York around four in the afternoon. 

Traffic isn’t terrible, which is nice. Battery Park is on the very tip of Manhattan, and since they’re meeting with Death at dawn, they agreed it was best to stay as close to the park as possible. Back in Vegas, Lucifer floated the idea of treating themselves to a penthouse suite in one of the expensive hotels nearby after a week of sitting in the car and staying in roadside motels. But Chloe hadn’t shared his enthusiasm—too many people, too many cameras, too many opportunities to get caught so close to the finish line—so they settled on booking an Airbnb under their fake identities. 

Chloe doesn’t actually know anything about the Airbnb—she let Lucifer choose it, since he was pouting about not getting to stay in a penthouse suite—so when she walks in the front door, she’s stunned. 

“Wow,” she breathes. 

It isn’t a huge apartment, but it doesn’t need to be. There’s a kitchen to her right, with gleaming countertops and a round table set for four. There’s a doorway up ahead to her left, and she can see the end of a bed covered in white linens. Up ahead, just beyond a sitting area with comfortable looking furniture arranged on a rug, is a wall of massive windows with stunning views of the city and the park and the water. 

The front door clicks shut behind her, and Lucifer appears at her side with a grin. “Do you like it?”

Chloe leaves her bags on the floor and crosses the apartment to stand in front of the windows. The trees in the park are changing colors with the fall weather, and the blue sky is a shade lighter than the water, and it’s just…

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes. She turns to face him. “How much does this cost a night?”

“Does it matter?” he asks as he adjusts his cufflink. “It’s just money.”

She snorts. “Only rich people say that.”

“I’m not rich, darling. I’m filthy rich.”

She laughs. He crosses the room and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. She drapes her arms around his neck and smiles. 

“Filthy’s a good word for you,” she muses. “Lots of ways to apply it.”

“You would know,” he murmurs, ducking forward to kiss her. 

She smiles against his lips and kisses him back. There’s a promise in it, but no immediacy. It’s just a kiss, and she likes that. It’s going to be hard, once they get back to L.A. and back to work, for her to remember that she can’t just kiss him anytime she wants.

She leans back eventually, and he reaches up to brush her hair behind her ear. She left it down today because he asked her to this morning after she got out of the shower. He said it shyly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to ask, and she’d kissed him so hard he stumbled backward into the wall.

Now, he can’t seem to keep his hands out of it. He curls a strand around his index finger. 

“I know you’re wary of spending the night in the city,” he says in a low voice. “Would you like to order food and stay in for the evening?”

She considers the question. It’s tempting. Even if she wasn’t wary and tired, she’s a homebody. She likes staying in. But then she glances out the windows at the trees of Battery Park in the distance, and she smiles. 

“I’ve got a better idea.”

And that’s how they end up sprawled on a blanket in the grass in Battery Park. 

Lucifer is sitting, his long legs stretched out before him, his eyes following people as they walk by. Chloe is lying on the blanket next to him, her head resting on his thigh, staring up at the stunning oranges and reds and yellows of trees she doesn’t get to see in Los Angeles. One of Lucifer’s hands is planted on the blanket behind him to hold himself upright, but the other is buried in her hair, his fingers stroking gently through the strands. It feels amazing. She’s so relaxed she thinks she might melt straight into the ground. 

She doesn’t know how long they’ve been here. A while, probably, since the sun is starting to set, but she has no desire to check the time. They’ve been asking each other questions and swapping answers and acting like any other normal couple who decided to enjoy a gorgeous fall Saturday in the park. They’re not normal, of course. But it feels like it, and she’s too busy basking to let logic—or their looming date with Death—get in the way. 

“Best concert you’ve ever been to,” she asks, drumming her fingers idly on her stomach. 

Lucifer hums. “I attended a particularly raucous Led Zeppelin concert once.” 

“But was it the best?”

He glances down at her with lifted eyebrows. “You doubt me?”

She smiles. “I’m just asking if it was the concert you enjoyed or if it was all the sex you probably had.”

He grins wolfishly. “There were several sexcapades that night.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“None so pleasurable as those I share with you, of course,” he murmurs, his fingers dancing along her hairline. 

She smiles at him. She’s not jealous of his previous lovers anymore. How could she be when he belongs to her? But she loves him for offering reassurance, and if she wasn’t so comfortable right now, she’d sit up and kiss him. 

“So was it the best?” she presses. 

He tilts his head. “I’m not sure. I suppose there were…” He trails off and furrows his eyebrows. “You know, you’re right. It wasn’t.”

“So what was?”

“Pavarotti.”

“The opera guy?”

He smiles down at her. “Yes, darling. The opera guy. I saw him perform E lucevan le stelle live and it was exquisite. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

He stares off into the distance, a wistful look on his face, and Chloe watches him with a smile. He’s such a nerd.

He notices her amusement when he glances down at her again, and he furrows his eyebrows at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

He smirks. “Has my nerdiness turned you on again?”

“Pleading the fifth,” she says with a laugh.

He smiles. He always smiles when she laughs. She likes that. 

He combs his hand through her hair. “What about you?”

“*NSYNC, obviously.”

He casts his eyes heavenward. “Bloody hell, Detective.”

“Look, it takes a lot of talent to sing and dance like that simultaneously. Plus they were so hot. They had these Adidas tracksuits on, and it was so...” She sighs instead of finishing.

Lucifer shakes his head. “I will never, ever wear an Adidas tracksuit.”

“You would if I asked you to.”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

She grins. “Sucks when you can’t lie, huh?”

He rolls his eyes at her, but he’s smiling. “So is that one of your happiest memories? Fawning over Adidas clad boybanders with your friends?”

“I don’t know about happiest,” she says, stretching a little and then resettling on the blanket. “But it was pretty great. My parents got me tickets for my birthday. My mom was supposed to take me and two of my friends, but a few days before the concert the studio called her about doing reshoots for a movie she’d just finished. So my dad went with us.”

“Was he miserable?”

Chloe shakes her head. “No. I mean, it wasn’t his style of music at all, and it couldn’t have been fun to be surrounded by thousands of screaming teenage girls, but he smiled the whole time. That’s just who he was.”

“What do you mean?”

Chloe chews her lip and studies the fall foliage as she tries to figure out a way to explain it. 

“My dad was different than a lot of my friends’ parents. I knew he loved me, but I also felt like he liked me, you know? He was always interested in whatever I was interested in. He never made me feel stupid for liking the things that I liked. It’s one of the things I’ve always been really insistent about with Dan. It shouldn’t matter if Trixie loves Mars and aliens, or Barbies and dresses, or football and race cars, or even all that stuff at once. Let her love what she wants, you know?”

When Lucifer doesn’t say anything, Chloe glances away from the trees and at him instead. She goes still when she sees the pensive, slightly sad expression on his face.

“Babe?” she says, reaching up to stroke her fingers over his shin. “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “I was just thinking that if I’d had a father like yours, or a mother like you, I might have turned out differently.”

Chloe’s chest aches. “I love the way you turned out.”

His eyes flicker over her face, and then his expression changes. His eyebrows furrow, and his lips part as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. 

Chloe feels like there’s tension in the air all of a sudden. Not bad tension. Just...tension. Like the way it feels to reach the top of the first giant hill on a rollercoaster, but the car hasn’t started the descent yet. 

“What?” she murmurs.

He shakes his head a little, and then smiles. “So if that wasn’t your happiest memory, then what is?”

Chloe hesitates for a second, wondering if she should press him on whatever he was just thinking, but decides against it. “You mean, like, ever? In my whole life?”

“Indeed.”

She blows out a breath. “I don’t know. I have to pick just one?”

“You can pick three.” He holds up his index finger. “But none of them can involve me.”

She shoots him a look. “Ego much?”

“Look at me,” he says, gesturing at himself. “I’m a walking, talking hit of happiness for you humans.”

Chloe laughs. 

He smiles and combs his fingers through her hair. “I know you, Detective. You’re disgustingly polite and painfully kind. You’ll feel obligated to include me in at least one of your three answers.”

She frowns. “You’re not an obligation, Lucifer.”

“Perhaps,” he acknowledges. “But I’d like to know what makes you happy other than the Devil.”

Chloe considers arguing with him but doesn’t. “All right,” she sighs. “Give me a minute to think.”

“I’ll give you two because I’m a generous lover. As you’re well aware.”

She rolls her eyes. He leers at her but refrains from additional innuendos. His hand continues to stroke through her hair, and she stares up at the trees and the sky that’s starting to color with the sunset and thinks. 

“The day Trixie was born,” she says. “Giving birth sucks, but then they put her in my arms and…” 

She trails off as she remembers it. She struggles briefly with the guilt and grief in her chest—it’s been a week since she saw her daughter, and she misses her more today than she has any other day—but the knowledge that she’s so close to ending this nightmare soothes her somewhat. 

“I didn’t know it was possible to love someone that much,” she finishes.

Lucifer smiles. “And number two?”

“We took Trixie to Disneyland once,” she replies. “It was hot, and there were a ton of people, and it was around the time when things started to get bad between me and Dan. That’s part of the reason we went, actually. We thought some family time would be good for us.”

“This doesn’t sound happy, Detective. In fact, it sounds rather terrible.”

She laughs. “It wasn’t great until we got there. Trixie was so over the moon excited, and joy like that is contagious, you know? We ate food and rode rides and took pictures with characters and it was like everything else just paused. For one day, there was nothing wrong. Trixie still says it was one of the best days of her life.”

“Well I’m glad Beatrice had a lovely time, but what about you? These are meant to be your happiest memories, darling, not hers.”

“Her happy memories are mine. It makes me happy when she’s happy.”

He sighs. “I suppose I’ll allow that.”

“Well thank you, your majesty.”

He laughs. “And number three?”

Chloe presses her lips together and hums. She rifles through her memories, trying to find one that stands out, and she does.

“The first commercial I ever booked,” she tells him. “My mom was so thrilled, but I was terrified. I had, like, one line and I couldn’t seem to get it right. So my mom called my dad, and he drove over to the set and gave me a pep talk, and boom. I nailed it in one take. We did a couple more, and then he took us for ice cream. It was the first time we ever went to Bennett’s, that ice cream stand I told you about.”

“I remember,” he says. “He got rum raisin, you got Fancy Nancy.”

Chloe smiles at him. “Yeah.” 

“I may have to try this Fancy Nancy when we return to Los Angeles.”

An image of Lucifer standing in front of the red and white stripes of the Bennett’s stand, struggling to lick his ice cream cone before it melts while Trixie laughs at him, sparks a deep sense of longing in Chloe’s chest. 

“What about you?” she wonders.

He frowns. “What about me?”

“What are three of your happiest memories? I mean, I know you’re immortal so you have way more to sort through than I do. But can you narrow it down to three?” 

He smiles. “I believe I can, yes. Are you ready?”

“Yep. Lay it on me.”

He holds up his index finger. “Our half date.” He holds up two fingers. “The night you took me stargazing.” He holds up three fingers. “Last night.”

For a moment, Chloe can do nothing except stare at him. He smiles at her and returns his hand to her hair, apparently unbothered by her shock. Somewhere nearby, a group of kids scream with laughter. A breeze ruffles the trees. A dog barks in the distance. 

“Those are all moments with me,” she finally manages to say.

Lucifer smiles. “Wonderful deduction, Detective. No wonder your solve rate is so high. Truly one of L.A.’s finest.”

He’s teasing her, but she’s too caught up in what he said to make a clever retort. 

“But you said I couldn’t pick moments with you,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows. “You shouldn’t have picked moments with me either. You broke your own rules.”

“I’m the Devil, darling,” he points out with a grin. “Breaking the rules is what I do.”

Chloe stares at him. He stares back, still grinning. She sits up and twists toward him so that they’re eye level and facing each other.

“Lucifer,” she starts. But she’s not sure how to finish. 

His grin fades. He lifts his hand to her face. “I searched for millennia for happiness,” he murmurs. “But I didn’t find it until I found you.”

Chloe’s eyes sting with tears. “Not romantic my ass,” she whispers. 

He laughs, and she kisses it from his lips. 


Lucifer nearly blurts out I love you at the park. 

Truth be told, he’s spent the whole day nearly blurting it out. He almost told her this morning, when she burrowed closer to him beneath the sheets and murmured You’re like my own personal space heater. He almost told her when she asked the barista at Starbucks to leave room for cream in his coffee so that he’d have room for his whiskey, and when she sang along to Edwin McCain’s I’ll Be on the radio, and then again when she cursed at a pickup truck that cut them off on the highway. He almost said it when she laughed at one of his puns when they went through a drive thru for lunch, and when she spent ten minutes explaining Beanie Babies to him, and then when she kissed him in their Airbnb. 

But the park. Bloody hell, the park. The fall breeze blowing through the strands of her hair and sending the scent of her shampoo floating past his nose. Her head resting on his thigh. The brilliant shade of her eyes in the sunlight, and the sound of her laugh, and the way she can’t stop staring at the fall-colored leaves. 

The words are right there, right on the tip of his tongue, and he longs to say them. He wants to shout them and sing them and hire a plane to write them across the sky. He wants to murmur them in her ear while they dance. He wants to breathe them against her lips when she kisses him. He wants to whisper them into her skin in the dark when they’re tangled in the sheets and each other.

He loves her. 

But he doesn’t tell her. He can’t. Nothing has changed. They’re thousands of miles from home and he hasn’t kept his word yet—she doesn’t have her life back yet—and he doesn’t want her to associate his long-awaited declaration with Dream’s nightmare. He wants it to be special. He wants it to be romantic and grand and perfect. 

So he waits. 

When the sun starts to dip beneath the horizon, the Detective tells him they should probably go. The park closes at dusk, and the last thing they need is to be approached by a cop. He reluctantly gets to his feet, and as she folds the blanket, he pulls his phone out and searches for a restaurant nearby since they’ve yet to eat dinner. He finds a tavern that reminds him of The Paddock and checks the menu, and when he sees that it’s mostly burgers and fries, he looks up at her. 

“Interested in grabbing a bite while we’re out?”

She tilts her head. “As long as it’s not too crowded or too fancy.”

“I can assure you it’s not the second,” he says, reaching for her hand. “As for the first, we’ll just have to check and see, won’t we?”

It only takes them ten minutes to get there on foot. He’s not typically the kind to enjoy walking to dinner, but the weather is beautiful and the Detective is holding his hand and it feels...normal. Like he’s not the Devil, and they’re not fugitives, and they’re not planning to meet Death soon. They’re just a couple in love, walking to dinner on a Saturday night, too caught up in each other to think of much else. 

The tavern isn’t particularly full, and while there is a camera mounted above the front door, the Detective doesn’t seem concerned. 

“It’s old,” she murmurs, eyeing the camera. “I’d be surprised if it works, but even if it does, it’s probably not hooked up to a central system.”

“I’ve no idea what that means,” Lucifer replies.

She smiles. “It means the only way someone can access their footage is if they come here and get a physical copy. I’ve had to do it during cases before.”

“Ah. So we needn’t worry about Maze’s hackers then, hm?”

She frowns. “Maze has hackers?” 

“Oh yes. Several. She’s quite skilled at bounty hunting, but even she needs some digital assistance every now and then.” He gestures toward the staircase in the back of the bar. “Shall we go upstairs and seek out a bit more privacy?”

She nods. He leads her by the hand through the bar, and then up the steps. There are even fewer people upstairs, and they snag a booth along the wall that’s tucked around a corner and thus hidden from view of the stairs. A waitress appears soon after, and then the Detective prompts him with another question, and they fall into the same pattern they’ve been in all day. 

It happens when they’re nearly finished with their burgers and fries. She’s explaining why she hates ketchup. She’s got a few bites of her burger left, but she flips the top bun off and eats just the bacon and then pushes her plate away. A few strands of hair fall into her eyes as she talks. She pushes them behind her ear and then folds her arms on the table. Her nose scrunches adorably in distaste when she mentions the purple ketchup fad of the early 2000s, and he thinks, I could listen to this woman talk about ketchup forever. 

And then it hits him. 

He loves her. 

And he wants her to know.

“Lucifer?” she says.

He snaps to attention. “Hm?”

She smirks at him. “What are you thinking about? Please tell me it’s not sex related, because I can’t do ketchup sex. I want to throw up just thinking about it.”

He doesn’t answer. She studies him, and her smirk slowly fades into a concerned frown. 

“Lucifer?” she says, uncertainty creeping into her voice. “What’s wrong?”

He knows he needs to answer her. But when he opens his mouth, nothing comes out. He can’t seem to remember how to string a sentence together. His entire vocabulary has deserted him save for three words. Those three words. 

So he says them.

“I love you.”

He’s met with silence. 

She looks completely, utterly stunned. Her mouth has fallen open, and her eyes are wide, and she’s sitting as still as a statue. 

The words seem to echo as they hang in the air between them. He wonders if he should regret blurting them out so unceremoniously, but he doesn’t. The only thing he regrets is that he didn’t say them sooner. He should have said them every day since this nightmare started. He should’ve said them to her in that evidence closet. He should’ve said them on his balcony before he left for Hell, and when they danced at her prom, and on that beach before she kissed him. He should have said them during their very first case, when he knew that she was different, and that he was different with her.

Her eyebrows furrow a little, and then she whispers, “What did you say?” 

He wonders if she thinks she misheard him, or if she’s trying to give him an out just in case his impulsiveness got the best of him. Either way, it makes him ache. 

He leans forward and holds her gaze intently. “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

She stares at him, speechless. 

“I was going to wait,” he says into the silence. “I didn’t want to say it until the nightmare was over. I wanted it to be special. But I realize now that’s ridiculous because, well, every moment with you is special.”

Tears are welling up in her eyes. She swallows, her throat constricting. “Lucifer,” she murmurs. “If you’re saying it because—”

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” he cuts her off gently. “It’s always been true. First love, last love, everything in between. It’s you, Chloe. Always you. I love you.”

Hope lights her eyes, and then a breathtaking smile starts to blossom across her face. “You mean it?” 

He smiles too. “Heart and soul.”


Zatanna is next in line to order at her favorite taco truck when goosebumps race across her skin and a quiet, otherworldly voice whispers in the back of her mind. 

Danger. 

She hesitates just long enough to glance at her surroundings—no one is looking at her, and the guy behind her in line is glued to his phone—then closes her eyes and mutters a word and wills herself to disappear. 

When she opens her eyes again, she’s standing in a bedroom at a safehouse in Santa Monica. Chloe Decker’s kid is sitting at a desk in the corner of the room. Her head is resting on her arms, which are folded on top of a math textbook. Judging by the pencil that’s close to falling out of one of her hands, she was doing her homework when she fell asleep. But it’s not Trixie or her homework that Zatanna is worried about. 

It’s the man standing over her. 

He has a newspaper in one hand, and a cell phone in the other, and he appears to be taking a picture. He’s wearing the uniform of a police officer, but Zatanna knows it’s fake. This man is not a cop. He’s a threat. 

She holds her hand out and mutters under her breath. The cell phone flies out of his hand, across the room, and into her palm. 

The man whirls around in surprise. When he sees her, his expression twists into something murderous. Zatanna gestures at him as she murmurs a few more words, and his body flies across the room just like his phone. Instead of ending up in her hand, though, he collapses onto his knees before her. He struggles, but he can’t move beneath the invisible force of her magic.

“Release me!” he growls, still trying and failing to stand.

Trixie startles at the sound of his voice and stirs. 

Zatanna lifts her other hand, and Trixie goes back to sleep. Zatanna turns her attention back to the man kneeling before her. 

“Shut up.”

He opens his mouth, but she flicks her hand. His lips seal themselves closed. His eyes widen, and she thinks she sees a hint of fear, but she doesn’t care. She glances at Trixie, and when she’s sure the kid is fast asleep, she looks down at the phone in her hand. 

There’s a text message conversation on the screen, but there’s only one text and it’s not even a text. It’s a photo. Trixie is in the background, asleep, and the newspaper is in the foreground. It reminds Zatanna of a photo a kidnapper would take. 

Her blood boils. She searches through the phone for a minute or two, trying to figure out who was on the receiving end of the text, but there’s nothing. She’s half tempted to call the number and see who picks up, but that’s not her call to make. It’s Chloe and Lucifer’s.

Zatanna looks up at the man who’s still kneeling before her. She dismisses the enchantment that has his lips sealed and then asks, “Who are you?”

He sneers at her. “I don’t answer to you.”

Zatanna flicks her fingers and murmurs, and the man’s eyes bulge. He gasps for breath as if someone is choking him. 

She bends forward to look him in the eye. “I’m not a girl you want to mess with,” she warns in a low, dangerous voice. “Tell me who you are, or I’m going to turn you inside out like a t-shirt.”

His face is slowly turning crimson. Zatanna lets him struggle for another second or two, and then she flicks her fingers. He gasps immediately, gulping in breath after breath as if he was just underwater. 

“I don’t have all day,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “Answer the question.”

He looks up at her with a glare. “I am Malacoda of Hell.”

That brings her up short. “Hell?” she repeats. 

He bares his teeth and snarls. “That’s what I said.”

“Wohs flesruoy,” Zatanna mutters.  

The man’s face briefly morphs into its true form.

Zatanna frowns, confused. “You’re a demon.” 

“Yes,” he hisses, his black eyes glittering in the dimness of the room. “And you’re right to be afraid.”

She snorts. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not afraid of you. If anyone should be afraid, it’s you. Your king will be livid when he finds out you were here.”

“I am here under orders from my king,” the demon snarls. 

Zatanna frowns. “That’s not possible. This child is under Lucifer’s protection.”

“Lord Morningstar doesn’t protect human spawn,” the demon spits. “You speak of the Imposter.”

“Imposter?” Zatanna echoes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ll see,” the demon says with a wicked smile. “Soon, the whole world will see. War will come, and Hell will ascend, and we will crush you humans beneath our heels and laugh.”

Zatanna’s blood runs cold. 

“Dnib,” she murmurs. Thick ropes appear as if out of nowhere and bind the demon’s arms tightly to his sides. He snarls at her and gnashes his teeth, but she ignores him. 

She presses her fingers against a small tattoo on her wrist and whispers, “I need you.”

A split second later, John materializes next to her. He looks worried. “What’s wrong, love?” he says, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Zatanna ignores the spark that shudders through her body at his touch and nods at the demon. “This demon says Lucifer sent him.” She holds up the phone. “He texted someone a picture of the kid.”

John glances at the phone and then at the demon. “That’s impossible,” he says, shaking his head. “I talked to Luci an hour ago. They’re in New York.”

“Imposter!” the demon says, spit flying from his mouth with his vehemence. “You speak of the Imposter!”

John frowns. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“The plan is already in motion,” the demon says, his eyes wild. “Lord Morningstar will use the human to bring the Imposter to his knees and then war will come. Blood will run through the streets like water and the Prince of Darkness will take his rightful throne.”

“I don’t have time for demon riddles,” John growls. He lifts his hand threateningly, and sparks appear at the ends of his fingers. “Tell me who the Imposter is, or I’ll send you back to Hell.”

The demon laughs. “Do as you please, human. You may send me down, but Lord Morningstar will bring me back up.”

John narrows his eyes. “I seriously doubt that. He’ll flay you alive when he finds out you were here.”

The demon sneers. “He’s the one who sent me.”

John frowns, and then understanding hits Zatanna like a lightning bolt.

“John,” she says, darting her hand out to grab his arm. “Lucifer’s twin. His identical twin. The one who pretended to be him.”

John frowns at her. “Michael?”

“Imposter,” the demon howls, jerking against the ropes binding him. “He plays at being our king, but we know the truth!”

John’s confused frown dissolves into understanding. “They think Michael is Lucifer. And I bet he’s working with Dream.”

“Forget Dream,” Zatanna says. “He said they’d use a human to bring the Imposter to his knees. And there’s only one human Lucifer will bow for.” 

All the color drains from John’s face. “Chloe.”

“Go,” Zatanna says, pushing his shoulder. “You have to warn Lucifer. Now.

“Stay with the kid,” John commands. 

And then he grabs the demon by the collar of his shirt and disappears.


“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Lucifer’s voice rumbles through his chest, and Chloe can feel the vibration against her cheek where it’s resting over his heart. She smiles and presses her nose into his skin and breathes him in. He smells like sweat and sex and Lucifer, and she’s so happy she feels like she’s weightless. She’s lost count of how many times he’s said it since dinner, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

She lifts her head to look at him and rests her chin on the back of her hand. “No take-backsies.” 

He smiles. “Never.”

A flurry of emotion whirls and then knots in her chest. “I love you too.”

He winks. “That’s just the multiple orgasms talking.”

She laughs, and the knot dissolves. He traces his fingertips over her bare back, up the curve of her spine and then over her shoulder blades in a lazy pattern. He smiles at her, and she smiles at him. 

“You’re happy,” he murmurs. It’s an observation, not a question, but she answers it anyway.

“Very happy.” She lifts her free hand and brushes her fingers over the stubble on his cheek. “Are you?”

“Happiest I’ve ever been.” 

There’s awe in his voice, and it propels her forward. She pushes off his chest and puts her hands on the mattress on either side of his head and leans down to kiss him, soft and slow. He curls his hands around her hips, and then glides his palms upward over the length of her body and back down. His skin is warm. She wants to ask him to say it again. She feels like an addict. She gets a hit, and then immediately needs more. 

“I love you,” he whispers against her lips as if he can read her mind. 

Warmth unfurls in her chest. God, she is so in love with him. 

She shakes her head, and her nose brushes his. “I’m never going to get sick of that.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Feels like a challenge.”

She laughs and leans back to look at him. “Do it. Try to make me sick of it. I dare you.”

Her hair is falling like a curtain on either side of her face, and he brushes one side behind her ear and then cups her cheek. 

“Careful, Detective,” he murmurs, his voice low. “The last time you issued me a dare, you ended up bent over my desk.”

“That was not a dare,” she disputes with a laugh. “I made one innocent comment—”

“It was not innocent.”

“—and you ran with it.”

“What was I supposed to do? You can’t bend over for me—”

“I did not bend over for you. I dropped my phone—”

“Oh, yes, you dropped your phone. Likely story.”

“—and you take everything as an invitation because you’re incapable of behaving—”

I can’t behave? You were the one who said you’d been thinking about it all day.”

“I meant you, Lucifer. I didn’t mean I spent all day thinking about you nailing me from behind against your desk.”

He grins. “Yes, well, you certainly didn’t complain when I did.”

She rolls her eyes but can’t disagree because he’s right. He brushes his thumb along her bottom lip with a smirk. She holds his gaze, and then uses her tongue to pull his thumb into her mouth and suck on it. 

His eyes darken. He rolls them over so she’s beneath him and leans forward to give her a kiss that makes her back arch and her toes curl. It’s not hard to interpret where his mind is and what he wants. She wants it too. But she’s only human, and they’ve been busy.

“Wait,” she says, pushing on his chest. 

He pulls back to look at her with a frown. 

“I’m still recovering from the last round,” she explains. “Not all of us have supernatural endurance.” 

He immediately rolls off of her body and onto his side to face her. “You’re right. Apologies, love.”

There’s no anger or disappointment in his voice, but she still feels bad. “Sorry,” she says, turning her head to look at him.

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize.” He smiles mischievously. “We’ve got all night.”

“No sleep tonight, huh?” she says, ignoring the sudden ache between her legs. “We’re just going to stay up until dawn when it’s time to meet Death?”

“How can I sleep when your single-night orgasm record is right there, ready and waiting for me to break it?”

She laughs.

He rests his temple on the heel of his hand and reaches out to grab the ring that’s still around her neck. He studies it, and she studies his face. He looks younger somehow. Freer. Or maybe just happier.

He glances up at her. “Do you need to sleep?” he asks quietly.

She shakes her head. “No.”

“I know you’re tired.”

“Yeah,” she admits. “But I don’t want to sleep.”

She doesn’t say it’s because of the nightmares, but she doesn’t think she has to. 

He brushes his fingers along her cheek. “What do you want?”

“This,” she says, curling her fingers around his forearm. “Just you.” She turns her face to kiss his hand, and then she grins. “And maybe some ice cream.”

He grins too. “I think I can manage that.”

He kisses her briefly, and then starts to get out of bed. She frowns, confused, and then she realizes what he’s doing and darts her hand out to grab his arm and stop him. “Wait, no. I was joking. Don’t go.”

He pauses. “You need time to recuperate, do you not?”

“Yeah but I didn’t mean I wanted you to leave.”

“There’s a shop just down the block, love. I’ll pop out and grab a few pints while you rest, and I’ll be back before you can even miss me.” 

She blinks at him. “Seriously? You’re going to go out at—” she glances at the ornate decorative clock hanging on the wall and then back at him “—ten o’clock just to buy me ice cream?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I enjoy fulfilling desires. Especially when they’re the desires of my beloved.” He leans toward her, and brushes his lips gently over hers. “Besides, if you’re rested enough when I return, I can lick it off you.”

Heat flares immediately in her body. “What is it with you and eating things off me?” 

He leans back to give her an incredulous look. “Have you seen your body?” 

She laughs. His lips break into a wide smile. She lifts her hand to brush her fingertips along his stubbled jaw. “I think it’s my turn to eat something off you.”

“Oh, yes please,” he purrs, and ducks forward to kiss her again. 

She wraps her arms around him. “You really are like walking heroin,” she murmurs against his lips.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

She smiles, and then his tongue slips into her mouth, and heat flares in her body again. She’s got about ten seconds of self control left before she caves, and she really does need some time to recuperate, so she turns her face away and pushes against his chest with a sigh.

“Go before I change my mind.” 

He grins, presses a kiss to her cheek, and then climbs out of bed. 

She rolls toward his side of the bed and grabs his pillow, hugging it to her chest and watching as he disappears from the room. He’s back a moment later, his clothes in one hand and socks and shoes in the other. 

“We left quite a trail of clothing from the front door to the bed,” he says with a wink. 

She snorts. “Which is weird since we didn’t even make it to the bed.”

He arches an eyebrow as he tugs his pants on. “Yes, you seemed quite disappointed about having your first orgasm of the evening against the front door.”

She throws the pillow at him. He laughs. He tosses it back at her, and she hugs it close and buries her nose in it. It smells like him. 

He pulls on his shirt, smiling at her as he does the buttons and then tucks it in. He doesn’t bother with cufflinks, and just rolls the sleeves to his elbows instead. When he’s finished he sits on the edge of the bed, his hip bumping against her knee. She watches him put his shoes on, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the fluidity of his movements. His hair is a mess compared to it’s usual careful styling, but he’s made no attempt to fix it. She likes that.

“Right then,” he mutters once his shoes are tied. He turns toward her and puts his hands on either side of her body, leaning forward to hover over her. “What flavors of ice cream shall I bring you?”

“Surprise me,” she answers, reaching up to comb her fingers through his hair because she can’t resist. 

He smiles. “I love you.” 

She couldn’t keep a smile off her face if she tried. She thinks he likes saying it just as much as she likes hearing it. “I love you too.”

He leans down to kiss her, lingering for a second or two even after he pulls his mouth away from hers, and then he straightens and gets to his feet. He strides toward the door, pauses in the doorway just long enough to shoot her a wink over his shoulder, and then he disappears. 

Chloe hears the front door slam behind him a moment later. 

She stretches and then resettles on the bed. The muffled sounds of the city are just outside the window, but other than that, the apartment is silent. They didn’t bother to turn any lights on when they got back from dinner—they were a little too focused on each other for that—so the apartment is dim but not dark. There are too many windows and too many lights  in New York City for it to be dark. She stares up at the shadows on the ceiling, smiling like a lovesick teenager as she plays with the ring hanging around her neck. She can’t believe he finally said it. 

He loves her. 

She closes her eyes and replays that moment at the bar over and over again. Every time she relives it, it gets better. When he gets back, she’s going to make him say it a dozen more times, and then a dozen more after that. She’ll never get sick of it. She feels like her chest is going to crack open from the sheer force of her joy. Lucifer loves her, and they’re going to meet with Death in a few hours to fix this damn nightmare, and then everything is going to go back to normal. No, better than normal. She’ll have Trixie and her friends and her life back, but she’ll also have Lucifer. Her boyfriend the Devil, who’s in love with her.

He’s in love with her. 

She rolls over and buries her face in his pillow with a grin. She breathes in his scent, and then an idea strikes her. Back in Denver, when Valerie brought her a dozen sets of lingerie to choose from, she opted for the bustier set. But that’s not the only thing she chose. She picked out a second one too, a black lace set that made her think of the dress she’d worn on their last night in Los Angeles. She was going to save it for after they met with Death, to celebrate if things went according to plan and the nightmare was over. 

But why wait?

She bites her lip around another grin and climbs out of bed. She crosses the room to her suitcase and rifles through her stuff until she finds the lingerie, and then she grabs one of his shirts to put on over top and heads for the master bathroom. She freshens up a little, and then puts on the lingerie. She admires herself in the mirror for a second—he’s going to have a heart attack when he sees her in this—and then pulls his shirt on over top and buttons a few buttons. 

She’s trying to decide if she should touch up her makeup when she hears the front door open. She grins. She should’ve known he’d be quick. 

She pads out of the bathroom and through the bedroom in her bare feet. “Back already?” she calls out with a laugh. “What’d you do, sprint the whole—”

The rest of her sentence dies on her lips when she gets out into the apartment.

Standing just inside the door is a man who looks like Lucifer, but isn’t. There’s an ugly scar across his face, and one of his shoulders is hanging lower than the other. His eyes trail slowly over her bare legs and then up her body, and Chloe’s blood runs cold.

Michael smiles. 

“Hello, Detective.”

Chapter 27: Twenty-Seven

Notes:

Okay, so, the cliffhanger at the end of this chapter isn’t terrible. If chapters were salsa, it’d only be a little spicy. But the cliffhanger in the next chapter...guys, it’s mean. Like, salsa made from Carolina Reapers mean. And I feel kind of bad making you wait a week after that. So here’s my peace offering: I’m going to post chapter 28 this coming Friday, and then post chapter 29 on our usual Tuesday. That way, you only have to cope with my best (meanest) cliffhanger for three days instead of seven. Deal?

Also, gentle reminder: Point of view matters. Just because we know something doesn’t mean the characters do. Dramatic irony is a real bitch, y’all.

Kay, that’s all. Love you boos. See you Friday.

Chapter Text

For a second, all Chloe can do is stare at the angel before her in shock. 

She doesn’t understand. She’s thousands of miles from L.A., standing in an apartment that Lucifer booked under a fake identity, and nobody knows they’re here. How the hell did Michael find her? 

Then she realizes it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he did, and she’s alone, and this is bad.  

She’s on the verge of praying to Lucifer when Michael holds out his hand.

“I wouldn’t advise screaming,” he warns. “Or running. In fact, if you make any attempt to alert anyone to my presence, you’ll never see your daughter alive again.”

Every muscle in Chloe’s body seizes up. A shiver of horror drills down her spine. The words echo in the air, blunt and awful, and she isn’t sure if she wants to scream or cry or lunge at him and wrap her hand around his throat and squeeze. Maybe all of the above. 

She does none of those things. She swallows instead, and takes a deep breath, and then shakes her head. “You’re lying.”

Michael smirks. “You think so?”

“I know so. She’s protected.”

“Well then your protection sucks.” He pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, taps the screen, and holds it out to her. “Because I sent some friends to pay her a visit. They’re there now, waiting for my orders.” 

Chloe doesn’t want to look. She doesn’t want to cross the apartment and step into his space and see what’s making him smirk like that. She wants to pray to Lucifer and demand that he fly her back to California right now to see her kid with her own two eyes. 

But just like before, she resists. She swallows, and ignores the terror that’s eating her from the inside out, and walks slowly across the apartment. Michael watches her, still smirking, his hand outstretched. She stops in front of him, holding his gaze defiantly for a moment, and then she shifts her attention down to the phone. 

It takes every ounce of her self control not to burst into tears. 

There’s a picture of Trixie on the screen. She appears to have fallen asleep while doing her math homework. It wouldn’t be the first time, and the familiarity of it makes Chloe’s chest ache. Trixie is wearing that sushi t-shirt she loves, the one Chloe bought on a whim because it reminded her of Ella, and her dark hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. Dan’s never been good with styling her hair.

She’s not alone. There’s a large hand in the bottom corner of the photo, and it’s holding a newspaper. It’s the front page of the Los Angeles Times, and it’s dated today. 

The urge to cry wells up in Chloe’s chest again, and tears prick her eyes, but she refuses to give in. She refuses to give Michael the satisfaction.

She looks up at him with a glare. “If you hurt her—”

“Well that’s up to you, isn’t it?” he says, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “I don’t want to hurt her. She’s just my insurance policy.”

“She’s my kid.

“Well then you’ll do what you need to do to protect her, won’t you?” 

Fear and anger war in Chloe’s chest, and she chooses anger. “What do you want?” she spits at him. 

He smiles, slow and predatory, and gives her another once over. “You, of course.”

Panic slithers through Chloe’s veins. She takes a step back from him and folds her arms over her chest, suddenly aware that her legs are bare and all she’s wearing over her lingerie is one of Lucifer’s shirts. 

“Oh Detective, don’t be crass,” Michael says with an eyeroll. “I’m not interested in my brother’s sloppy seconds. All I’m asking is that you willingly come with me and spare me the trouble of knocking you unconscious and carrying you there myself.” 

“Where are we going?”

“Does it matter? You either come with me and keep your little brat alive, or you refuse and she dies.”

Chloe clenches her jaw. “Fine. Just let me get dressed.”

She turns on her heel and heads back toward the bedroom. She wracks her brain as she goes, trying to figure out her best course of action. Despite what her currently racing heart would have her believe, she’s not in any danger. She hates Michael and she doesn’t want to go anywhere with him, but he can’t hurt her. Lucifer made her invulnerable. She’s just as safe in Michael’s presence as she would be in anyone else’s. That means the only thing she really needs to worry about is Trixie. 

The urge to pray to Lucifer tugs hard in her chest. She knows if she reached out to him, he would be here in seconds. But then what would happen to Trixie? She has no idea who’s with her daughter or what their orders are. Michael said if she alerted anyone, Trixie would be dead. What if he orders them to kill her as soon as he sees Lucifer? Chloe would be helpless to stop him.

She could pray to Lucifer and tell him to go check on Trixie before he comes for her. But can he get all the way out to California fast enough? And what if Michael can sense her prayer? Lucifer told Constantine back in Vegas that he thought someone might be monitoring and interfering with his prayers to Amenadiel and his dad. Why would she be any different? Maybe that’s how Michael found her—he heard the few times she’s prayed to Lucifer during this trip, and he tracked them from there. She can’t be sure Michael won’t know she’s praying to Lucifer, which means it’s a risk she can’t take.

And even if she was willing to take it, she can’t be sure Lucifer would even listen to her. She wishes she could trust him to do exactly as she asks, but he’s never done exactly as she asks. Normally, she finds that endearing. But not right now. Because right now she can hear his voice echoing in her mind—I choose you. Always you.—and she knows that he’s too in love with her to think clearly. He’ll come for her no matter what she says. He’s too impulsive and overprotective, and he hates his brother too much, and it could cost her Trixie. 

Which leaves her with only one option. 

She has to go with Michael. 

She doesn’t realize Michael has followed her into the bedroom until she stops in front of her suitcase and spots him hovering in the doorway.

She glares at him. “What are you doing?”

“Oh I learn from my mistakes, Detective,” he replies with a smirk. “The last time we had a little one on one time, you slipped away as soon as I turned my back. So I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “But I need to change.”

“Then change. I won’t stop you.”

He leans against the doorframe with a shit-eating grin that says he’s ready for a show, and bile rises in the back of Chloe’s throat.

“Can you at least turn around?” 

Michael shakes his head. “Nah. I’m good.” 

Chloe clenches her jaw so hard her head aches, but Michael just keeps on grinning at her. 

She turns back to her suitcase. She planned to change out of this damn lingerie, but there’s no way she’s getting naked in front of Michael, so she’ll just have to leave it on and put some clothes over top of it. She pulls her favorite jeans out and yanks them on, and then slides her belt through the loops and fastens it. She keeps her back to Michael as she unbuttons Lucifer’s shirt, and then reaches for a black t-shirt that’s a little wrinkled but clean. 

She hesitates, trying to figure out the best way to get Lucifer’s shirt off and hers on without giving Michael too much time to look. She ends up putting the t-shirt over her head first, and then she pulls her arms free from Lucifer’s shirt and shoves them through the sleeves of her shirt as quickly as she can. Lucifer’s shirt flutters to the floor at her feet as she yanks her shirt down over her midriff. 

When she turns back around, Michael is grinning at her. Chloe pretends she doesn’t notice, and sits on the end of the bed to pull on socks and a pair of boots. Once she’s finished, she puts on her leather jacket and then grabs a hair tie and pulls her hair back into a ponytail. 

“All done?” Michael asks. “Or do you have some girl stuff to do in the bathroom?”

Chloe glares at him as she shoves past him and through the bedroom doorway. He seems to enjoy her anger. She’s never wanted to punch someone in the face so bad in her entire life. 

When they get out of the apartment and into the hallway, she heads for the elevators. 

Michael clicks his tongue at her. “Not so fast, Detective.”

She turns to look at him with a frown. 

“You didn’t really think I’d let you out on the street with everyone else, did you?” He gestures toward a door near the elevators that’s marked by a sign that says Stairs. “We’re going up.”

Chloe’s frown deepens. “Why are we…”

And then it hits her. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No way. I am not flying with you.”

“You seemed to like it last time,” he says with a smirk. 

“Go to hell.”

“Sorry, that’s more my brother’s thing.” He pushes the door open and gestures at the stairs with a grin. “After you.”


Lucifer feels like he’s walking on air. 

He finally told the Detective that he loves her. He’s loved her for so long that he can’t even remember the exact moment he fell for her, and he finally told her. She knows. She knows and she feels the same way and she’s happy. He made her happy.  

He’s happy too.  

He’s whistling Sinatra. Every few steps he feels compelled to do a little skip, and he doesn’t resist the urge. He’s accosted by a panhandler sitting beneath a street lamp, and he presses a fifty dollar bill into his hand. A plastic bag blows past him on the sidewalk, and he bends forward to snatch it and deposit it into a nearby trash can. A woman wearing pajamas and walking a hideous dog is too busy staring at her phone to notice her creature pawing at Lucifer’s very expensive pants while they wait for a traffic light to change. Lucifer beams at the glorified rat and reaches down to pat him on the head. 

As he straightens, a yellow cab runs a red light. The guy in front of Lucifer, who is riding a beat-up blue bicycle, doesn’t appear to notice the cab. Lucifer does. He darts his hand out and grabs the seat of the bike before the guy can dart out into the intersection. The cab misses the front wheel of the bike by inches.  

“Holy shit,” the girl in the pajamas says. She must have finally looked up from her phone.

The guy on the bike stares at Lucifer with wide eyes. “Thanks dude.”

Lucifer grins at him. “Of course. Enjoy your evening.” 

He strides across the street, still whistling, and breezes into the store. “Good evening!” he greets the bored-looking man standing behind a cash register nearby.

The cashier nods at him. “Sup bro.”

“Could you point me toward the frozen food section? Specifically the ice cream. My girlfriend had a sudden craving and I promised I’d fetch some.”

The cashier’s lips pull upward into a half smile, like he’s not sure if he should laugh or nod in solidarity. “It’s that way,” he says, pointing toward the back of the store. 

“Splendid,” Lucifer says cheerfully. “I appreciate your assistance.” 

He walks toward the back of the store, still whistling Sinatra, and then decides whistling isn’t enough. 

“Cause it’s witchcraft,” he sings under his breath. He thinks of the Detective’s blue eyes and the way her lips feel against his and he does a little spin as he turns down the aisle. “Wicked witchcraft.” 

He finds the ice cream, and stops before the glass doors. There are dozens of flavors to choose from. 

“Let’s see here,” he murmurs, sliding his hands into his pockets as he surveys his options. “If I were a pretty detective, what ice cream flavor would I want to lick off the Devil’s abs?”

Someone clears their throat nearby, and Lucifer turns to see a teenage girl standing in front of the frozen dinner section with an amused smirk on her face. Lucifer wonders if it’s past her bedtime, but he doesn’t know what time teenagers go to bed so he doesn’t ask.

“Oh hello,” he greets. 

The teenager grins. “Hey.”

“If you were buying ice cream for your beloved to lick off your body, what flavor would you choose?” 

The teenager doesn’t look at all scandalized by his question. She shrugs. “My girlfriend likes Half Baked.”

“My girlfriend has called me half baked before,” Lucifer muses. He grins. “Of course I was literally half baked at the time, so I suppose that’s understandable.”

The teenager snorts. “Why don’t you just go with vanilla if you’re not sure?”

Lucifer tilts his head. “Isn’t that what you put on apple pie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, excellent,” he purrs, pulling open the freezer door and snatching a pint of vanilla. “Putting vanilla ice cream on her is far too tempting to pass up.”

The teenager tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I thought she was going to lick it off you?”

“Oh right,” Lucifer says with a frown. He looks back at the freezer. “Well she’s said before she likes Fancy Nancy. But I don’t see Fancy Nancy here.”

The teenager shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s a common thing. Do you remember what was in it?”

“Coffee ice cream with caramel swirl and bananas,” Lucifer answers dutifully. “She likes her coffee with caramel as well.”

The teenager steps closer and studies the options in the freezer. She points at a colorful pint. “This one is sea salt caramel.”

“Lovely,” Lucifer says. He grabs that pint too, and then smiles down at the teenager. “You know, you were very helpful considering you’re just a tall child. I wish you and your girlfriend the best.”

The teenager grins. “Thanks, I think. Good luck with the ab-licking thing.”

“Look at me, darling,” he says, gesturing at himself. “I won’t need luck.”

The teenager laughs, and Lucifer smiles too and then heads for the cashier. He whistles Sinatra again as he pays, and then he thanks the cashier and heads back out onto the street. 

A faint pop echoes behind him while he waits for the traffic light to change.

“Lucifer.”

Lucifer frowns. That voice sounds an awful lot like John Constantine. 

He turns away from the street and back toward the store, certain he misheard and he’s mistaken, but he’s not. John is standing before him, looking just as disheveled as ever in his hideous trenchcoat and crimson tie. He’s not alone, either. There’s a man with him, an officer from the LAPD judging by the uniform, but the man’s hands are bound behind him. His eyes are bulging in his head and he’s fidgeting in John’s grip, but he doesn’t speak. His lips are pressed together like they’ve been sealed.

Lucifer tears his gaze away from the man to give the sorcerer an incredulous look. “What the bloody hell are you doing here, and why have you kidnapped a cop?”

“Where’s Chloe?” John demands, whipping his head around to scan the sidewalk. 

“She’s back in bed, waiting for me. I just ran out for some ice cream. What in the blazes are…” A sudden, terrifying thought occurs to him. “Is the urchin okay?” he demands, stepping forward. “Is that why you’re here? What’s happened?”

“Trixie’s fine. Zee is with her. But we have to get to Chloe.”

“What on earth for? She’s perfectly safe back at the apartment.”

“This is one of your demons,” John says, shoving the man in the LAPD uniform down onto his knees in the middle of the sidewalk between him and Lucifer. “Zee found him in Trixie’s bedroom.” 

“You found him where? ” Lucifer thunders. 

He drops the bag of ice cream and lunges forward, grabbing the demon by his shirt and hauling him up so that their faces are inches apart. Lucifer lets his eyes blaze red and his face briefly transform, and the demon’s eyes immediately widen in terror. 

“If you touched that child—” 

“He says he was there under your orders,” John interrupts before Lucifer can finish the threat. 

“He most certainly was not. I would never—”

“Yeah but someone who looks like you would.”

Lucifer frowns. “Michael? Why would he…”

It hits him like a punch to the gut. All of this—Dream’s spell, the Detective’s nightmares, being on the run—it was all Michael. He did all of this. Whatever epic plan he was orchestrating when he kidnapped the Detective failed, so he enlisted Dream’s help to enact a new one. The Detective was right back in Los Angeles. Father is gone, and Michael is taking advantage. 

Rage sparks and simmers and boils in Lucifer’s blood. “I’m going to kill him."

“Your demon said he’s coming for Chloe,” John says. “He’s got some plan to use her to bring you down, which means we need to get to her before he does.” 

The white-hot rage roiling Lucifer’s gut freezes and solidifies into terror. For a second, he can’t breathe. The Detective’s face floats across his mind, her gaze affectionate and her smile soft, and he’s paralyzed. 

“Luci,” John prompts.

Lucifer springs into action. He puts his hands on either side of the demon’s head and snaps his neck with ease, and the now-dead body collapses onto the sidewalk. John looks startled, but Lucifer doesn’t care. 

“Go back to Beatrice,” he commands, unfurling his wings. “Don’t let anyone near her. No one, you hear me?”  

John nods. “I’m on it.”

He disappears in the same instant Lucifer blasts upward into the night air. 

It takes him fifteen, maybe twenty seconds to get back to the apartment. He doesn’t bother with keys. He just kicks the door open and strides inside, his hands in fists and lit up with flame. 

“Chloe?” 

The kitchen and the living area are empty. He heads for the bedroom with his heart in his throat. He never should have left her. Why did he leave her?

The bedroom is empty. 

“Chloe,” he calls as he strides toward the bathroom. He can hear the desperation in his voice, and he can feel it building in his chest, threatening to eat him alive. 

She’s not in the bathroom. 

He turns back toward the bedroom. The bed where he left her is empty, the sheets still in disarray, and the silence of the apartment rings in his ears like a taunt. 

She’s gone. 


Michael’s wings are nothing like Lucifer’s.

They’re dark, a smoky black color that’s a far cry from the blindingly pure white of Lucifer’s, and Chloe hates them. She hates the way they look, she hates the way they sound, and she hates that she’s flying with someone who isn’t Lucifer. 

At least Michael isn’t carrying her in his arms like Lucifer did. She drew the line there, and Michael didn’t seem all that bothered by her insistence. She wonders if it’s because he couldn’t have held her anyway, given whatever’s wrong with his one arm. She’s standing on top of his feet instead, her hands fisted in his hideous brown jacket because she refuses to press her body against his but she doesn’t want to fall hundreds of feet to her death, either. She has her face turned as far away from his chest as she can manage because she can’t bear the smell of him. He smells wrong. Like gin instead of whiskey, and like a cheap knockoff version of Lucifer’s cologne. 

She doesn’t know New York very well, but she recognizes the Brooklyn Bridge. They fly over it and start to descend, and Chloe tries to take in as many landmarks and signs as she can without making it obvious that she’s trying to figure out where they are. The street signs are too far away to read, but she spots a neon sign that says Plymouth Street Bar, and repeats it over and over to herself so she won’t forget it. 

They touch down on the roof of a massive building across the street from the bar. There are huge glass skylights scattered across the surface of the roof, jutting upward into triangles that are taller than her. Chloe pulls away from Michael the moment his feet are back on solid ground and walks toward the closest skylight. She bends forward to peer down through the glass, but all she sees in the building below is a wide open cement floor. It looks like an abandoned warehouse. 

She rolls her eyes. Of course Michael would bring her to a creepy abandoned warehouse. Of course he would. It’s such a damn cliche.

He’s too much of a blathering idiot not to be a cliche, a warm voice that sounds like Lucifer murmurs in the back of her mind. She smiles. 

“Chloe,” Michael calls. 

The smile drops from her lips. She hates the way he says her name. 

She turns to face him. “What?”

He motions toward another door marked Stairs. “We’re going through there.” He smiles. “Ladies first.”

Chloe rolls her eyes but heads for the door. It creaks on its rusted hinges when she yanks it open. On the other side of the doorway, a metal staircase descends into pitch blackness. She thinks of Lucifer’s light, and how if he were here, she could ask him to light up his hands and dispel the darkness. Her chest aches. 

“Sometime today,” Michael murmurs in her ear.

Chloe grits her teeth and grabs the metal railing and starts down the stairs. Her boots clang on the metal as she walks. Michael follows her. The door slams shut behind him, casting them into total darkness, and Chloe’s pulse starts to race. You’re invulnerable, she reminds herself. He can’t hurt you.  

She pauses at the first landing she comes across, and squints through the darkness at the metal door nearby. 

“Keep going,” Michael orders. “Three more flights.”

When they finally get down to what she assumes is the ground floor, there’s another door. She pushes it open and walks out into the giant warehouse she’d noticed from the roof. Other than an abandoned forklift nearby, the massive area is empty. She tilts her head back to look up at the skylights. There’s too much light from the city to see the stars, but it comforts her to know they’re there. Lucifer is with her even when he’s not.

Michael puts his hand against her back and pushes her toward a cement column. “This way.”

She skitters away from his hand. “Don’t touch me.”

He smiles wolfishly at her. “Walk.”

She glares at him but has no choice but to obey. She heads for the column, and that’s when she notices that there’s a long chain sitting at its base. There’s some black dust on the floor around it. It almost looks like ash. She stops next to the chain, and then folds her arms over her chest and looks up at Michael. 

“Really? This is your epic plan? Chain me to a pole in a creepy warehouse?”

“The epic plan took a bit of a turn when Dad showed up,” Michael replies. “This is a different plan. And I’ve got to say, I think it’s much better.”

“Well I think they all suck,” Chloe mutters.

He ignores her and gestures at the column. “Put your back against it.”

Chloe wants to refuse. He watches her like he expects her to. But they both know that even if she says no now, she’ll have to give in eventually for Trixie’s sake. Why go through the motions?

She clenches her jaw and steps toward the pole, pressing her back against it so that she’s facing the rest of the empty warehouse. 

Michael grins at her. “Remind me to never have kids. Makes it too easy for people to force you to do whatever they want.”

“You’d have to find a woman willing to have sex with you first,” Chloe replies. “I think a snowball has a better chance in Hell.” 

The grin on his face flickers just enough for her to know she’s getting under his skin, and she smirks. It doesn’t change anything, but it makes her feel better. 

Well done Detective, Lucifer’s voice purrs in her ear. 

Michael narrows his eyes at her and then bends forward and grabs the chain. He winds it around her body and the pole tightly, pinning her arms to her sides, and Chloe winces at the feel of it pressing against her ribs. It’s heavy and cold. She knows it’s all in her head because she’s invulnerable, but it almost feels painful. Like it’s making it harder for her to breathe. 

Michael fastens the ends of the chain together with a massive padlock, and then he looks up at her. He gives her a slow once over, and then he grins.

“Well don’t you look like a dream come true.”

Chloe glares at him. “This was all you, wasn’t it?” 

Michael tilts his head. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The spell. The one that made everyone turn against Lucifer and think he was evil. It wasn’t Dream. It was you.”

Michael grins. “I can’t make people dream, Detective.” 

“But you’re the one who thought it all up,” she counters. “It was all your idea. You wanted everyone to hate Lucifer, and you knew Dream could make it happen, so you asked him to help you. And he did.”

“Well can you blame him? Lucifer, of all people, should know how dangerous it is to stand between a man and his love.”

“That’s not love,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “Love isn’t selfish. If Dream loved Nada, he wouldn’t have damned her to Hell when she told him no, and he wouldn’t have tried to force her to leave either. Lucifer protected her. He did the right thing.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Here we go again with the noble Lucifer talk. Listen, between you and me, I couldn’t care less why Dream and my brother hate each other. That’s their problem. All I care about is the opportunity it gave me. Dream wanted to punish the punisher, and I gave him the chance.”

“And what about you? Is that why you did all this? Because you wanted to punish Lucifer too?”

Michael grins. “Well it’d be a lie to say I didn’t enjoy watching him suffer. But no, that wasn’t it.”

“Then what was it?”

“Always a detective, aren’t you?”

“You’ve got me chained to a pole, Michael. The least you could do is answer my questions.” She lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “Unless you’re worried I’m going to tell you that your plan really does suck.”

Michael seems to consider his options. Chloe holds his gaze, trying to look as defiant as possible so that she can prod him into trying to prove he’s smarter than her. There’s a chance she can use his arrogance to her advantage. If she figures out everything he’s got planned, she might be able to figure out a way to stop him. Or, at the very least, she can warn Lucifer. 

Michael rolls his head from one side to the other, his arm bent awkwardly next to his body. He’s never looked less like Lucifer than he does now. Everything Lucifer does is smooth and fluid. Michael, not so much. 

“You think my brother is noble,” Michael sneers at her. “But it’s all just a performance. Smoke and mirrors. He wants Dad to think he’s reformed, the prodigal son returning home to be a good boy, but it’s just a ruse. The only thing he wants is to take Father’s place when he retires.”

Chloe laughs. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Lucifer doesn’t want to be in charge of earth. He doesn’t want anything to do with any of you.”

“You’re wrong. You know nothing about him.”

“You know, I take it back,” Chloe says. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“He rebelled against our father,” Michael spits. “Against God Almighty. He tried to take what wasn’t his to take, and now Dad is just going to give it to him? Just because he did what he was supposed to do for once? I can’t let that happen. He doesn’t deserve to sit on Father’s throne.” 

“And who does? You?”

Michael grins. “You said it, not me.”

“This isn’t about Lucifer,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “This is about making sure you get what you want. The only reason you came after him is because he was in your way. You want to take your father’s place.”

“I want what’s mine,” Michael growls. “I want what I’m owed.”

“If it’s yours, then why hasn’t your father given it to you? Why consider Lucifer at all? Or Amenadiel?”

Michael waves off her question. “He sees what Lucifer and Amenadiel want him to see. Just like you do. But not anymore. I’m going to make it so that once and for all, Dad and everybody else sees Lucifer for who he truly is. A selfish, violent rebel who deserves to be destroyed.”

His expression is twisted with hatred, and Chloe struggles to tamp down a shudder at the implication that he wants Lucifer dead and gone just like Uriel.

“Even if you got Lucifer out of the way, you still wouldn’t get the throne,” she points out. “Amenadiel would. He’s the favorite son.”

Michael smirks. “Two birds with one stone, Detective. When Dad sees that I was right about Lucifer, and Amenadiel was wrong, he’ll give me what’s mine. I’ll be the last one standing.”

“You’re insane,” Chloe tells him. “Aren’t all your siblings up there watching you right now? They’ll know what you’ve done.”

“You humans think you’re the center of the universe,” Michael replies, rolling his eyes. “Dad’s the only one who pays attention to you. Well, Dad and Lucifer. But Dad’s in another universe and Lucifer...well, Lucifer is easy to control.”

Chloe snorts. “Trying to control Lucifer is like trying to herd cats.”

Michael shakes his head. “You know that’s not true. He thinks he’s a man of free will, he thinks he does and says as he pleases, but it’s not hard to manipulate him into acting a certain way. I know you’ve figured that out. Stick out your bottom lip, flash a little leg, beg just right and he does whatever you want, doesn’t he?”

Chloe wants to argue with him. But she thinks of that moment in the kitchen in Vegas and how easy it was to rile Lucifer up, and then in Utah when she tempted him with a bet, and then in Nebraska when she coerced him into eating SPAM, and she presses her lips together. 

“Exactly,” Michael purrs in triumph. “Of course, you and I go about our manipulations a little differently. You have,” he pauses and gives her a quick once over, “assets that I don’t. But I have something you don’t.”

“Narcissism and a god complex?” she guesses.

“Knowledge,” he corrects. “You see, I plant ideas, Detective. I orchestrate coincidences. I whisper suggestions. Lucifer, isn’t Eve pretty? I wonder what she feels like? What she tastes like? Lucifer, wouldn’t it be crazy if Dad was wrong? What if someone could do it better than he can?”

Michael steps toward her, his eyes glinting dangerously. 

“And my personal favorite: What if something happens to your precious, pretty Detective? What would you do if she died, and you had to face the prospect of eternity without her?”

A memory surfaces in Chloe’s mind. Her living room, and a roaring fire, and two glasses of wine. 

You said you’d burn Heaven for me, Lucifer.

I would.

“You pressed his buttons at family dinner on purpose,” Chloe realizes. “You were setting him up.”

Michael grins. “It was like taking candy from a baby. He’s so protective of you. So possessive. Look at the lengths he went to before you were even together. He killed his own brother. Banished his mother. Descended to Hell without his wings, risking an eternity trapped in a loop, just to keep you alive. It’s disgusting.”

“It’s love. You wouldn’t understand.” 

Michael shakes his head. “He doesn’t love you, Chloe.”

Chloe smiles. “It’s like you said, Michael. Lucifer doesn’t lie. So when he tells me that he loves me, I know he really means it.” 

Michael blinks at her for a second in surprise, and then he sneers. “Well isn’t that sweet.

“It was, actually,” Chloe says. “Another thing he can do that you can’t.”

“But don’t you wonder if I made him do that too?” Michael challenges, leaning toward her. “I mean, everything you’ve been through over the last week was my doing. You said it yourself. I’m responsible for all this. Without me, you’d be right back in that cage at the zoo, wondering how he felt about you. I put the words in his mouth. I made him say it.”

“That’s a lie,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “You set me up just like you set him up. That’s why the dream only focuses on people I know. You wanted me to abandon him when things got hard. You wanted me to lose faith. But I didn’t. And I won’t do it now either.” 

Michael studies her for a moment, his eyes flickering over her face as if he’s looking for a weak spot, but he won’t find one. Not anymore. 

“You know what, you’re right,” he says eventually. “I did think you would lose faith. I wanted you to because I knew it would hurt him. But you’re not the only one who’s resourceful, Detective. I don’t need you to lose faith for this plan to succeed. You’re here. Which means I’ve already won.”

Chloe frowns. “What are you talking about?”

He grins. “You mean you haven’t figured it out? Come on, Detective. I thought you were smarter than that. Lucifer knows Dream orchestrated the spell. He knows it was retribution for Nada. So what do you suppose he’s going to do when he gets back to the apartment and finds you missing? Who do you suppose he’ll blame?”

Chloe presses her lips together and says nothing.

“And then he’ll do exactly what he would have done if you’d lost faith. He’ll go after Dream, and start a war between the Endless and Hell, and that is something my father cannot ignore. I tried to warn them. I told them that he’d destroy the natural order of things for you. But did they listen? No. And now they’ll pay the price. He’s always thought he was so much better than me—”

“He is better than you.”

“I’m not the one who rebelled!” Michael roars, his eyes blazing with fury. “I’m not the one who’s going to start a war with the Endless for the sake of a pathetic, worthless human.” 

Chloe shakes her head. “I told him I didn’t want a war.”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t be here to talk him out of it.”

Chloe stares at him, and he stares back, and she suddenly realizes how she fits into this plan. 

An icy wave of horror washes over her. “You’re going to kill me,” she says quietly. 

Michael grins. “Oh, excellent detective work. Lucifer was right. You really are talented. Such a devastating loss for the LAPD.” 

Chloe swallows. She’s invulnerable. She has nothing to worry about. He can’t even hurt her, let alone kill her. But knowing that isn’t enough to stop fear from gnawing at her heart.

“What about your dad?” she asks.

“What about him? He’s in another universe.”

“Yeah but if you kill me, I go to Heaven. And the first thing I’m going to do when I get up there is tell everyone what a lying, sniveling little shit you are.”

Michael laughs. “So Lucifer hasn’t explained to you how Heaven works, huh?”

Chloe frowns.

“It’s paradise, Detective. No more tears and sorrow. That’s the whole schtick. Which means if you die down here in a painful way, that memory just—poof—disappears. You’ll know you died, of course. But you won’t know who did it or how or why. Your poor, frail human mind will be protected from such awful pain. That way, you can enjoy paradise and all it has to offer.”

He leans toward her with a smile. “Who knows? We might even cross paths up there, and you’ll have no idea I’m the one who took your life.”

Chloe swallows the disgust rising in her throat. “You won’t get away with this.”

“I already have,” he says with a laugh. He straightens. “Now, I need this to look like Dream did it. And the Dreamer is, well, he’s a petty guy. He’ll want to extract every ounce of suffering from Lucifer that he can. He’ll want to make a point. Really rub it in.”

He holds his arms out and gestures at their surroundings. “That’s why he brought you here. You’ll die alone and far from home in a place that’s dirty and dark and cold. And when you’re dead, he’ll call the cops and leave an anonymous tip so you become a murder victim. Another homicide just like all the ones you and Lucifer used to solve.”

An image of Ella and Lucifer and Dan standing over her dead body flashes through Chloe’s mind.

Michael reaches out and hooks a finger around the part of the chain that’s wrapped tightly around her hips and tugs. He grins at her. 

“And he used Hell-forged chains to trap you. Not only do they imply that he crossed the boundary into Lucifer’s kingdom without permission, it also means Lucifer won’t be able to free you when he finds you.”

Chloe frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“This is Hell-forged, Detective,” he says, tugging on the chain again. The part of the chain wrapped around her ribs presses into her body. “Lucifer can snap man-made chains in half, but not this. This is celestial kryptonite. It’s the one thing we’re vulnerable to.”

A deep sense of horror wells up in Chloe’s chest. 

“Vulnerable?” she repeats.

“Another thing Lucifer didn’t tell you, huh?” Michael says, giving her a look of mock sympathy. “You’re not the only thing that makes him vulnerable, Chloe. Haven’t you ever wondered why Mazikeen is so fond of her daggers? They were forged in the bowels of Hell.”

Chloe swallows around a sudden lump in her throat. “So they would...I mean, they can hurt him? They could make him bleed?” 

“Oh, they can do far worse than make him bleed.” 

Michael reaches beneath the back of his jacket, and pulls out a dagger that looks just like one Maze used to leave lying around the house. He turns it over in his hand, admiring it with a glint in his eye, and then he looks up at her and a smile spreads slowly over his lips. 

“Do you think that’s how Dream would do it?” he wonders. “Do you think he’d use a blade like this that was forged in Hell?”

He steps toward her, and lifts the knife to her neck. Fear roars through her veins, and as the sharp edge of the blade presses against her throat, she knows what she has to do. She doesn’t want to put Trixie at risk, but what choice does she have? If she dies, Lucifer will start a war. And she can’t even begin to fathom how many innocent people will die in the middle of a war between demons and angels and the Endless. 

Lucifer, she prays desperately. I’m in a warehouse across the East River by the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s next to the Plymouth Street Bar. There are skylights on the roof. Michael has me. He’s going to kill me. 

“A demon blade would send a message,” Michael muses, apparently oblivious to her prayer. That should comfort her, but it just infuriates her. It means she could’ve prayed to Lucifer earlier, and asked him to go rescue Trixie. She should’ve taken the risk. Why didn’t she take a goddamn risk for once?

“But is it the right message?” Michael wonders. “Maybe it’s too on the nose.”

“Dream wouldn’t kill me like this,” Chloe says, shaking her head. She’s desperate to stall him, to buy herself and Lucifer some time. That blade is the only thing that can hurt her. If she can convince Michael to try killing her in another way, her invulnerability will protect her and give Lucifer a chance to get here.

Michael grins at her. “Are you helping me plan your murder?”

“I’m just saying,” Chloe says, lifting a shoulder as if she doesn’t care whether she lives or dies. “He’d use what he’s good at. He’d cast a dream over me. Probably one that would convince me to kill myself so that he could keep his hands clean.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I suppose this is the part where I hand you the knife and you pretend to stab yourself but really stab me?”

“You could throw me off the roof,” Chloe suggests. “Make it look like I jumped.”

Michael tilts his head and drops the knife from her throat. “You know, that’s not a bad idea. It would kill Lucifer to know that he could’ve caught you if only he knew where you were.”

Come on, Lucifer, she prays. Hurry.

“So then do it,” she says. “Take me back up to the roof.”

Michael narrows his eyes at her. “You’re up to something.”

“I’m chained to a pole,” she says, trying to sound incredulous. “What the hell could I be up to?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve underestimated you before. I won’t do it again.” 

He lifts the demon knife back to her neck. The blade feels cold. She tries to lean away from him, but she’s bound to the pole and the chain is digging hard into her body and there’s nowhere she can go. He presses the blade harder into her neck, and when it cuts her skin, she winces. She can feel blood oozing down her neck. She wonders if he plans to slit her throat so she goes quickly, or if he’ll make her bleed out slowly so he can watch. 

I love you, Lucifer, she prays. Take care of Trixie for me. Tell her I love her.

“Any last words?” Michael asks, his eyes alight with an evil that she’s never once seen in the Devil’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” Chloe says. “Fuck you.”

And then one of the skylights on the ceiling explodes. 

The sound of shattering glass is deafening as it echoes through the wide open space of the warehouse, reverberating off the concrete walls and floor. A blur of white torpedoes downward with the glass shards, moving quicker than gravity can pull the glass to the floor, and slams into Michael, sending him flying across the warehouse. 

Chloe blinks, and suddenly Lucifer is standing before her. His wings are unfurled, his hair is wild, and his eyes are blazing red flames. There’s fury shimmering around his body like heat in the desert, and just like in L.A. behind the club, the best description her mind can conjure up is that he looks like an avenging angel. 

He turns toward her, and his eyes transform back into brown. He steps toward her and lifts his hands to her face. 

“Are you all right, love?” he asks, scanning her body for injuries. 

Desperation wells up in her throat and she can’t get the words out fast enough. “Trixie is—”

“She’s fine,” he cuts her off. “John and Zee are with her. She’s safe.” His hands are warm on her cheeks. “Are you all right?”

She blinks at him for a second, and then his words finally sink in. Trixie is okay. She’s safe. Michael can’t get to her. 

Relief washes over Chloe, and she sags a little against the pole with a deep sigh. 

“Detective?” Lucifer says in concern. 

“I’m okay,” she reassures him. And then she smiles. “You know, you’re getting pretty good at this Devil rescue thing.”

She’s teasing him, but he doesn’t laugh. The concern etched in his expression makes her ache. She wishes she could reach for him and pull him close and bury her face in his chest. She wishes she’d never let him get out of that bed.

“Chloe,” he whispers, his thumb brushing over the swell of her cheek. His gaze dips down and settles on the cut on her neck, and then his eyes flare red. 

She opens her mouth, but she has no idea what she wants to say. She won’t stop him from going after his brother. Not after everything Michael just told her.

Lucifer reaches for the chain wrapped around her body. He curls both hands around it and tugs in opposite directions like he’s trying to snap it in half. When it doesn’t break, though, he frowns. 

“It’s Hell-forged,” she whispers. 

He glances up to meet her gaze, and she sees it in his eyes. 

He’s afraid. 

“Well look who decided to crash the party,” Michael calls. The force of Lucifer slamming into him sent him flying a hundred yards away, but he’s getting to his feet and he seems unharmed. 

He sneers. “Should’ve known you’d show up. Whipped dogs are never far from their masters.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw. He turns his back to Chloe and faces his brother.

“I warned you that I’d burn everything for her,” he snarls. 

He straightens his arms with a jerk, and his hands burst into the brightest flames Chloe’s ever seen. 

“I think I’ll start with you.”

Chapter 28: Twenty-Eight

Notes:

Guys, I need you to read this author’s note very carefully, because it is very important.

I am coming for your throats in this chapter. It is dark and very angsty. If you are personally not in a good headspace right now, you should *not* read this chapter. Save it for later, when you are in a better place.

I have prepared myself for lots of yelling in the comments, but I just want to say this upfront: You’ve trusted me for 27 chapters so far, and I’ve done okay, right? You know I love these characters as much as you do. So just, like, try to trust me after this one too, okay?

Kay. That’s all. Love you boos.

...good luck.

Chapter Text

Michael looks stunned that Lucifer’s hands are aflame. 

Chloe has to lean to the side and crane her neck so that she can see him around Lucifer, who is standing in front of her like an angelic shield, but there’s no mistaking the shock on Michael’s face even from this distance. 

Chloe feels a flash of pride. Michael keeps underestimating them, and he keeps being wrong, and now Lucifer is going to make him pay for it. 

Michael recovers quickly from his shock. “Well would you look at that,” he sneers. “The prodigal son figured out how to actualize himself into Dad’s favorite form. Wonder why he’d do that?”

“This has nothing to do with Dad,” Lucifer spits.

Michael laughs. “Of course it does. Come on, Samael. You’re all about desire and honesty. So let’s be honest about your desires, hm? You want your little human, and you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her. And what better way to do that than to take Father’s place when he retires? After all, you can’t be barred from the Silver City if you rule it.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I don’t want that throne. I’ve no interest in ruling Hell or Heaven or anything in between.”

“Clever,” Michael says, wagging his finger. “You don’t lie, but you don’t tell the whole truth, either. You don’t want to rule. That’s true. But you do want her. You want her so much that you’ll destroy everything. You’ll claim the throne if that’s what it takes.”

“I’ve no patience for your psychotic idiocy,” Lucifer growls. “You’re going to free her from these chains and fix this bloody mess with Dream, and you’re going to do it right fucking now, or I’m going to send you home with some new scars. Like my middle finger seared straight into your face.”

Michael laughs. “You’ll have to get to me first.”

He lifts his hand the way Lucifer does when he’s adjusting his cufflinks, but he’s not wearing cufflinks. Instead, he reveals a thick black band encasing his wrist. It’s studded with purple gemstones, which appear to be glowing. 

Michael presses his fingers to the stones, and they glow even brighter. “Send me a dozen,” he murmurs. 

A split second later, a dozen people materialize between Michael and Lucifer. Chloe blinks at them in shock. Even after watching Constantine do it, she still hasn’t wrapped her mind around the fact that people can appear and disappear into thin air. 

She’s not sure these are people, though. They look human, but the glinting hatred in their eyes and the snarls on their lips make her want to get as far away from them as possible. They’re dressed in identical black and brown clothes that appear to be made of leather, and they’re wearing shoulder pads that are metallic. All of them are holding weapons. 

It’s the weapons that clue her in. They look just like the ones Maze prefers. 

Demons, Chloe realizes. 

“You should see the look on your face,” Michael says to Lucifer with a laugh. “I should have brought a camera.”

Chloe can’t see Lucifer’s face, but she can tell by the way he’s standing that he’s both confused and wary. He shakes his head. “You can’t—”

“Oh but I can,” Michael cuts him off. “You’re not the only one who knows sorcerers, brother. Circe sends her regards, by the way. You know, you really should stop making such powerful enemies. I didn’t even have to try to convince her to lend a hand. Or, in this case, several.”

Lucifer straightens his shoulders and takes a step forward. “Heinrik,” he booms, his voice layered with all the authority of a king. “Explain yourself.” 

A man in the front of the group goes rigid, his eyes wide as he stares at Lucifer. Chloe’s guessing that’s Heinrik, and she’s guessing based on the way his eyes dart between Lucifer and Michael that he’s suddenly wondering which of the twins he’s supposed to obey.

“Heinrik,” Michael says, his voice matching Lucifer’s eerily well. “Do not give in to the Imposter. You know the truth. And you know what was promised to you for your loyalty.”

Heinrik’s expression hardens. He narrows his eyes at Lucifer. “Imposter,” he growls. 

“How dare you,” Lucifer snarls. “He lies to you and you believe him? I’ll flay you alive for this. You’ll meet the same end as Dromos.”

Heinrik shakes his head. “Lord Morningstar doesn’t lie.”

I’m Lord Morningstar,” Lucifer thunders. 

The group hisses words like liar and traitor and imposter, but a few of them suddenly look a little unsure. 

The light and flames encasing Lucifer’s fists extinguish. Chloe watches as he transforms into the Devil, his shirt ripping to shreds. He shoves the scraps of cloth off his body and they flutter down to the cement floor. She remembers when he did the same thing months ago, and wonders if these are the same demons. A few of them seem unnerved by his transformation. They step backward, their faces frozen in shock and fear as they glance at each other or back toward Michael, who looks suddenly furious.

“Bow to your king,” Lucifer bellows, his voice deep and harsh. 

A few of the demons start to kneel, but Michael’s voice rings out before they can. 

“They know you’re not their king, brother. They know that your current form is just an illusion created by your sorcerer friends. They’ve seen proof of it.”

Lucifer’s hands curl into fists. “Bow! ” he roars, and even Chloe, who loves him far too much to fear him, feels herself tense at the unbridled fury in his voice.

“Bow and die!” Michael shouts back. “Stand and your loyalty will be rewarded when I bring Hell to earth.”

Tension hovers in the air, thick and suffocating. A few of the demons flinch or avert their eyes, but none of them move. Not one of them bows. 

Fear wraps around Chloe’s chest and squeezes the breath from her lungs. If Michael has these demons fooled, he probably has the rest fooled too. And whoever Circe is, she’s apparently powerful enough to bring them up from Hell. How many are down there, waiting to be sent up? Thousands? Millions? Even a hundred is too many, because the only thing standing between them and the rest of the world is Lucifer. 

Amenadiel, she prays, desperate to help Lucifer in some way even though she’s chained to a pole. She shakes her head and reaches higher. John. God. Please. We need you. 

Michael laughs, loud and brash, and it bounces off the cement walls and floors and comes back sounding distorted. “Checkmate, brother.” 

Lucifer transforms back into himself. He takes a step back, and Chloe knows it’s because he’s trying to make sure that she’s completely shielded from the demons. 

“So this is what you want?” he asks. “You want to rule Hell?” 

“Now who’s thinking too small?” Michael sneers. “I don’t want Hell. I want it all. And you’re the one who’s going to give it to me.”

“How the bloody hell am I going to do that?” 

Michael shrugs. “Exactly like I said you would. When she dies, you’ll incite a war. You’ll destroy the natural order for her. And Dad will see you for who you are.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “If you kill her, you damn yourself. Father won’t turn over the throne to someone who murdered one of his humans. You know it's forbidden.”

Michael grins. “Father won’t know. It’s my word against yours, and the scales are tipped in my favor. I mean, the story practically writes itself. Dream casts a spell to punish you, and when it doesn’t work the way he wants, he kidnaps and kills your human. Then, in a fit of rage, you summon your demons to earth to get your revenge. Circe will send Dream here as soon as the Detective is dead. And war between Hell and the Endless will start the moment they attack him.”

“I won’t allow that.”

“They won’t even bow to you. What makes you think you have the power to control who they attack? Dad will have to step in.”

“Do you hear him?” Lucifer says to the demons. “If my father steps in, all of you are dust. Your fake king plans to betray you.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Michael says, still grinning. “They know we’re playing the long game. They’ll pretend you’re Lucifer when they need to. But their loyalties lie with me. And when the Silver City is mine, they’ll have their reward.”

Michael’s eyes are bright with greed, and there’s a hiss in his voice that sends a shiver drilling down Chloe’s spine. She doesn’t know what their reward will be, but she has a feeling it won’t be peace on earth.

“First things first, though,” Michael says. “Time for the miracle to serve her purpose.”

Lucifer’s hands burst into flames. “I won’t start a war, brother,” he says, taking another step backward toward Chloe. “But I will finish what you start. And it won’t end well for you.”

A slow, evil smile spreads over Michael’s lips. “Kill her.”

The demons charge forward with a chorus of yells. Lucifer plants his feet, lifts his hands, and light beams burst from his palms. He takes out four demons in rapid succession. Based on the way they scream in agony and collapse with steaming black holes in the center of their chests, Lucifer isn’t controlling the heat of his light. He’s aiming to kill, and he’s succeeding. 

A demon on the left sprints forward and throws a knife at Chloe as he runs. Chloe sucks in a breath, her muscles tensing with the urge to duck and cover, but she can’t. She’s chained to a pole. All she can do is stare as the blade turns end over end, headed straight for her heart. 

Lucifer lunges to the side and darts his hand out, catches the knife, and flings it back in one smooth motion. The blade buries itself in the demon’s chest. He looks down at the handle protruding from his body in surprise, and then his eyes roll back and he falls. 

Another demon appears in front of Lucifer. She’s got a pike lifted high above her head and a triumphant glint in her eye. Lucifer grabs her forearm before she can bring the pike down, and then wraps his other hand around her throat. Chloe watches in shock as Lucifer’s fingers start to smoke. The air fills with the stench of burning flesh and then a piercing scream. Lucifer pulls his hand away, and Chloe catches a glimpse of finger marks seared into the demon’s skin just before Lucifer shoves her dead body aside. 

Two other demons have taken advantage of Lucifer’s distraction and split up. They’re giving him a wide berth, running in a pincer maneuver and headed straight for Chloe. She opens her mouth to warn Lucifer, but she doesn’t need to. 

He shoots his hands out and ropes of light burst from his palms. The ropes wrap around the demons’ throats, and then Lucifer tugs. Their bodies fly through the air and the ropes of light dissolve a second before their necks smack into Lucifer’s palms, one in each hand. He squeezes the life out of them with a snarl, and then takes a knee and slams them both down onto the floor. They don’t get up. 

Lucifer does. He turns his gaze toward his brother, and he looks murderous. 

“Is that the best you can do?” he roars, holding out his hands. “I’ve ruled them for millennia, brother. I’ve ended a thousand rebellions. They’re no match for me.”

“Send more,” Michael commands, his fingers on the bracelet again. “Now!”

Lucifer laughs. “Oh yes, please do.” 

He smoothly dodges a demon who is swinging a sword through the air, and then puts his hands on either side of the demon’s head and snaps his neck with brutal ease. He plucks the sword out of the demon’s hand as he falls and then grins at his brother. 

“I could use the practice.”

Another group of demons materialize. Lucifer snarls and the sword in his hand bursts into flame. He twists and turns through a knot of them, dodging stabs and punches, slicing and slashing with his blade of fire. They fall, one after the other, no match for the king whose body is glowing with light. 

Lucifer has just decapitated a demon with a mace when another demon darts toward him from behind. 

“Lucifer, look out!” Chloe shouts. 

She’s too late. The demon plunges a dagger into Lucifer’s back just above his shoulder blades. Lucifer roars in pain, his back arching, and Chloe sucks in a horrified gasp. 

Lucifer whips around to face the demon. He reaches behind him and yanks the blade out of his body, sending a spray of blood splattering across the cement floor, and then straightens. 

The demon cowers. Lucifer flips the blade in his hand the way Chloe has seen Maze do, and then plunges it straight into the demon’s heart. 

The remaining demons, who were hanging back in front of Michael like bodyguards, charge toward Lucifer after a command from Michael. Lucifer snarls at them, drops the dagger and the sword, and raises both hands. Light explodes out of his palms. It races across the floor like a golden wave, toppling them easily, and Michael barely manages to unfurl his wings and leap into the air before it takes him out too. 

Michael hovers in mid-air, his eyes wide with fear. Lucifer strides across the warehouse, his hands aflame as he steps over the dead bodies of his demons. 

“More,” Michael screams, clutching the black band around his wrist. His wings flap awkwardly as he tries to fly backward and away from Lucifer. “Send more!” 

“Face me!” Lucifer shouts. “Stop hiding and face me!”

He lifts his hands but a wall of demons materializes between them. Chloe sucks in a breath—there are at least fifty of them, and they’re armed to the teeth—and Lucifer pauses. For a second, no one moves. 

“Kill the human!” Michael bellows. 

The demons surge forward. Lucifer holds out his hand, and another flaming rope of light bursts from his palm. The end of the rope wraps around the forklift sitting nearby. Lucifer yanks, and the machine careens across the floor and smashes into the crowd of demons like a bowling ball hitting pins. Demons fly through the air, and Lucifer sends bursts of light toward them like a hunter shooting at a flock of birds. 

He’s so focused on hitting his targets that he doesn’t notice three demons who make a break toward his left and beeline for Chloe. 

“Lucifer!” she shouts. 

He whips around at the sound of her voice. His eyes flare red, and then his entire body flames and he shoots forward like a fireball. He smashes into the three demons. Chloe expects them to go flying through the air like before, but they incinerate into ash instead. She gasps, her mouth falling open in shock.

Lucifer keeps going, a fiery blur that tears through the crowd of demons mercilessly. The warehouse is filled with their screams as they dissolve into ash or collapse to the ground, clutching parts of their bodies that are crackling with fire. 

Lucifer veers in Michael’s direction. Michael takes off, flying toward the ceiling, and Lucifer follows, transforming from a ball of light back into himself in mid-air. Chloe tips her head back to watch as they dive and twist through the warehouse. Most of the demons stop to watch too, apparently awestruck by the sight. 

But not all of them. 

Chloe doesn’t see the demon until he’s only a few feet away. He’s got a dagger in his hand that’s almost identical to the one Michael recently held to her throat, and the glint in his eyes is terrifying. 

He grins at her when their gazes meet. It looks more like the snarl of a rabid dog than a smile. “Hey pretty girl,” he sneers.

Chloe’s stomach drops. Lucifer, she prays. 

The demon lunges at her before she can finish. She lets the chain hold her weight against the pole and kicks out both her legs. She catches him square in the chest, and he stumbles backward with a growl. 

When he straightens again, his expression hardens. “Just for that, I won’t make this quick.” 

Two more demons appear at his flanks, and they stride forward in unison. Chloe bucks hard against the chain, desperate to get at least one of her arms free so she can defend herself, but it’s useless. She’s trapped, and they’re armed, and Lucifer is too focused on chasing after Michael to realize she’s in danger. 

The reality of the situation hits her hard. She’s going to die in this warehouse. She’s thousands of miles from home and chained to a pole and she’s going to get skewered by a bunch of demons so they can start a supernatural war. 

She’s never going to see Trixie again.

A black blur drops from the sky and lands in front of her. The demons pause, and Chloe’s eyes widen in shock. 

Maze, clad in tight black leather and holding a curved blade in each hand, straightens. 

“Sorry boys,” she says, a cocky smile tugging on her lips. “You’ll have to find another human. This one’s mine.”

The demon in the front snarls at her. “Traitor.”

Maze’s smile darkens. “Why don’t you come a little closer and say that to my face, Marbas?”

The trio of demons lunge forward, but they’re no match for Maze. She ducks and bobs and weaves, and Chloe watches in awe as her friend makes quick work of not only the three demons who were charging at her, but two others who attempted to come to their aid. Within seconds, they’re all dead at her feet.

Maze surveys her work, and then turns toward Chloe. “Hey Decker,” she greets, spinning her blades casually. She grins. “Miss me?”

“Maze,” Chloe breathes in relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you.”

“Considering you’d be dead without me, I think I’ve got an idea,” Maze snorts. She tucks her blades away and then strides forward. “Let’s get you out of those chains, huh?”

“They’re Hell-forged.”

That stops Maze in her tracks. She frowns, and then curls her lip in disgust. “What a dick.” 

Chloe can’t help but snort out a laugh. 

Maze shoots her a grin and then pulls a long blade out from behind her back. Chloe doesn’t want to know where she was keeping it. 

“I might be able to cut the lock with this,” she says, her eyebrows furrowed. “I mean, probably not, but it’s worth a try.”

She grabs the padlock hanging by Chloe’s hip and lifts the blade, but before she can start on the lock, Lucifer appears. His eyes are blazing red. He wraps his hand around Maze’s wrist to stop her from using the knife, and then yanks her around to face him and grabs her other wrist before she can reach for another blade. 

“Lucifer, wait,” Chloe blurts out, twisting beneath her chains. “She just saved my life.”

Lucifer doesn’t respond, and he doesn’t let Maze go. Maze glares up at him. He glares down at her. 

Chloe glances between them, past them to the dozens of demons who are sprinting in their direction, and sighs. “Yeah, maybe now’s not the best time for a staring contest?” 

Lucifer holds out one of his hands without taking his eyes off Maze. A wave of light bursts from his palm and takes out every demon in sight. They collapse to the ground, unmoving, and the warehouse goes eerily silent. 

Chloe does a quick scan, but she doesn’t see Michael anywhere. For the moment, at least, no one is trying to kill them. Judging by the look Lucifer is giving Maze, though, that doesn’t mean there won’t be more fighting. 

Maze arches an eyebrow at him. “Lightbringing is just like riding a bike, huh?”

Lucifer narrows his eyes at her. “Whose team are you on this time, Mazikeen? Because I’ll ride this bike straight over you if need be.”

Maze sighs and tugs out of his grasp. “I didn’t track you two idiots through farm country so your psychotic twin could kill her, okay? I’m on your side. I don’t want her dead anymore than you do.”

“You tracked us?” Chloe asks. 

“You helped him,” Lucifer snarls. 

Guilt shivers across Maze’s face, and suddenly Chloe understands how Michael was able to find them. 

“Oh Maze,” she sighs. 

Maze lifts her chin in defiance, though there’s still guilt in her eyes. “You were gone, Chloe. You disappeared, and Dan begged me to find you, and none of my sources knew anything. Amenadiel wouldn’t answer me or Linda. When Michael called, I figured I could use all the help I could get.”

“And what did you think he was going to do when he found us?” Lucifer demands.

“Not this!” Maze shoots back, throwing up her hands. “He said that as long as I let him have you, he’d make sure your dad didn’t punish Chloe for your bullshit. Sorry I’m not sorry I was trying to protect my friend from your crazy ass family.” 

“If you were trying to protect her, why’d you let him take her?”

“I didn’t let him do anything. He knocked me unconscious. Can you fight when you’re unconscious?”

Lucifer huffs at her.

Maze gives him an unimpressed once over. “And why are you half naked? Did he bust in on you guys going at it or something?”

Lucifer straightens as if he’s offended. “You know my Devil form and shirts don’t mix.”

Chloe expects Maze to say something sarcastic, but the demon blanches. “They’ve seen your Devil form and they didn’t bow?”

“It seems Michael is receiving assistance from Circe,” Lucifer replies. “I imagine she made it possible for him to appear in my Devil form long enough to gain their trust and tell them that I’d attempt to trick them. You know how convincing she can be.”

Maze blinks at him for a moment, and then she steps farther into his space and brandishes her finger at him. “I told you,” she says, prodding him in the chest. “I told you not to mess with that crazy bitch.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes.

Chloe frowns. “Who the hell is Circe?”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Maze snaps at Lucifer, ignoring Chloe. “If you’d listened to me then maybe Decker wouldn’t be chained to a freaking pole right now. Trixie’s going to kill you when she finds out you let this happen.”

Lucifer frowns as if he’s genuinely concerned about Trixie being upset, but Chloe doesn’t dwell on how cute that is. The mention of her daughter makes her heart flip.

“How is she?” she asks Maze eagerly. “Is she okay?”

Maze shoots her a look. “No she’s not okay. She thinks her mom got kidnapped by the Devil. She cries herself to sleep every night.”

Grief and guilt storm through Chloe’s chest like a hurricane, and tears prick her eyes. She forces herself to focus on her breathing so she won’t lose control of her emotions. Now is not the time to cry. 

Lucifer grabs Maze by the arm. Maze looks down at his hand with an arched eyebrow, but doesn’t pull away.

“What about you?” Lucifer challenges. “What is it you think? Because you’re still under the influence of the dream. I can see it flickering in your eyes.”

That’s enough to snap Chloe out of her Trixie-focused thoughts. She leans forward and squints, and sure enough, there’s a flicker of blue in Maze’s eyes. 

“Wait,” she says. “If you’re still under the spell, then why haven’t you tried to hurt Lucifer?” 

“Because I need him to keep you alive,” Maze says incredulously. “Duh.”

Chloe frowns. So does Lucifer.

“Look, I still think you’re a selfish moron who isn’t good enough for her,” Maze says, yanking her arm out of Lucifer’s grasp. She gestures at the warehouse and the demon bodies scattered everywhere. “But obviously we’ve got bigger problems to deal with first. You’re protecting her, right?”

“Of course I am,” Lucifer says, clearly offended. 

“Well then I need you alive. Apparently you’re the only angel willing to stand between my humans and your evil twin taking over the world. So I guess for now, we’re on the same side. Okay?”

Lucifer studies her, his eyebrows furrowed. He glances at Chloe, and then back at Maze. “Okay,” he echoes.

Chloe smiles, but her relief at their temporary truce is short-lived when she catches a glimpse of Michael in the distance. He lands on the warehouse floor a hundred yards away, and he grins at her when their eyes meet.

“Guys,” Chloe warns. 

Dozens and dozens of demons materialize in front of Michael. There has to be at least a hundred of them, and Chloe feels like groaning in frustration. How the hell are they supposed to fight a seemingly endless supply of demons? She can’t even help because she’s chained to this damn pole. She’s powerless.

Maze and Lucifer snap to attention. Maze tosses aside the knife she was going to use to cut the padlock and reaches for her curved blades instead. Lucifer’s hands burst into flames. 

“They’re just going to keep coming unless you get to him,” Maze says to Lucifer. “Take out as many as you can on the way. I’ll keep the rest away from her until you’re done. But don’t take forever.”

Lucifer sends a glance over his shoulder toward Chloe. “All right, love?”

Chloe’s throat tightens as apprehension flickers to life in her chest. What if she never gets to hear him say that again? What if they die here?

“Yeah,” she says, forcing a smile. “Go give ‘em hell.” 

He gives her a brief smile, and then his entire body bursts into flames. He shoots forward into the mass of demons like a missile, zigzagging through the crowd and incinerating dozens.

A trio of demons slip out of the chaos unscathed and charge forward. Maze meets them in a clash of Hell-forged steel. Chloe watches, her heart in her throat, as Maze kills them, her blades flashing in the dimness of the warehouse. As soon as she’s done, five more break free from the crowd. 

“I hate family reunions,” Maze mutters before she steps forward to meet them.

Lucifer is still barrelling toward Michael, a ball of fire so bright that Chloe has to squint when she looks directly at him. For every group of demons he incinerates, another batch appears between him and Michael. It’s like demonic whack-a-mole. Lucifer is making headway, but it’s slow.  

Maze isn’t faring much better. She’s a blur of steel and snarls and violence. Chloe has never seen anyone but Lucifer fight so efficiently, but it’s just Maze against a seemingly endless line of demons. They keep coming, breaking against her like waves on the shore, and although none of them get past her, Chloe can’t help but notice that Maze is being pushed steadily backward and closer to her. 

The apprehension that’s been sitting on her chest like a weight transforms into icy fear that wraps it’s fingers around her throat. She wants to help and she can’t, so she does the only thing she can do and prays. She prays to Amenadiel, and then to Lucifer’s dad, and then to them both. 

In the distance, Lucifer transforms from a ball of light back into himself and steps into Michael’s space, but four demons leap onto his back before he can grab his brother. He snarls and throws them off, and then another three take their place. He bursts into flames again.  

A demon slashes his sword across Maze’s thigh, and a long gash appears in her leather pants. Blood splatters onto the floor. Maze growls in pain and then lunges. She kills the demon who wounded her, but she’s limping now and Chloe can see dark blood oozing from the wound. 

She starts to beg God to intervene. 

Please help us please help us please help us please—  

Maze’s fighting has gone from smooth and lethal to desperate. She leans backward, dodging a dagger that comes scarily close to her throat, and then catches a follow-up punch and buries her blade in the gut of a demon. She yanks it free and straightens, and then a massive, hulking demon with a sword in each hand appears out of nowhere behind her.

Maze! ” Chloe screams.

It’s too late. The demon plunges both of his blades into Maze’s back, burying them to their hilts. Their pointed ends sprout through her chest, coated gruesomely with blood. 

Maze arches with a gasp, her eyes wide and her head tipped back. The demon yanks the swords free from her body. She stumbles and sways unsteadily on her feet, shell-shocked. He lifts the swords above her head, crossing the dripping blades in the air like he’s preparing to behead her. 

Chloe screams again. “No!

Lucifer appears. He catches the blades as they start to descend, and the moment they touch his skin they ignite. He shoves them aside with a snarl and then incinerates the demon into ash. 

Maze staggers. Her face is deathly pale. Blood pours from the wounds in her chest. Lucifer darts forward to catch her as her knees give out, and they collapse onto the floor with Lucifer cradling her body in his arms. 

Demons are sprinting at them from all directions. Lucifer snarls and whips his arm through the air, and a ring of fire encircles him and Maze and the pole Chloe is chained to. The flames are huge, at least a dozen feet tall, and they’re so hot Chloe can feel them even from several feet away. There’s no way anything or anyone could get through them without turning to ash. 

But it doesn’t matter. It’s too late. Lucifer is on the floor a few feet in front of her, and Maze is dying in his arms.

Chloe’s eyes burn with tears. A sob wells up in her chest and rips out of her throat, and Maze’s eyes flicker in her direction. 

Chloe pulls against the chain wrapped around her body, desperate to get to her friend and hold her, but there’s nothing she can do. She’s helpless.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Maze shakes her head. “Not your fault.” Her voice is a wheeze, like she’s struggling to breathe. “Don’t feel guilty.” 

She winces in pain and shifts in Lucifer’s arms. She opens her mouth as if to say something else, but blood spills from her lips instead of words. She chokes and leans sideways, coughing and spitting up blood. It splatters on the concrete, so dark it’s more black than red.

When she rolls back into Lucifer’s lap, he brushes her hair away from her face with a gentleness that makes Chloe sob again. 

“Take her to Trix,” Maze croaks, still wheezing. “Give your word.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “You don’t need it. You can deliver her to the urchin yourself. Just hang on, all right? I’ve got you.” 

His wings unfurl, and he plucks a feather from them. Chloe watches, confused, as he presses it to one of the wounds in Maze’s chest. It flares gold and then glows, bathing their circle of flame in celestial light. Maze arches, gasping, and then the light evaporates. Lucifer reaches for another feather, but before he can press it to Maze’s other wound, she covers his hand with hers. 

“Don’t waste it,” she whispers. 

Lucifer frowns. “Maze…”

Maze’s body goes slack. Her head drops to the side, and her hand falls away from Lucifer’s and smacks against the concrete floor. Her eyes stare blankly into the distance.

“No,” Lucifer whispers in horror. 

Chloe feels like someone has shoved a sword straight through her too. Tears pour from her eyes and her body shudders with a sob. 

How is she supposed to explain this to Trixie?

Lucifer shakes his head. “No.” He clenches his jaw in determination. “No.” 

He presses the feather into Maze’s wound, but this time it doesn’t glow. It just soaks up Maze’s blood, transforming from a blinding white to a dark crimson, and Maze doesn’t move.

“Mazikeen,” Lucifer calls, reaching up to cup her face with a bloodied hand. “Maze. Come back to me.”

He sounds desperate, broken, and Chloe is crying so hard she can barely see him through her tears. She watches as he leans forward, curling himself over Maze’s body, and when tears drop from his eyes onto Maze’s leather-clad chest, Chloe closes her eyes and hangs her head.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. And then the heat that’s been pushing oppressively into Chloe ever since Lucifer conjured up a ring of fire disappears. Cool air rushes over her skin. 

She lifts her head. The ring of fire is gone. Lucifer’s forehead is pressed against Maze’s chin as he cries over her dead body, and Chloe realizes that he’s so focused on his grief that he’s no longer concentrating on his flame. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes in fear. 

He picks his head up. Demons are materializing all around them—not just in front of Michael but everywhere, all throughout the warehouse. There are hundreds of them, each one armed to the teeth.

Lucifer clenches his jaw. He sets Maze gently on the floor and then gets to his feet, backing away from her until he’s only a foot or so in front of Chloe. She can smell his cologne, but it’s faint. The wound in his back from the dagger is still bleeding, and there are trails of crimson smeared across his skin. 

His hands burst into flame in preparation for a fight. It’s hundreds against one, and the world is hanging in the balance, and Chloe knows what she needs to do.

“Lucifer,” she calls. “I need you to leave me and go get Trixie. Hide somewhere safe until you can reach your dad.” 

His shoulders go rigid. He shakes his head but doesn’t turn around. “No.”

“Please, Lucifer. I need you to do this for me. I need to know she’s safe.”

He turns to look at her. There’s rage and agony in his eyes. “I’m not leaving you to die.”

“I love you,” she murmurs gently. 

He shakes his head, his eyes glassy, and she leans as far away from the pole and as close to him as the chain will allow. 

“I love you, Lucifer. And I know you love me too. I know, okay? But I need you to leave me. I need you to do this for me.”

“No.”

“Lucifer—”

No.

The demons are inching toward them. They’re running out of time. 

“Please,” Chloe begs. “Please, Lucifer.”

Lucifer opens his mouth but he doesn’t get a chance to reply.

“You can’t fight all of Hell, brother!” Michael calls gleefully. 

The horde of demons encircling Lucifer and Chloe seem to take that as a command. They surge forward.

Lucifer’s wings unfurl with a snap. “Watch me,” he growls.

He shoots into the air. Chloe tips her head back, watching him rocket toward the ceiling, and then he flips in mid-air and dives back toward the ground. 

He lands next to her with so much force that the cement cracks beneath his feet. Light explodes out of him like a bomb. A wave of fire shoots outward, taking out every demon in the warehouse. Chloe feels it hit her too, the force of it so strong it steals the breath out of her lungs, but she doesn’t burn up. It doesn’t hurt her. It never has. 

She opens her eyes. The hundreds of demons that were circling her are gone, apparently incinerated into nothingness. All that’s left of them is their weapons, scattered all over the floor, and Michael, hovering in the air, his eyes wide in shock and horror. 

Lucifer shoots into the air so fast Chloe doesn’t even see him. One second he’s in front of her, crouched on the newly cracked cement, and then the next he’s tackling his brother. 

They careen downward and slam into the floor, Lucifer landing on top. He tears the black band off Michael’s wrist and tosses it aside. Michael struggles but Lucifer pins him down, his wings still unfurled, his knees on either side of Michael’s torso and his hand wrapped around Michael’s throat. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Lucifer snarls, bending forward so that their faces are inches apart. “And I want you to know that I won’t feel guilty about it at all.”

Michael claws at Lucifer’s hand around his throat, his legs and wings flopping uselessly. 

Chloe watches, her eyes wide, as Lucifer chokes the life out of his brother. She wonders, briefly, if she’s supposed to try to stop him. But how can she, when she knows what Michael plans to do?

And then she feels cold, hard steel press against her throat. 

She can hear someone wheezing in her ear, their breath hot on her skin, and for a second all she can do is wonder how. Lucifer’s light went everywhere. It incinerated everyone except her, because she’s immune, and Michael, because he took to the air. How…?

Her cop brain registers two things at once. 

One: A demon who was directly behind her would have been shielded from the light thanks to her invulnerability. The very thing that was supposed to protect her could cost her everything.

Two: She’s going to die.

The blade is sharp against her skin. She winces, turning her head so it’s not pressed directly on the front of her throat, but that position isn’t much better. It hurts. She could pray to Lucifer, but she won’t. He needs to finish what he started and he won’t if he sees that she’s in danger. 

“Release the king or she dies!” the voice in her ear bellows. 

Lucifer immediately snaps his head in Chloe’s direction. She watches as fear and rage dawn in his eyes, and then he narrows his gaze. 

“If you kill her, your king dies too.”

The voice in Chloe’s ear laughs. “He resurrects. She does not.”

Lucifer’s face remains impassive, but Chloe knows him too well. She knows he’s realized he doesn’t have the upper hand. He loosens his grip on Michael’s neck just a little, but doesn’t let go.

Chloe shakes her head as much as the blade will allow. “Don’t, Lucifer.”

“Shut up,” the voice in her ear snaps. 

“You’re not really going to let her die, are you?” Michael says, his voice a rasping croak. 

Lucifer’s eyebrows furrow.

“Don’t,” Chloe repeats. “He’s going to kill me either way.”

The knife presses harder into her throat. “Shut your mouth.”

Lucifer keeps his hand around Michael’s throat, but raises the other. It bursts into flame, and his intentions are clear. It’s a threat. 

The knife against Chloe’s throat shifts, and she hears rustling. She knows, even without looking, that the demon has positioned himself even farther behind her. She’s his invulnerable shield, and Lucifer can’t get to him. 

Michael glances toward Chloe and then barks out a laugh when he seems to realize the same thing. “You don’t have a shot,” he says hoarsely. “No loopholes this time, brother. Make your choice.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw. His eyes meet Chloe’s.

You have to let me go, she prays to him. It’s the only way to stop him.

Lucifer shakes his head. “No.”

Tears prick Chloe’s eyes, but she refuses to let them fall. They sit in her eyes, blurring her vision.

Please, she pleads with him. I love you. But you can’t sacrifice the world for me. You have to let me go.

Lucifer shakes his head. “I can’t, love.” It’s the same way he sounded the night he told her he wouldn’t take his invulnerability back. “I can’t.”

“Please,” she begs, this time aloud. “Please.

Lucifer gives her an apologetic, devastated look, and then releases Michael’s neck. He lowers his other hand too, and when his flames extinguish, Chloe closes her eyes against a sudden wave of tears. 

“That’s right,” the demon behind her snarls in her ear. “Let him up.”

Chloe opens her eyes and watches as Lucifer gets off of Michael and stands. He immediately turns to face her. 

“Release her,” he orders, his eyes blazing. 

“Don’t you dare,” Michael says, scrambling to his feet. 

Lucifer turns toward him, clenching his fists, but Michael lifts a hand. “Ah ah. Not so fast. Put a hand on me, and your human dies, remember?”

Lucifer goes still. He casts a look at Chloe, and the expression on his face makes her want to sob. 

Michael laughs. “You see what love does?” he sneers. “It makes you weak.

Lucifer doesn’t take his eyes off Chloe. “Let her go, brother,” he murmurs. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll play the part you want me to play. Just let her go.”

“You know what I want?” Michael spits. “I want you to bow.”

Lucifer finally tears his eyes away from Chloe. He looks enraged at the suggestion, but he makes no attempt to go after his brother. He just stands, his wings unfurled but still, his hands hanging at his sides but devoid of flame. He could burn the whole warehouse to the ground if he wanted, but he won’t. Not with her life on the line. 

Another sob catches in her chest.

Michael strides across the floor to snatch the black band Lucifer threw aside and return it to his wrist. He grins, and then presses his fingers to the purple gems. 

“I think we need an audience for this.”

Demons blink into existence all throughout the warehouse. Ten, twenty, fifty. A hundred. There’s just as many as before, more even, and the fact that some of them are closer to her than Lucifer makes Chloe ache. 

The demons glance at each other as they appear. When they notice Chloe with a knife to her neck and Lucifer standing helplessly nearby, they hiss and jeer. 

“Now then, brother,” Michael says. “I think it’s time for you to bow before your king.”

Lucifer turns his gaze back to Chloe. 

She shakes her head. “No.”

The demon behind her presses the blade harder into her throat, and for the second time tonight she feels blood trickle down her neck. It doesn’t deter her. She can’t let Lucifer do this. She won’t. 

“You’re the Lightbringer,” she tells him, holding his gaze. “You don’t bow to darkness.”

Michael stalks toward Lucifer. “Bow and I’ll release her.” 

“He’s lying,” Chloe counters. “You know he’s lying.”

Michael bares his teeth at her. “Bow or you can watch her drown in her own blood.”

“Bow!” a nearby demon shouts. 

Another one joins him. “Bow!”

A chorus of chanting starts up. “Bow! Bow! Bow!”

Chloe watches as Michael leans forward and whispers something in Lucifer’s ear. She can’t hear it over the chanting. Lucifer drops his gaze briefly to the floor as he listens. When he lifts his gaze to meet hers again, his eyes flare red briefly. 

For a moment, the cacophony of shouting demons seems to fade, and it’s just the two of them. She feels a sudden, inexplicable wave of warmth wash over her. It’s like sliding into a heated pool, or drinking a glass of strong whiskey. It rushes through her blood, warms her all the way down to her bones, and the chill that’s been hanging in the air ever since the ring of fire disappeared seems to evaporate. 

The moment disappears just as quick as it came. The shouting comes roaring back, and they’re not alone anymore. They’re surrounded by demons and darkness and the promise of death. 

Lucifer takes a deep breath and lifts his chin with a determined look in his eyes, and Chloe knows what he’s going to do. 

“No,” she whispers. 

He doesn’t listen. 

She watches, tears blurring her vision, as the proudest man she’s ever known lowers himself to his knees. He doesn’t face Michael. He doesn’t bow before his brother. He bows to her, kneels for her, his wings spread magnificently behind him, and she can barely breathe around the grief and love warring in her chest. 

The warehouse erupts into a deafening roar. The demons shout taunts and obscenities, and Michael howls with laughter, but Lucifer doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look away from Chloe. He smiles at her the same way he smiled at her a few hours ago when he first told her that he loved her, and she watches his mouth form the words even though she can’t hear them. 

I love you.

Tears stream down her face. “I love you too,” she chokes, but her voice is drowned out by all the shouting. 

Behind Lucifer, Michael bends and picks up a sword from the floor. He holds up his hand. The demons go immediately silent and eerily still. 

“You’re wasting your breath, brother,” Michael snarls. “Love can’t save you.”

He lifts the sword in the air, and Chloe screams.

NO!

The sword flashes through the air and severs Lucifer’s wings from his body in one fell swoop. 

Lucifer screams in agony. Chloe feels it deep in her soul, like some part of her has been cut off too, and she struggles against the chain that’s binding her. 

Lucifer’s wings drop to the floor. The white feathers are splattered with crimson blood. His body collapses forward onto the cement. Chloe screams his name, but her voice is lost among another deafening cheer from the demons. 

Michael’s face is lit with vicious joy. He seems to be feeding off of the roar of the crowd. He steps forward, looming over Lucifer, and then pulls his foot back and delivers a brutal kick to Lucifer’s ribs. The demons cheer again. Lucifer curls in on himself, gasping, and Chloe catches a glimpse of the two gruesome wounds on his back where his wings used to be. They’re pouring blood, and the wound above them from the dagger is still bleeding too. 

Michael drops the sword and then kneels over Lucifer. He punches his brother again, and again, and then again. Chloe wails at him to stop, and Lucifer struggles but fails to fend off his brother’s blows, and the demons cheer through it all.

Michael straightens eventually. Lucifer lies crumpled before him, a bleeding and broken mess. Chloe can taste the salt of her tears. She leans into the chain, desperate to be free, desperate to do something, but she’s helpless. 

“This is the man who thought he could rule you?” Michael shouts to his demons, gesturing at Lucifer. “A man who bows for a human?

The demons howl in furious agreement, waving their weapons in the air and body slamming each other like football players after a touchdown. 

And just like that, rage flares to life in Chloe’s chest. She glares at Michael as he basks in the adoration of demons, and then glances down at the fallen angel at his feet. Her angel. Her Lightbringer.

It can’t end like this. She won’t let it end like this. 

Get up, Lucifer, she prays. You have to get up. 

He lifts his head slowly to look at her. His face is bloodied and swollen and it makes her ache, but she pushes her grief away and clenches her jaw.  

Get up, she commands. Light them all up.

He puts one hand on the floor, and then another, and he pushes the top half of his body up off the concrete. The demons fall silent. Michael turns around with a frown, confused as to why he’s no longer being cheered for.  

“I gave it to you,” Lucifer croaks at Chloe. “You have it.”

Chloe frowns, confused, because his invulnerability can’t help her now. Michael glares down at his brother, and then he pulls his leg back and delivers another kick to Lucifer’s ribs. Lucifer collapses onto the concrete again, gasping, and the demons start to cheer again. 

Rage burns hotter in Chloe’s veins.

Stand up, Lucifer, she prays, gritting her teeth. Stand up.

Lucifer tries again to obey her. He plants his hands on the floor and pushes up onto all fours. He puts a foot on the floor and tries to stand, but falls back to his knees. The crowd of demons scream obscenities at him. 

Lucifer glances up at her, a determined look in his eyes. “Like my—” he shouts, but she can’t hear the rest of what he says over the din. 

Lucifer must recognize she can’t hear him, because he starts to drag himself across the floor toward her. He’s leaving a trail of smeared blood in his wake, and it’s such a struggle for him to move that all the fury leaks out of Chloe. She feels like someone has put her heart in a vise and won’t stop cranking it tighter. 

“Look at him,” Michael shouts to the demons, gesturing at Lucifer. “Crawling toward her like a dog.

The demons jeer. Lucifer’s face is pale, and sweat slicks his skin. His breathing is uneven, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps crawling across the floor toward her, and Chloe strains against the chain, desperate to meet him.  

“Think about me,” he shouts to her. “Think about us, Chloe. Let there be light.”

Chloe opens her mouth to shout at him that she doesn’t understand, but she stops when Michael bends forward to snatch a discarded dagger from the floor. He strides forward and grabs Lucifer by the hair, yanking his head back.

“Don’t touch him!” Chloe shouts.

Michael ignores her, plunges the dagger into Lucifer’s side beneath his ribs, and twists. 

Lucifer roars in pain. Chloe screams and struggles harder against the chain. Michael shoves Lucifer onto the floor and then stands over him, the bloodied dagger still grasped in his fist. It’s dripping with Lucifer’s blood.

Michael raises his hand, and the demons go silent.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he snarls into the quiet. “It’s pathetic. You shame yourself, brother. Time to put us all out of your misery.”

Michael lifts the dagger. 

Chloe struggles against the chain, twisting and screaming Lucifer’s name, desperate to save him. 

And then everything explodes. 

Chloe isn’t sure what happens. Suddenly there’s heat, and blinding light, and the chain that’s wrapped so tightly around her dissolves. Her body lunges forward of its own accord, leaping through the air, and then she’s on her knees next to Lucifer, her body draped over his to shield him.

She waits for the sharp pain of the dagger in her back, but it never comes. The warehouse is quiet and still. A beat passes.

Chloe leans back and glances down at Lucifer.

He smiles up at her. “You did it,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “Knew you could.”

Chloe looks around, afraid that they’re about to be engulfed by a wave of demons, but the sudden silence isn’t a trick. Whatever just happened seems to have destroyed the demons. They’re all gone. Michael is lying nearby, still in one piece and seemingly unharmed, but he’s not moving. 

Chloe casts a look toward the pole, and notices that the chain that held her is gone too. 

What the hell happened?

She doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that she’s free. 

She turns back to Lucifer. There’s blood leaking from the wound in his side and a thick pool of it is forming beneath his back, probably from the gaping holes where his wings used to be. The crimson puddle is slowly creeping outward. She rips her leather jacket off and balls it up, and then presses it against the wound on his side to apply pressure and stem the bleeding. 

He groans in pain. She hesitates, unsure of how to apply pressure to the wounds on his back, and then realizes she can’t. She has two hands and he’s bleeding in four places. 

“Hang on, okay?” she says, glancing up at him. “You’re going to be fine.”

“Detective,” he whispers. 

Chloe scans the area around her and spots his mangled wings nearby. “Your feathers,” she says, looking down at him again. “They can heal you, right? Is that what you were trying to do for Maze?”

He shakes his head. “Won’t work.”

Panic claws at Chloe’s chest but she ignores it. “Okay,” she says. “That’s okay. We can just...do you have your phone? Is it in your pocket?”

She holds her leather jacket against his wound with one hand and uses the other to pat down the pockets of his pants in search of his phone. “We’ll call an ambulance, and we’ll get you to the hospital, yeah?”

“Detective,” he murmurs again. 

His pockets are empty. Where’s his phone? She doesn’t have hers. She didn’t grab it before she left with Michael. How’s she supposed to call an ambulance without a phone?

There has to be another way. 

“Take your invulnerability back,” she says, leaning over him. “Take it back so you can heal.”

He covers the hand that’s holding her jacket against his side with one of his. “Chloe,” he whispers. 

There’s a note of finality in his voice that hits her like a slap. Tears prick her eyes. “Take it back, Lucifer,” she whispers. “Please.”

“That’s not how it works, love.”

Chloe opens her mouth to plead with him to try, just try, but she can’t seem to get the words out. Tears spill from her eyes.

Lucifer lifts his hand to hold her face. There’s blood staining his skin. There’s blood seeping into the knees of her jeans, warm and sticky, and it’s smeared on her fingers too. It’s everywhere. There’s just...there’s so much blood. 

“It was always yours anyway,” Lucifer says, his thumb stroking over the swell of her cheek. He blinks drowsily, and then he smiles. “You’ve always lit me up.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m yours,” he whispers. “You have all of me.”

She doesn’t know what that means. She’s opening her mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, but his eyes flutter closed and his hand falls down to his chest. 

“Lucifer,” she calls in a panic, bending over him. “Lucifer, look at me. Look at me, babe.”

He opens his eyes slowly. 

She brushes a hand through his messy hair and thinks of a few hours ago, when he hovered above her in bed and she did the same thing. She didn’t have blood on her hands then. He wasn’t bleeding out then. 

“You can’t go, okay?” she whispers. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

He lifts his hand again, and his fingers tremble as he wraps them around the ring that’s dangling between them from the chain around her neck. 

“Time’s up, love,” he tells her quietly. A sad smile curves his lips. “I’m glad it’s me. The world needs you. The urchin needs you.”

Chloe’s eyes flood. A sob shivers in her chest and then bursts free, echoing through the warehouse, and she clings to him. Maybe if she holds him tight enough, maybe if she loves him hard enough, he won’t go. Maybe she can keep him just a little longer. 

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing as he brushes his fingertips over her tear stained cheeks. “No more crying for the Devil.”

The word devil reminds her where he’s going, and what’s going to happen when he gets there, and fear opens its jaws and swallows her whole.

“You promised you’d come back,” she tells him. “You said you’d always come back, remember? So when you get down there, if you end up in a loop, you walk right back out. You hear me? Remember what’s real and walk out. Come back to me.”

He brushes his thumb along her jaw. “I love you.”

“Promise me, Lucifer,” she says, reaching up to curl her fingers around his wrist. “Promise me you’ll walk out of your loop. Give me your word.”

His breathing is getting labored. He swallows, his throat constricting. “Promise,” he whispers obediently.

He blinks heavily, and she knows he’s fading. She scoots closer to him. She can’t get close enough. This isn’t fair. They just found each other. They just got to a good place. None of this is fair. 

His hand drops from her face and lands on his chest. She tangles her fingers with his, and he squeezes her hand weakly. 

“I love you,” he breathes. He blinks up at her, and that awed look he’s given her so many times blossoms across his face. “First and last and everything in between. Heart and soul.”

She sucks in a breath, trying to swallow a sob, but she can’t. She leans forward and presses her forehead against his as tears roll down her cheeks. 

“I love you too,” she whispers. She kisses him gently. “Heart and soul.”

He exhales against her lips, a contented sigh, and then he goes still. 

Silence rings in Chloe’s ears. She lingers close to him, unmoving, praying for something different, something else, a reality where the love of her life didn’t just bleed out in her arms. Somewhere where he’s still breathing, still alive, still hers. 

When she leans back, though, she knows no one is going to answer her prayer. His eyes stare unblinkingly up at her. His hand is unmoving in hers. His chest isn’t rising with breath. 

He’s gone. 

She lost him.

It hits her suddenly, all at once, and she feels like she’s drowning. She sucks in a breath, and then another, but she can’t seem to get any air in her lungs. She can’t breathe. She can’t see through her tears. She sobs his name, broken and devastated and hollowed out and raw, and buries her head in his chest and cries. 

A pair of hands wrap around her shoulders. Chloe startles in surprise, but instead of twisting to see who it is she hangs on tighter to Lucifer, unwilling to let him go. 

She doesn’t have a choice, though. The hands tighten on her shoulders, wrapping around her arms, and her body is lifted suddenly into the air and flung across the warehouse like a rag doll.

She lands hard on the concrete floor. She doesn’t feel anything. Her body is just like the rest of her—numb with grief. 

She picks up her head. 

Michael stands between her and Lucifer. She doesn’t know how he survived what all the demons couldn’t, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Lucifer is gone. 

Michael stalks toward her, a predatory glint in his eye, and when he gets to her he grabs her by the ponytail. He yanks hard. Pain shoots through her scalp as her body jerks toward him, sliding a little across the floor. He tips her head back, and she’s forced to look up at him. 

“All hail the Queen of Hell,” he spits at her, bending forward to sneer in her face. “Too weak to save Mazikeen. Too weak to save Lucifer. How’s it feel to know they sacrificed themselves for you and you’re still going to die anyway?”

He lifts his arm and backhands her across her face. Pain explodes in her mouth. She tastes blood and she knows her bottom lip has split open. She doesn’t see him pulling his leg back to kick her until it’s too late. His foot connects with her stomach and she doubles over, gasping, as pain shoots through her ribs too. He shoves her, and she collapses onto the floor. 

She doesn’t try to get up. The concrete is cold against her cheek. She flexes her fingers against the floor and closes her eyes and struggles to breathe. She’s tired. Everything hurts and Lucifer is gone and she’s so tired.

She hears the sound of metal sliding on concrete, and she forces herself to pick up her head. 

Michael stands above her, holding the same sword he used to cut off Lucifer’s wings. The blade is still slick with blood. 

He twirls it carelessly in his hand. “Don’t worry, Detective,” he says, smirking at her. “I’ll be merciful and make it quick.” 

Lucifer, she prays in case it’s the last time she gets the chance. I love you. Remember what’s real. 

Michael raises the sword into the air. 

Chloe lifts her arms on a reflex, her forearms shielding her head as she curls forward in preparation for the death blow. She thinks of Trixie, and of the angel she loved with all her heart and soul, and a small familiar voice whispers in the back of her mind I don’t want to die. 

The blade hits Chloe’s arms.

She feels no pain.

A beat passes. Silence rings in her ears, and nothing hurts. 

Is she dead? 

She picks her head up, confused, but she’s still in the warehouse. She’s still alive. Michael is standing above her, still holding the handle of the sword, but the sword itself is gone. There’s no blade. There are thousands of tiny black pieces scattered on the floor between them. 

Her arms are on fire. 

Chloe shoots to her feet, scurrying backward as if she can get away from her own arms. She panics for a moment, terrified of the pain and the burning sensation that can’t be far off, but it never comes. Just like Lucifer’s light, the flames flicker over her skin but don’t burn her.

I gave it to you, Lucifer’s voice whispers in her mind. You have it.

“Lucifer,” she breathes.

Think about me, his voice whispers again. Think about us.  

She swallows around the tightness of her throat and closes her eyes. 

She sees him sitting on her couch, his face illuminated by a fire. You’re the only thing I believe in, Chloe. You made the Devil a believer.

She sees him in Vegas, his hand on her face and the skyline stretched behind him. It’s not Lux or Hell or the Silver City. It’s you, Chloe. You’re home. 

She sees him on a blanket in a field beneath the stars, awe and adoration etched into his expression. Everyone else sees darkness. But you see stars.

She sees him in a bar, leaning toward her over burgers and fries, his lips curved into a smile. I love you. I’m in love with you.

When she opens her eyes, it’s not just her forearms that are on fire. The flames are spreading down to her hands, licking over her palms and wrapping around her fingers. Her skin is glowing. She’s lighting up from the inside out. 

Let there be light. 

“Impossible,” Michael murmurs. 

Chloe shakes her head. “Incredible,” she whispers.

The rest of her body bursts suddenly into flame. She tips her head back and gasps, overwhelmed by the feeling of light and heat and indescribable power coursing through her, but it doesn’t hurt. It can’t hurt. It’s Lucifer’s. And Lucifer would never, ever hurt her.

She lowers her head and exhales a deep breath and studies her body. She looks just like Lucifer did outside the club the first time she ever saw him aflame. Her pulse is pounding a staccato beat in her ears. She turns her palms toward the ground, thinks about the way it feels to have Lucifer’s arms wrapped around her, and summons more heat.

Beams of light blast from her palms and slam into the floor with a hiss. Two identical, smoking craters appear in the concrete on either side of her boots.

Laser beam hands, Lucifer’s voice whispers in the back of her mind.

Chloe laughs. She turns her palms back toward her and watches the flames lick over her skin and she laughs. 

And then she remembers she’s not alone. 

She looks up. Michael is watching her in horror, his eyes wide and terrified, and a hatred like Chloe’s never known pulses suddenly through her blood. She curls her hands into fists.

Michael shakes his head and lifts a hand. “Detective...”

Chloe raises her hands. They’re on fire. All of her is on fire, and she’s never felt more powerful. 

She smiles. “All hail the Queen of Hell.”

Chapter 29: Twenty-Nine

Notes:

Y’all, pay attention because this is important:

The warning from last chapter also applies to this one. This is dark and angsty stuff, and if you’re not in a good headspace, please don’t read it. Personally, I think this chapter is worse than the last. It also contains some things that could be triggers, and I don’t want to trigger you, so consider this a blanket trigger warning. If you’re worried, please have someone you trust read it for you and give you a heads up of what’s here before you dive in.

Also, so many of you left such lovely comments on what I lovingly refer to as "the death chapter" and they made me smile so thanks for that :)

Kay, that’s all. Love you boos.

Chapter Text

Lucifer is dying. 

He knows he’s dying. He can feel it. The steady creep of cold through his veins. How hard it’s suddenly become to inhale and exhale. The darkness hovering at the edges of his vision. 

He thinks of another night, another death, and remembers how he prayed. He’s been praying since the moment he knew something was wrong in Los Angeles, but he’s yet to receive an answer. He prays again anyway. 

Protect Chloe. Please. 

“Lucifer,” the Detective calls. He can hear the panic in her voice, and it makes him ache. He never wanted to hurt her like this. He doesn’t want to leave her. Why does he have to leave her?

“Lucifer, look at me. Look at me, babe.”

He opens his eyes. She’s hovering over him. She smiles, but there’s no joy in it. The same panic that was threaded through her voice is dark in her eyes. She brushes her hand through his hair and he’s tempted to close his eyes again. He loves the feel of her fingers in his hair. 

Cause it’s witchcraft, Sinatra croons in the back of his mind. Wicked witchcraft. 

He wants to sing it to her, but he can’t seem to find his voice. He wishes he would’ve sang it to her earlier. He wishes he would’ve done a lot of things earlier. They could have had so much more time together if he hadn’t been such a bloody fool. 

She leans toward him. “You can’t go, okay?” she whispers. “I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.”

Guilt sparks in his chest and spreads like wildfire. He thinks of Vegas. 

You’re just going to keep doing this, aren’t you? Leaving me. Breaking my heart. 

He wants to tell her that he’s sorry for leaving her again, for breaking her heart again, but the words die on his lips because they’re not enough. He’s not enough. He never has been. He gave her everything he had and loved her with every inch of his dark and tattered soul, but it wasn’t enough. They’re going to lose each other. 

The chain of the necklace he gave her in Denver is dangling between them. His eye catches on the ring, and he lifts his hand as steadily as he can to grab it. He wants to ask her to promise him that she’ll never take it off, but he hates the idea of her spending the rest of her life mourning him. She deserves so much more than that. 

“Time’s up, love,” he tells her quietly. Her eyes are filled with tears, and the guilt intensifies in his chest. “I’m glad it’s me,” he murmurs, wanting to remind her that it’s better this way. “The world needs you. The urchin needs you.”

She sobs, and he aches. He doesn’t want her to cry. He knows it’s unavoidable. She loves him too much, and she feels things too deeply. But he doesn’t want to cause her pain. 

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, brushing his fingertips over her tear stained cheeks. “No more crying for the Devil.”

“You promised you’d come back,” she says, her voice trembling. “You said you’d always come back, remember? So when you get down there, if you end up in a loop, you walk right back out. You hear me? Remember what’s real and walk out. Come back to me.”

He doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t know how to leave his loop. He doesn’t tell her that even if he does figure it out, he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to make it back to her. His wings are gone, and his prayers for help have all gone unanswered. 

He brushes his thumb along her jaw and tells her the truth instead. “I love you.”

“Promise me, Lucifer,” she says, reaching up to curl her fingers around his wrist. “Promise me you’ll walk out of your loop. Give me your word.”

He doesn’t lie. He never lies. But is it a lie to promise that he’ll try? Because he will. He’ll fight like hell to get back to her, loops and Michael and demons be damned. 

“Promise,” he whispers.

She scoots closer to him. He tries to stroke his thumb over her cheek, but his arm feels heavy. He can’t hold it up anymore. It drops to his chest, and she immediately reaches out to weave her fingers through his. He squeezes her fingers and tries not to think about how this is the last time he’ll get to hold her hand.  

“I love you,” he whispers. He pushes the encroaching darkness away and focuses on her face, on the blue of her eyes, on everything she is and everything she’s given him. “First and last and everything in between. Heart and soul.”

She leans forward to press her forehead against his. “I love you too,” she whispers. She kisses him gently. “Heart and soul.”

He can’t hold the darkness back anymore. He breathes her in one last time, and then death devours him whole.


Lucifer is standing in Lux.

Or, at least, he thinks it’s Lux. The layout is the same. The staircases are still there, and the booths, and the sunken floor in the middle where his piano used to sit and where clubgoers used to dance. But the televisions are gone, and so is most of the decor, including the brightly lit sign proclaiming the club’s name. There’s a raised platform where the bar used to be. And centered in the middle of the platform are two of the largest, most ostentatious thrones Lucifer has ever seen. 

Michael is sitting on the throne on the left. He’s dressed the way he’s always dressed, which is terribly. He’s holding a glass filled with clear liquid. He’s alone, but he’s smirking. Even when he lifts the glass to his lips to take a sip, he continues to smirk. 

Lucifer’s blood boils at the sight of his twin. He tries to stride toward him, desperate to make his brother bleed, but finds that his feet are rooted to the ground. He can’t move. He frowns down at his shoes, trying with all his might to peel them off the floor, but he can’t. 

He’s stuck. 

He looks up at Michael with a glare. “What have you done to me, you insufferable twat?” 

But Michael doesn’t acknowledge him. He just glances at his watch, and smirks a little deeper, and then sips his drink. 

Lucifer curls his hands into fists and summons his light, because even if he can’t move, he can at least do that. He’s going to burn his brother alive, slowly and painfully, and he’s going to revel in the screams.

But nothing happens. His hands remain cold and unlit. There’s no fire coursing through his veins. No heat thrumming just beneath the surface of his skin. 

Lucifer frowns down at his palms, confused. What happened to his light?

The memories come one right after another, like the staccato fire of a machine gun. The warehouse in New York. The Detective, chained to a pole with a Hell-forged knife at her throat. The sudden realization of what he had to do. The bereft feeling that enveloped his soul when he gave up his light for her, followed by the absolute certainty that he’d done the right thing as he knelt before her. Michael cutting off his wings, beating him and berating him, and then going in for the kill. The Detective, ablaze with glory and then awash in grief, holding him in her arms as he bled out and died.

He died.

He’s in Hell. 

He looks around with a new understanding of his surroundings. Honestly, he’s surprised. He didn’t expect to be in Lux. He knew he wouldn’t find himself in a repeat of his loop with Uriel. That guilt has been dealt with, and there’s nothing left of it but a scar on his soul. He knows if he’d died a week earlier, he would have found himself at that beach in Los Angeles, watching the Detective leave her child. But that’s been dealt with too. It’s another scar instead of an open wound. The Detective made sure of that.

So then what is this? Why is he here? He’s never been in Lux when it looked like this. He’s never seen Michael on a throne. How can he feel guilty over something that’s never happened?

Michael sets his glass down on the arm of his throne with a thud. Lucifer looks up. Michael’s smirk has deepened, and his eyes are focused on the staircase to Lucifer’s right. 

“Well there you are,” he says. “About time. You know I hate it when you’re late.”

Lucifer frowns, but before he can express his confusion, he hears a voice that stops him cold. 

“I don’t care what you hate.”

Lucifer knows, even without turning around, who that voice belongs to. He dreams about that voice. He loves that voice. 

He twists toward the stairs as best he can since his feet are still rooted to the ground, and cranes his neck to look toward the top of the staircase. If he was still alive, he knows his heart would be flipping in his chest because of what he sees. 

The Detective is descending the staircase. 

And she looks stunning.  

She’s wearing a dress. It’s black, and though the neckline is high and demure, the back plunges low enough to show off a considerable amount of skin. Her hair is shorter, just long enough to brush her shoulders. When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, Lucifer’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. Her feet are encased in sky-high, black stiletto heels that make her legs go on for miles.  

“Detective?” he sputters. 

She doesn’t answer him. In fact, she walks right past him without so much as a glance. He’s too stunned by it all—by his remodeled club and his brother on a throne and the love of his life dressed to the nines—to reach out and grab her.

He watches as she crosses the club and then comes to a stop at the bottom of the platform. Michael rises to his feet and descends the stairs slowly. When he stops in front of her, his eyes trail over her body in a possessive way that Lucifer loathes. He calls on his light again, desperate to summon it back into his body, but nothing happens. His feet still won’t budge. He can’t move and he can’t fight and no one in the loop is acknowledging him. 

A few yards in front of him, Michael and the Detective are staring each other down. She folds her hands in front of her the way she does at crime scenes, and then tips her head back to look up at him in what appears to be defiance. Michael grins wolfishly at her, and then reaches out and twines a strand of her hair through his fingers. 

The Detective stiffens, but she doesn’t shove his hand away or step back. Jealousy oozes through Lucifer’s veins, thick and toxic.

“Now that’s no way to talk to your king, is it?” Michael purrs, leaning forward. 

There’s hatred written plainly across the Detective’s face, but she doesn’t contradict him. Her silence makes Lucifer nauseous. This isn’t the woman he knows, the one who so readily went toe to toe with his family at dinner. She looks fierce and resentful, but there’s something brittle about her defiance. Something weary. 

Michael drops his hand from her hair and traces his fingertips over her bare shoulder. She tenses again but still doesn’t recoil. 

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Michael says, running his hand down her arm. “The black was an excellent choice.”

The Detective shakes her head. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Michael smiles. “Well you could have chosen the red one, right?”

A memory floats across Lucifer’s mind. The Detective in a red dress at the opera, smiling up at him with affection in her eyes. 

“Detective,” Lucifer calls. If he could just get to her, if he could intervene and protect her from his brother, then he might be able to identify a way out of here. But he can’t. He’s stuck.

The Detective doesn’t turn to look at him when he calls her name. She shrugs away from Michael’s hand and takes a small step backward. 

“Why am I here, Michael? We agreed I don’t have to be present for your executions anymore.”

“Do you have something better to do?”

“Yeah, actually. Lots of things.” 

“Oh, of course,” Michael says with a sneer. “Your little pet project with the orphans.”

“They’re only orphans because of you.”

The accusation sparks like a match between them, and suddenly the air is thrumming with tension. The Detective doesn’t appear to regret what she said, but Lucifer can tell by the way her shoulders straighten that she’s readying herself for a fight.

Michael leans forward, looming over her like a predator that’s cornered his prey and has decided to play with it before devouring it. 

“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You hold a privileged place in this court, but I’m still your king. Now and always.”

They stare each other down. Lucifer glances between them, confused and furious and jealous, and then a commotion tears his gaze away. He glances up just in time to see a pack of men descending the stairs. They’re jostling and shoving each other, cackling about something like a group of adolescents, but Lucifer doesn’t get a chance to figure out what they’re discussing. He’s too distracted by the girl walking down the stairs behind them. 

Beatrice. 

She looks older. He can’t say for sure how much older, but she’s definitely not the same age she was the last time he saw her. She’s taller, and starting to look more like a young woman than a child. Her dark hair is streaked with purple, her ears are studded with several earrings, and she appears to have a tattoo snaking up her left forearm. There’s a backpack slung over her shoulder, and her nose is buried in her phone. 

The pack of men continue toward the booths, but the Detective’s offspring stops near the bottom of the stairs. She’s only a few feet away from Lucifer. 

“Beatrice?” he breathes, still staring at her in wonder. He doesn’t understand. He’s never seen her like this before. Why is she in his loop? What’s happening?

Beatrice doesn’t look at him. She keeps her eyes glued to her phone, her fingers flying over the screen, and then the Detective appears in front of her. 

Her proximity fills Lucifer with a new sense of desperation. He leans toward her, as close as his stuck feet will allow, and inhales. She smells the same. Like her shampoo and her perfume and something else, something he can’t name. He just knows it’s her. This is her.

It’s not, a voice disputes in his head. That’s not her.  

But it is. She’s right there, just a few feet away, and if he could just reach out and touch her, if he could hold her in his arms and breathe her in, then everything would be okay. The loop would fade. He knows it.

“Chloe,” he whispers, his hand outstretched. “Look at me, love.”

But she doesn’t look at him. 

“Hey, monkey,” she says. She’s smiling, but it seems hesitant. Like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to smile, or maybe like she expects that she won’t be smiling for very long. 

Beatrice doesn’t even look up, let alone return her mother’s smile. “Hey.”

“How was school?”

“Fine.”

“Your algebra test go okay?”

“Yeah.”

Pride flickers in the Detective’s eyes. “You aced it, didn’t you?”

“Mhmm.”

“What about—”

“Can we not do this?” Beatrice cuts her off, finally looking up from her phone. 

Hurt shivers across the Detective’s face. “Do what?” 

Beatrice gestures at her. “This thing where you act like you care about me.”

The hurt written across the Detective’s face deepens. “I do care about you. I love you.”

She reaches out to touch her daughter’s arm, but Beatrice yanks out of her grasp. “Don’t touch me.”

The Detective presses her lips together. They stand in silence for a moment, staring at each other, and then the Detective takes a deep breath. 

“You’re the most important person in the world to me, Trix. You know that.”

“Yeah?” Beatrice says. “Then why’d you marry him when I asked you not to?”

She jerks her chin in Michael’s direction, and Lucifer feels like someone has shoved a white-hot knife straight through his chest. 

“No,” he whispers. 

His eyes flicker down to the Detective’s left hand and, sure enough, there’s a massive diamond ring on her fourth finger. He glances up, but the ring he gave her in Denver is no longer around her neck. It’s gone.

He feels like the floor has fallen out from under his feet. Dark spots dance across his vision. His stomach lurches. He’s going to be sick.

Married? ” he croaks. 

Neither of the Decker women look his way. The Detective glances over her shoulder toward Michael instead. He’s talking to the group of men by the booths, but his eyes are fixed on her. He’s watching her, but there’s no affection in his eyes. It’s just possessiveness. The way a greedy child would look at a shiny toy.

“I had to,” the Detective says quietly, turning back to Beatrice. There’s desperation drenching her voice. “It was the only way I could—”

“Keep me safe,” Beatrice snaps. “Yeah, so I’ve heard. But it didn’t help Linda or Ella, did it? They’re dead and you don’t even care.”

Dead, a voice taunts in the back of Lucifer’s mind. Dead dead dead. 

The Detective looks devastated. “Trixie,” she breathes. “If there was something I could have done—”

“There was something,” Beatrice interrupts angrily. “We could’ve run with Dad. We should’ve run with Dad. Living on the streets would have been better than this. Hell, I would’ve preferred death over this.”

The Detective shakes her head. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes I do. I hate you for making us live like this. And you know what? I think you hate yourself for it too.”

The Detective doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. Lucifer can see the tears sitting in her eyes. He wants to shout at Beatrice, he wants to kill Michael, he wants to burn this horrific version of Lux to the ground and the entire loop with it. But he stands, helpless, and does nothing. 

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you,” the Detective says quietly. “Someday you’ll understand that.”

“That’s what you said about leaving me at the beach,” Beatrice spits at her. “I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now.”

She gives her mother a disgusted once-over, and then turns around and marches back up the stairs. The Detective watches her go, her eyes brimming with tears, and the agony on her face makes something inside of Lucifer shatter. 

“Let’s go, Chloe,” Michael calls, heading for his throne. “You’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

Lucifer watches as the Detective takes a deep breath, swipes at her eyes, and then turns back to Michael. 

“Chloe,” Lucifer murmurs, trying to grab her hand as she passes. “Chloe, look at me.” 

But she’s just out of his reach. He can’t get to her. 

Michael reclaims his throne. Lucifer watches as the Detective climbs the steps up to the platform and takes a seat on the other throne. Michael grins at her, but she doesn’t return his gaze. She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap and lifts her chin, and Lucifer hates to admit it, but she looks every inch a queen. 

“Bring him in,” Michael commands. 

There’s another commotion. Two men appear at the top of the stairs. Lucifer doesn’t recognize them, but he knows they’re demons. He can see it in their eyes, a dark glint that speaks of evil intent. Sandwiched between them is a man with a dark hood covering his face. He’s dressed in all black. His arms, which are covered in intricate tattoos, are chained behind his back. 

When the trio gets to the bottom of the stairs, the man in the middle plants his feet. The men on either side of him set their jaws and yank him forward, frog-marching him across the club. Once they’re standing before the thrones, they force him down onto his knees. The chains clank loudly against the floor as he hits the ground and then bows his head and doesn’t move. 

“It’s a special day, my love,” Michael says, glancing at the Detective. 

Lucifer burns with hatred at his use of the pet name. He wonders if the Detective is angry too, but she doesn’t react. She appears to be staring at the wall on the opposite side of the club. 

“Why’s that?” she says, sounding bored. 

“Well because I finally captured the leader of the resistance.”

That catches the Detective’s attention. She snaps her head in Michael’s direction, her mouth falling open, and then her gaze turns to the hooded man kneeling before her. She catches herself almost immediately, though, and the surprise evaporates from her expression.

“You’ve said that before,” she says evenly. “But it’s never been true.”

Michael leans toward her, a predatory glint in his eye. “Oh, but this time I’m sure. You want to know how?”

The Detective meets his gaze head on. “Not really.” 

Michael stares at her for a moment like he’s searching for a weakness, but he doesn’t appear to find one. He rises from his throne. The Detective glances at the hooded figure briefly, and then refocuses on the far wall.

“The leader of the resistance has proven to be very dangerous,” Michael says, eyeing the hooded man. “He’s damaged my property and incited riots and caused chaos in my streets. He breeds discontent and discord among my subjects. But despite my considerable resources, he’s always been one step ahead of me. It’s almost like he has an inside man feeding him intel.”

He turns toward the Detective. “Or, perhaps, an inside woman.”

The Detective’s face remains impassive. She doesn’t look at him. When Michael descends the stairs and stops next to the kneeling man, though, she flicks her gaze toward them. 

Michael turns to face her and grins. “Today’s a special day, my love. Because I finally captured the leader of the resistance. And as it turns out, you two know each other very well.”

Michael yanks the hood off, and Lucifer’s jaw nearly hits the floor when he sees who’s kneeling at Michael’s feet. 

Daniel. 

Just like his daughter, Daniel looks older. There are specks of gray sprinkled in the facial hair adorning his jaw. He looks thinner, more lean and wiry than the muscular man Lucifer remembers. And it’s not just his arms that have tattoos. There’s ink snaking around his neck too, criss-crossing in patterns that disappear down the collar of his shirt. 

Despite the fact that he’s kneeling before an angel, he doesn’t look frightened. In fact, he doesn’t even spare a glance at Michael or at the group of demons who are sitting and watching from the corner booths. He just fixes his eyes on the Detective, and a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips. 

“Hey Chlo,” he murmurs. 

She meets his gaze, but she doesn’t smile and she doesn’t return his greeting. There’s fear in her eyes.

“You know, maybe you were right earlier,” Michael says, walking slowly up the stairs toward the Detective. The hood is still fisted in his hand. “Maybe I should give you more choices. Let you exercise your free will.” 

He says free will like it’s a curse. He gestures at one of the men who have been silently watching, and the man gets to his feet and scurries away. Lucifer glances after him. He disappears into what used to be a storage room.

Michael stops in front of the Detective and throws the hood at her feet. She tilts her head back and glares up at him. Michael’s sneer turns into a snarl. He wraps his hand around her arm and yanks her off her throne. She stumbles to her feet, her eyes flashing angrily, but she doesn’t pull free of Michael’s grasp. He tugs her down the stairs so roughly she nearly trips over her high heels. 

Lucifer snarls and tries to lunge forward to free her, but he can’t. He tries to unfurl his wings, and then tries to light up his hands, but he can’t do those things either. He can’t do anything. 

He can’t help her. He can’t stop this.

Michael releases the Detective with a shove, and she staggers forward and comes to a stop next to Daniel. She puts her hand on Daniel’s shoulder to steady herself, and he looks up at her with his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He shuffles a little closer to her, still on his knees, and the Detective squeezes his shoulder.

The man Michael gestured to earlier reappears with something clasped in his hands. Michael meets him halfway and takes it from him, and then he turns and strides back toward the Detective. 

“You want freedom to make your own decisions?” he snarls at her. “You want to exercise your free will? Fine. Here’s a choice for you.”

He stops in front of her and holds up the object in his hands. It’s a Glock. 

“You can take this gun,” Michael spits, “and you can execute this traitor, or you can watch while I bring your kid back down here and kill her instead.”

“You son of a bitch! ” Daniel roars, lunging to his feet. The chains around his hands rattle against the floor with the movement. The two men who escorted him down the stairs dart forward to grab him and force him back to his knees. 

“You know what they say about the sins of the father,” Michael sneers. 

“Don’t touch my kid!” Daniel bellows, still fighting against the men who are holding him down. “Don’t you ever fucking touch my kid.”

Michael grins. “How do you know I haven’t already?”

Daniel spits and snarls and then lunges again. One of the men stumbles, and Daniel comes dangerously close to Michael, but his hands are chained behind his back and he’s yanked backward before he can do anything. More men come running, and Daniel continues to struggle even though he’s on his knees, and then the Detective intervenes.

“Move,” she says, shoving one of the men out of the way so she can get to her ex. She steps between him and Michael and lifts her hands to his face. “Dan, stop.” 

He goes still beneath her touch, but his chest is heaving. He’s glaring at Michael.

“Look at me,” the Detective commands.

He does.

“She’s fine. He’s never touched her. He’s just trying to provoke you.”

Daniel shakes his head but doesn’t reply.

“I just saw her,” the Detective murmurs, her voice low and soothing. She drops her hands to his shoulders. “She aced her algebra test.”

A long moment passes, and then a faint smile spreads over Daniel’s lips. “She’s smart like her mom.” 

The Detective smiles. “And tough like her dad.”

Daniel shakes his head. “Nah, Chlo. That’s all you too.”

They stare at each other for a moment, the Detective’s hands still on his shoulders, and Lucifer glances between them and aches. This is all wrong. They should be smiling about their offspring over coffee or beers. Not a Glock. 

“Well this is touching, really,” Michael says into the silence. “But I’ve already been kept waiting once today and I’m not interested in doing it again. Tick tock, darling.”

The Detective gazes at Daniel for another second or two, and then she turns to face Michael. She steps closer to him, moving into his space, and he looks down at her with lifted eyebrows.

“You don’t need to do this,” she tells him quietly.

“You’re right,” he replies with a grin. “I don’t. I just want to. I desire it.”

The Detective winces. Her reaction makes Michael’s grin deepen. She takes a deep breath, and then she reaches out and sets her hand on Michael’s chest. It’s her left hand. The ring on her fourth finger sparkles. It’s beautiful. Lucifer hates it.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispers. 

Michael’s grin fades. His eyes flicker over her face. “Is this a formal request from the Queen?”

The Detective doesn’t answer right away. Lucifer knows that look on her face. He’s seen it in dozens of interrogations. She’s sizing up her opponent and strategizing about the best way to get what she wants. 

She licks her lips and tilts her head back, gazing up at Michael from under her long eyelashes. “It’s a request from your wife.”

Michael arches an eyebrow. “And what do I get in exchange?”

“Whatever you want.”

“Chloe, don’t,” Daniel begs, sounding heartbroken.

She doesn’t acknowledge him. 

A slow smile spreads over Michael’s lips. “I already get whatever I want. Request denied.” 

The Detective drops her hand from his chest and takes a step back. All the color has drained from her face. She looks like she’s going to be sick.

Michael holds out the gun. “What’s it going to be, Chloe? Him or the kid?”

“Chloe,” Daniel calls. 

She turns toward him. 

He gazes up at her from his kneeling position on the floor. “We’ve got one non-negotiable, remember?”

Agony shivers across her expression. “Dan...”

“It has to be me. There’s no other option and you know it. It has to be me.” 

She shakes her head and looks down at the floor. A moment of silence passes, and then Daniel leans forward.

“Look at me, Chlo.”

She swipes at her eyes and takes a shuddering breath and then looks at him. 

“You already died for her,” he whispers. “Now it’s my turn.”

“Dan,” she breathes, tears spilling from her eyes. 

He smiles. “Tell her I love her, okay? And that I’m proud of her.”

She presses her lips together and nods. 

“I love you, too,” Daniel says. “I never stopped. And I’m sorry I wasn’t better when I had the chance to be.”

A sob shudders through the Detective. She steps toward him and bends forward to hold his face in her hands and press her lips against his forehead. Daniel closes his eyes. 

“I love you too,” she whispers. 

“Enough,” Michael snaps. He yanks the Detective away from Daniel and shoves the gun into her hand. “Shoot him or I’ll have someone go get the little brat.”

The Detective’s face is streaked with tears. She doesn’t raise the gun. 

“It’s okay, Chlo,” Daniel whispers. “Just do it.”

The Detective shifts the gun so that she’s holding the handle rather than the barrel, and then clicks the safety off.

“No,” Lucifer breathes. He strains against the invisible force keeping him planted to the ground, trying with all his might to get free. “Detective, don’t do this,” he calls. “You don’t need to do this.”

She doesn’t respond. She raises the gun with shaking hands, aiming it at Daniel’s chest, but doesn’t pull the trigger.

“It’s okay,” Daniel repeats with an encouraging nod. He smiles. “I love you.”

“Chloe,” Lucifer calls desperately. “Chloe, please.

“I love you too,” the Detective whispers. 

“Chloe—”

The gunshot is deafening. 

Daniel crumples to the ground, dead. 

Over by the booths, the group of men cheer and holler and celebrate. The Detective stares at Daniel’s body, her eyes wide and horrified, and then glances down at the gun in her hand. She sucks in a breath and drops it as if it’s caught fire. It clatters onto the floor. 

Behind her, Michael grins in triumph. He slinks toward her and bends forward so that his mouth is by her ear. He nuzzles into her hair and she flinches. 

“See you tonight, wife,” he murmurs. 

The Detective closes her eyes, and tears spill down her cheeks. Michael brushes past her and strides toward the stairs with a gesture, and the men in the booths get up to follow. They’re still celebrating, and they don’t stop as they climb the stairs and leave. The sound of their voices fades, and then Lucifer is alone with the Detective.

He’s never seen her look so devastated. So broken. Rage and grief and agony swirl in his chest, building in intensity. He doesn’t understand why this is his loop, but it doesn’t matter. He needs to get out and get back to her. He promised. 

He closes his eyes. He tries to harness all the emotion that’s storming in his chest and funnel it into summoning his light, but then she speaks.

“Look what you did to me.”

He snaps his eyes open. She’s staring right at him. He looks behind him, and then around the club, but no one else is around. It’s just the two of them. 

“You can see me now?” he whispers.

“Look what you did,” she repeats instead of answering his question. She holds up her hands, and they’re covered in blood. “Look what you made me. I used to catch murderers. And now I am one.”

He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t cause this. This isn’t real.”

“You were supposed to protect me,” she says, starting to walk toward him. “I trusted you to protect me.” 

“I tried—” 

“You failed. You left me up there with him, and now look at me.” She holds her arms out, and the blood on her hands glistens gruesomely in the light. “I’m a murderer. I married a monster so he wouldn’t kill my kid. I’m the Queen of everything, of Hell and Earth and the Silver City, and there’s no escape. Even when I die, I’ll still be his.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “No.”

“Trixie hates me,” she continues. “Maze is dead. Ella is dead. Linda is dead. Everyone is dead, Lucifer, and they’re all in Hell, and it’s your fault. You didn’t protect us, and now we’re his.” 

Lucifer shakes his head, but he can’t seem to get any words out. 

She stops before him. “You said you’d never take me to Hell,” she says, her blue eyes lit with anger. “But you damned me to an eternity of it the moment you left me with him.”

“I didn’t want to leave you,” he says, his voice a plea. “I’ve never wanted to leave you.”

“If that was true, then you wouldn’t have,” she counters. “You weren’t strong enough. You weren’t good enough. You didn’t love me enough. You said you’d give me my life back. You promised. And instead, you gave me this.” 

It hits him suddenly, like a suckerpunch to the gut, and the breath rushes out of his lungs.

This isn’t a replay of his guilt-ridden past. It’s something worse. It’s a preview of a future he caused. He left her, alone and unguarded, in that warehouse. She was still stuck in Dream’s nightmare. She was still in danger from Michael and Circe and the demon army they commanded. She begged him not to leave her, and he did it anyway. He abandoned her.

Again. 

“Chloe,” he whispers.

“You ruined me,” she tells him. There are tears streaming down her face, and he can’t bear it. “You left me and now everything and everyone I love is poisoned. You filled my life with venom and darkness, and I can’t escape. This is my eternity.”

He collapses to his knees. He tries to crawl toward her, but he’s still stuck. He can’t breathe. “Forgive me,” he begs, reaching for her. 

She recoils from his touch. “You don’t deserve forgiveness. You’re not worthy of it.”

He hangs his head, his eyes flooding with tears as her voice rings in his ears. A moment of painful silence passes as his tears drop onto the floor, and then he feels her hands on either side of his face. He follows her unspoken command and lifts his head to look at her. 

She bends forward to look him in the eye. “I see you,” she whispers. “And I hate you.”

The pain in his chest is excruciating. The voice in the back of his mind whispering that this is just a loop fades. He can’t prove this isn’t real. He can’t prove that she’s not up there right now, living an even worse nightmare than this because he failed to protect her. He can’t prove that she doesn’t hate him.

He left her. He poisoned her and everything she loves. He ruined her, just like he said he would, and she hates him for it. 

The loop resets.

He doesn’t try to leave. 


During loop one hundred and five, as the Detective raises the gun to take aim at Daniel, Lucifer thinks of Beatrice.

She’ll never forgive her mother for this. Based on what she said earlier, she’s never forgiven her mother for leaving her at the beach either. 

Guilt gnaws painfully on his soul. What happened at the beach was his fault. He caused the first crack that broke the bond between them. She never would have left if he hadn’t suggested it. She trusted him to fix the dream, and he promised her he would, and then he died before he could. Her daughter is all that’s ever mattered to her, and he ruined them both. 

The loop resets. 

He doesn’t leave.


On the two hundred and eighty-second loop, Lucifer fixates on the word orphan.

“Oh, of course,” Michael says to the Detective with a sneer. “Your little pet project with the orphans.”

“They’re only orphans because of you,” she shoots back.

Lucifer wonders about Charlie. The Doctor is dead. Is Amenadiel dead too? Is Charlie an orphan? Is that who the Detective is caring for?

Guilt claws at him, ripping him to shreds. He robbed Beatrice of her parents, and now Charlie too. 

What kind of an angel makes orphans?

Not a good one.

The loop resets.

He doesn’t leave.


During loop number four hundred and three, when the Detective refers to herself as Michael’s wife and promises him whatever he wants, a horrifying series of questions skitter across Lucifer’s mind. 

Was there a proposal? Did he offer her a ring and tell her that if she didn’t take it, her child would die? Was there a wedding? Did he parade her through the streets of Los Angeles as his queen, knowing how much she would hate it?

Was there a wedding night?

“See you tonight, wife,” Michael hisses in the Detective’s ear. 

She closes her eyes and flinches, and Lucifer’s traitorous brain conjures up a million images of her naked in Michael’s arms and then crying alone in the shower afterward. She can never wash him off, and that’s Lucifer's fault. 

The loop resets.

He doesn’t leave.


He breaks when the loop resets for the six hundredth time. 

The Detective appears at the top of the stairs, and he yells for her. He screams her first name over and over until he’s hoarse and there are tears in his eyes, but she doesn’t look at him. 

He collapses to his knees when the gunshot rings out. 

“Look what you did to me,” the Detective murmurs. “Look what you made me.”

He curls forward and presses his forehead against the floor. It’s hot, nearly scalding, but he doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t care. Why should he care? He ruined the only person he’s ever loved. He finally lived up to his name. He’s venom, and he destroyed a miracle. 

“You were supposed to protect me,” the Detective says. He doesn’t have to look up to know she’s walking toward him. She’s walked toward him hundreds of other times, and each one is worse than the last. “I trusted—”

Lucifer, Chloe’s voice echoes in his mind. 

Shock sends him bolting upward from the floor. “Chloe?” he says. 

The Detective is still walking toward him, but it’s not her voice he heard. He heard a prayer. He knows he heard a prayer. Chloe prayed to him. 

I love you, Chloe prays again. 

He stands for a moment, frozen in shock, and then he sobs with joy. She’s praying to him. He died and left her and went to Hell, and she’s praying to him. 

She still loves him. 

The Detective stops in front of him, but Lucifer looks right through her. What is he still doing here? Why hasn’t he left? He made Chloe a promise. He gave her his word, and he’s a Devil of his word. 

He tries to lift his feet, but they’re still stuck. He’s still trapped. 

The Detective in front of him glares, her blue eyes cold and hard. “You weren’t strong enough. You weren’t good enough. You didn’t love me enough. And I hate you for it.”

Chloe’s voice echoes through his mind with another prayer. 

Remember what’s real. 

He swallows around the tightness of his throat and closes his eyes.  

He sees her standing above him in Vegas, her hands on either side of his face, her eyes filled with affection and light. I see you. And I love you. 

He sees her driving the Escalade, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his. The last person you love. The one you love so much that you never fall in love with anyone else ever again. She turns to look at him, and smiles. You’re mine.

He sees her sitting in a candlelit restaurant, dressed in red and wearing his ring. I’m yours.  

He sees her standing in a dimly lit hotel room, her hand pressed against his chest. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. Heart and soul, Lucifer. 

He sees the reflection of his Devil form in her eyes, but she’s not afraid. I’m going to love you until the day I die. And then I’m going to love you for all of eternity after that.  

Say it to me, she whispers to him in Doctor Linda’s kitchen. Tell me what’s real. 

“You,” he breathes aloud. And then he shakes his head. “Us.”

He opens his eyes. The Detective is glaring at him. “You don’t deserve forgiveness. You’re not worthy of it.”

He struggles through the guilt and grief and agony that’s swallowing him like quicksand and forces the words from his mouth.

“This isn’t real. I’m going home.”

She shakes her head. “You have no home.”

The words hurt like hell, but he ignores her. He concentrates with all his might on lifting a foot—just one foot, just a single step—and wills himself forward. 

He doesn’t move.

Frustration wells up in his throat and comes out as a desperate, broken groan. Why isn’t he moving? Why can’t he leave? He remembered what’s real. He knows the woman before him isn’t his Detective. He knows Chloe is up on earth, waiting for him to keep his promise, and he wants to keep his promise. He’s never wanted anything more. So why is he still trapped?

Another memory floats through his mind. 

You have to stop taking responsibility for things you can’t control. Lucifer, you need to forgive yourself. 

The loop resets. 

He knows what he needs to do.


“I hate you for making us live like this,” Beatrice spits at her mother. “And you know what? I think you hate yourself for it too.”

She does. Lucifer can see it in her eyes. She hates herself, and he hates himself for putting her here.

“No,” he says aloud. No one can hear him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s saying it for himself. “I didn’t do this. I didn’t make her hate you.”

“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for you,” the Detective says quietly. “Someday you’ll understand that.”

“That’s what you said about leaving me at the beach,” Beatrice snaps. “I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now.”

Lucifer made the Detective leave that beach. He made her get in that car and drive away when Beatrice begged her to stay. He delivered the first blow. He caused the first wound.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Chloe made that choice. She chose to leave.”

She made that decision because she trusted you, a voice hisses in the back of his mind. She trusted you to fix it and you didn’t.

“I tried my best,” Lucifer replies. “And it’s not over yet. I’ll fix it. I’ll walk out of this loop and fix it.”

Beatrice storms up the stairs. The Detective watches her go with tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t do this,” Lucifer says. “I forgive myself.”


“Oh, of course,” Michael says to the Detective with a sneer. “Your little pet project with the orphans.”

“They’re only orphans because of you,” she shoots back.

How many orphans are roaming the streets of Los Angeles under Michael’s rule? How many children cry themselves to sleep every night thanks to the new world order that Lucifer allowed his brother to usher in?

“I didn’t allow that,” Lucifer says. “I died to prevent it.”

That’s why it happened, the voice in his head hisses. You failed and died.

“Then I’ll resurrect and set things right,” Lucifer says. “But that doesn’t change the truth.”

He watches the Detective and Michael stare each other down, and he curls his hands into fists. 

“I’m not responsible for this,” he says. “I forgive myself.”


“See you tonight, wife,” Michael hisses in the Detective’s ear. 

She flinches and closes her eyes, and once again, a horrible image materializes in Lucifer’s mind. 

The Detective is standing on the balcony of the penthouse, still wearing that black dress, her hands wrapped around the railing. She looks out at the city, and then up at the stars. Michael stands behind her and slowly unzips her dress. She closes her eyes, and a tear rolls down her cheek. 

“This isn’t real,” Lucifer says, barely able to speak around the tightness of his throat. 

Michael leans forward and presses a kiss against the Detective’s bare shoulder. 

“This is a lie,” Lucifer says. “I’m not responsible for things that might happen. I’m not to blame for things I can’t control.”

The image fades, and he’s alone in his loop with the Detective. 

“I forgive myself,” he whispers.


Facing her is the hardest. 

She looks so much like his Chloe. She sounds the same. She smells the same. He wants to hold her so bad his bones ache with it. 

But she’s not real. The real Chloe is waiting for him on earth. He needs to get to her, and he knows that he can’t leave this loop until he no longer believes that he deserves to be here. He’s forgiven himself for everything, but there’s still something holding him here. 

He relives the loop over and over, trying to figure out what it is. She kills Daniel again and again, and then she crosses the club to stand before Lucifer with blood on her hands, and he cowers every time. Her words hit him like the lash of a whip, and he feels the sting of them deep in his soul. 

“You ruined me,” she whispers. She’s crying, her eyes shining with grief as tears spill down her cheeks. “You left me and now everything and everyone I love is poisoned. You filled my life with venom and darkness.”

He believes her. He’s always believed her. She’s the only thing he’s ever...

No.

This is wrong. He’s wrong. He doesn’t believe what an apparition of her says. He believes her. He believes in the only human who has ever known him well enough to pray to him. And if he believes in her, then he believes what she believes.

He closes his eyes.

They’re sitting at his piano in the penthouse and there are bullet holes in her shirt. I told him you’re a good man, she says to him. I told him that I see you like no one else does, so I know you better than anyone else, and I know that you’re good.

They’re in the Escalade outside a diner in Utah, and her hands are wrapped around his as he struggles to summon light. I believe in you.  

They’re on a blanket underneath the stars in Nebraska. There is. I see it every day. 

They’re in the basement of a bar in Illinois, and she’s holding his face in her hands. You’re not venom, babe. You’re light. Be light.

He opens his eyes. 

The Detective stands before him. She’s not real. He thinks of Chloe—beautiful, brilliant, miraculous Chloe—and his soul ignites with her belief. His belief. Their belief.

“I’m light,” he whispers with absolute certainty.

And then everything explodes.


Lucifer is standing in white nothingness. 

Lux is gone. There are no more thrones. No more demons. No tattooed and angry Beatrice, no Daniel in chains, no Michael as king. 

No Detective. 

Everything is just...white. And light. There’s nothing around him, and yet everything seems to be glowing so brightly that his eyes ache from it. He scans his surroundings, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he sees it. 

There’s a door. 

It’s directly in front of him, just a few yards away. He can see the outline of it clear as day, and there’s a door handle just waiting to be turned. He takes a deep breath and looks down at his feet. 

He takes a step forward. 

And then another.

Triumph and pride and relief course through his veins. Tears fill his eyes but he laughs, loud and free. 

He’s free. 

He strides to the door, and puts his hand on the handle, and turns. The door unlatches easily. He swings it open wide, and steps out into the darkness and ash of Hell, and then closes it behind him. The door seems to shiver, and then it disappears. 

His Hell loop doesn’t exist anymore. It’s gone.

He’s free. 

He turns away from the blank wall. Hell is just as dark and awful as he remembers. He hears screaming in the distance, and then laughing. The air smells like rotting flesh and sulfur. Ash falls from the sky and dusts the shoulders of his black suit. He looks down at himself in surprise—when did he put on this suit?—and then shrugs his shoulders with another laugh. Who cares? He’s free. 

And then he remembers. 

Chloe. 

He hasn’t kept his promise yet. He needs to get back to her. But how? No one is answering his prayers, and his wings are gone. 

Or maybe not. 

He thinks about what Amenadiel said to him once about his theory of self-actualization. He said angels become what they believe they are, and that they can do whatever they believe they can do. That’s why he was finally able to summon light in his loop. Because he believed. 

So why can’t he believe he has wings again?

He smiles as he closes his eyes. He knows exactly which memories will spark this belief. 

He sees Chloe standing in a dark alley in Los Angeles, her hand buried in the feathers of his wing and her eyes filled with awe and affection. He sees her in a hotel room, her gaze trailing over his wingspan and then lifting to meet his with a smile. 

I love this part of you.

Warmth flickers to life between his shoulder blades. It builds and spreads and grows hotter and hotter and hotter, nearly agonizing in its intensity, and then he hears the soft whoosh of his wings unfurling. 

Lucifer opens his eyes and glances to his left, and then to his right. His wings are spread behind him, magnificent and stunningly white against the backdrop of Hell’s darkness. 

He smiles and then tips his head toward the sky. Toward her.

He’s got a promise to keep.


Michael tries to flee. 

He unfurls his wings and bends his knees, and Chloe knows he’s going to try to escape. He’s a coward, and that’s what cowards do. They run. 

“Oh no you don’t,” she snarls. 

He launches off the ground, wings flapping, and Chloe shoots out her hand. A golden rope of light bursts from her palm, barreling outward and upward so fast it’s a blur. The end of it curls around Michael’s ankle and tightens. 

He jerks to a stop in mid-air. He clenches his jaw, shooting her a glare as he strains toward the broken skylight, his wings flapping furiously. Chloe grits her teeth, wraps both hands around the rope, and summons the newfound power within her to yank him back. 

He careens toward the ground, arms and legs and wings flailing, and crashes onto the floor with a smack and a cry of pain. The rope of fire is still wrapped around his ankle. Chloe tugs on it, reeling him in like a fish. He slides across the floor, his fingers clawing helplessly at the concrete, and when he skids to a stop at her feet, she presses her boot onto his chest. 

“You want a war?” she spits, pressing all her weight down onto her foot. “You got one.”

The rope of light dissolves and her hands burst into flames. 

Michael’s eyes widen in panic. He grabs her ankle and rolls away, yanking her leg with him, and she collapses on top of him in a heap. He immediately pushes himself up onto his hands and knees. She slides off his back and hits the floor, and he scuttles away from her. 

She rolls onto her side and looks up just in time to see him reaching for the black band he uses to summon demons. She shoots a blast of light from her palm. It slams into his hand before he can get the band around his wrist. He howls, collapsing onto the cement and clutching his hand. 

Chloe lunges after him. She grabs the band off the floor and flings it away, and then she shoves his shoulder so he’s flat on his back beneath her. 

“What’s the matter, Michael?” she taunts, pinning his arms to the floor when he struggles to get up. “Afraid to fight your own battles?”

His wings whip upward on either side of her. She lets go of his arms and catches a wing in each hand before they can strike her, and then lights up. He screams as she burns her handprints into the upper edges of his wings. His pain doesn’t deter her. She wants to leave a mark. 

“You like to whisper and instigate and threaten,” she says, bending toward him, “but when shit gets real, you make other people fight for you. You’re no king. You’re a coward.”

He snarls at her and then pulls his uninjured hand back and punches her in the face. 

Pain explodes through her skull, and fresh blood pours from her lip. She’s disoriented enough that she loosens her grip on his wings. He takes advantage. He wraps his hand around her throat and squeezes hard.

“Your little parlor trick doesn’t change what you are,” he hisses as she chokes. He rises slowly until he’s sitting up and she’s in his lap. “You’re still a worthless, mortal little human who can bleed.”

Chloe lifts her hand, wraps it around his forearm, and summons heat. His skin starts to smoke beneath her touch, and he screams in agony. His grip on her throat loosens. 

She spits the blood from her mouth onto the floor next to him and then grins. “I’ll remind you of that when I’m done kicking your ass.” 

He bucks beneath her and rolls. They grapple for a few seconds, snarling and punching and fighting for dominance. Eventually he pins her, his knees on either side of her hips. He wraps his hands around her wrists and holds them against the floor. 

He leers down at her in triumph. “I think I’ll put you in Hell-forged cuffs this time.”

Rage burns in her chest and then explodes, and with it comes a blast of light. It radiates out of her with the force of a grenade, and Michael’s body flies backward and somersaults in the air before crashing onto the floor. 

Chloe gets to her feet. “No one puts me in cuffs except Lucifer.” 

She lifts her hands and light bursts forth. Michael rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding her blast. Chloe keeps firing, striding toward him as beams of light fly from her palms like bullets from a machine gun. Michael tries to evade her, but for every beam he dodges, another hits its mark. She gives him a wound in his shoulder, and then in his thigh, and then down by his calf. She blasts a divot into his left forearm, and then a light beam sears past his right cheek and leaves a bleeding gash carved into his skin. 

He bends his knees and rockets toward the skylight again. Chloe wills the power of her heat to intensify, following his ascent with her hands, and then blasts a pair of fireballs straight for his wings. 

His dark feathers ignite with a whoosh. He screams as his body spirals downward, leaving a trail of smoke in his wake. He lands on his feet but immediately stumbles and then falls to his knees. He’s flapping his wings furiously against the ground in an attempt to extinguish the flames. 

As soon as he succeeds, Chloe ignites them again. He took Lucifer’s wings. And now she’s going to take his. 

Michael screeches in agony. He flaps his wings but the flames only burn brighter, so he tucks them close to his body and rolls. The fire sizzles and hisses and he screeches again before it finally extinguishes. All that’s left behind is charred feathers, gruesomely melted flesh, and glimmers of gleaming white cartilage and bone.

Chloe’s not sorry.  

Michael struggles up onto one knee, his ruined wings hanging uselessly at his sides. He’s drenched in sweat and dusted with ash. His breathing is labored. 

She strides toward him, fire and rage coursing through her blood, and he holds out a hand.

“Please,” he gasps. “Mercy.”

The audacity of the request makes her steps hitch. “Mercy?” she echoes, her voice thundering through the empty warehouse. “You tortured Lucifer for millennia. You murdered him. And you think you’ve got the right to ask me for mercy?

She closes the rest of the distance between them. He cowers away from her, but she doesn’t let him get far. She darts her hand out and wraps it around his throat. He paws weakly at her arm with his uninjured hand. She wills her skin to heat to a temperature that’s hot enough to scald him. 

She bends forward to look him in the eye as he chokes on a whimper. “Not a chance in hell.” 

She releases his throat and then punches him across the jaw with her fist aflame. His head snaps to the side.

“That’s for the nightmares.”

He blinks up at her, dazed, and she punches him again. 

“That’s for making my kid cry herself to sleep every night.”

His lip is split open and leaking blood. She doesn’t care. He should bleed. He made Lucifer bleed. 

She takes a step back. “And this?” she snarls. “This is just because I feel like it.”

She kicks him the way she’d kick a door down during a raid. Her boot hits his chest with a thud, and he grunts as his body flops backward. 

He lands on the floor on his back. She steps forward and stands over him. He twitches as if he plans to get up, but she’s quicker than him. She lifts her hands and sends a beam of light out of each palm. Ropes of fire burst outward and then wrap around his wrists and pin his arms to the floor on either side of him.

“You sent a nightmare to destroy me,” she spits at him, her hands blazing with fire. “But all it did was turn me into yours. You picked the wrong human, Michael. And I think it’s time I put you out of your misery.”

She glances down at her right hand, remembers what Lucifer told her about how he shaped his light, and then wills a flaming sword into existence. It bursts to life in her palm, stretching out and transforming into a blade that’s nearly identical to the one Michael used when he tried to kill her, only this one is made of flame instead of Hell-forged steel.

She looks down at him. “When you get up there, tell your family they better send someone to get Lucifer out of Hell. Because if they don’t, I’ll come for them next.”

“You don’t want to do this,” he rasps. 

“You’re wrong. I really, really do.”

She lifts the sword high above her head with both hands, the pointed edge hovering just above his chest. 

“This is for Lucifer.” 

She’s bringing the sword down to stab him right through the heart when a hand wraps around her wrists and stops her. 

She glances up in surprise and then freezes. There’s a ring on the middle finger of the hand that’s holding her back. It’s a silver band with a black stone. 

She knows that ring. 

“Chloe,” a voice murmurs.

Her heart skips to a stop in her chest. She knows that voice. She loves that voice.

She follows the line of the arm that’s holding her, from the wrist up to the elbow and then the shoulder, and then her gaze settles on a face she knows and loves too. 

“Lucifer?” she breathes.

Lucifer smiles at her, soft and affectionate, and shakes his head. “He’s not worth your soul, love. Let me take it from here.”

He lowers her hands for her, and she darts her gaze over his body, drinking him in like he’s water in the desert. He’s wearing a suit, black with a white shirt and a red pocket square, and he’s so beautiful she wants to sob. There are no bruises on his face. No blood leaking from various wounds. He looks flawless, unhurt and unfazed, and the wings that are unfurled behind him are a blinding white.

He’s alive.

Her brain stutters over the realization. She closes her eyes, and then shakes her head and opens them again because this can’t be real. She held him in her arms when he died. She felt his last breath leave his body. This is a trick. A dream. 

But she can feel the pressure of his fingers on her wrist. She can smell his cologne, and she can see the flames of the sword she conjured reflected in the familiar brown of his eyes. He’s always felt larger than life to her, a presence that’s imposing and comforting at the same time, and when he went still not long ago, she lost that sensation. She couldn’t feel him anymore. 

She can feel him now though. 

“Are you real?” she breathes, still afraid that it’s a cruel joke. 

The corner of his mouth quirks upward. “Yes. I’m real.”

“How?” 

His smile deepens, and he lifts his hand to her face. “You,” he whispers, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “Always you.”

She stares at him in wonder, trying to put two and two together, and then it sinks in. 

“You walked out of your Hell loop,” she says on an exhale. 

He nods, still smiling. “I walked out of my Hell loop.”

The flaming sword in her hand evaporates and she throws herself into his arms with a sob. 

He catches her, stepping backward from the force of her body hitting his, but he doesn’t stumble. He wraps his arms around her and holds her tightly, his embrace just as warm and strong as she remembers. Her heart is beating so fast it’s a thrum. Her hands are shaking. All of her is shaking. There are tears pouring from her eyes and she fists her hands into the back of his suit jacket and clings to him like he’s a life preserver in an endless ocean. 

He buries his face in her hair and inhales, and she sobs again. God, she missed him. He smells the same and he feels the same and she was only without him for a few minutes, but she missed him like it was centuries. 

“Bloody hell, I missed you,” he whispers as if he can read her mind. His voice is uneven, drenched in grief and relief, and she wonders how long it’s been for him. Minutes for her, but how long for him? Days? Weeks? Months?

It doesn’t matter. He walked out of his loop and came back to her. He came back.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers into his chest, squeezing him tighter. 

“Me?” he says with an incredulous laugh. 

He pushes her gently backward so they can see each other. She looks up at him and finds that he’s crying too, his eyes brimming but bright with joy. He lifts his hands to her face and brushes his thumbs over the tears on her cheeks. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing over her body in awe. “You made a bloody flaming sword.

She laughs, and it feels like freedom. Like she’s just shed something awful and dark, and now she’s stepping out of the shadows and into the sun with him at her side. 

“I love you,” she tells him, wrapping her hands around his forearms and leaning closer to him. “I love you so much, Lucifer, and I—”

He ducks forward and cuts her off with a kiss. Her busted lip sears with pain from the pressure but she doesn’t care. He tastes like fire. Like sunshine and stars and the light that’s coursing through her veins. Like home.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. “I love you, Chloe.”

He kisses her again and she wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back, straining up onto her toes as he tugs her even closer. 

“You idiots,” Michael hisses. 

The moment shatters. Chloe and Lucifer break apart. They turn in unison, but Michael isn’t where she left him. He’s a few yards away, and his fingers are pressed against the black band around his wrist. 

Demons materialize all around them. There are dozens and then dozens more and then hundreds, all of them snarling and armed to the teeth, and joy flickers and dies in Chloe’s chest.

“You see, this is the problem with love,” Michael says. “You stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about each other, and it ends up getting you both killed.” He grins at Chloe. “You should’ve finished the job when you had the chance, sweetheart.”

Lucifer takes a half step in front of her, his wing stretched out behind her and his shoulder in front of her chest. He’s shielding her as best he can given that they’re surrounded, and she loves him so much it hurts. 

“It’s over, brother,” Lucifer says. “You can’t win. You know they’re no match for our light.”

“Oh, but I’ve summoned them all,” Michael sneers. “For every ten you kill, a hundred more will take their place.” He flicks his gaze to Chloe. “And light or not, it’s only a matter of time before they get to her.”

Chloe glances around the warehouse. The demons are inching toward them, their bodies tilting forward in anticipation. She sees a shadow moving across the floor, and she glances upward and sucks in a horrified breath. There are demons in the air above them too, flying with wings that look identical to Lucifer’s devil wings. They’re all staring at her, and there’s murder in their eyes. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. 

He glances at her and then follows her gaze upward, and all the color drains from his face. 

Michael glances up too, and then he grins. “Like I said,” he says gleefully. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe whispers again.

He looks down at her. 

She weaves her fingers through his, and then presses the palm of her other hand against his knuckles so that she’s holding his hand in both of hers. 

“We do this together,” she murmurs. “Just like everything else.”

He studies her, his eyebrows furrowed. She knows he wants to protect her. She knows he wants to fly her somewhere safe and hide her until all this is over, but he can’t. They’re surrounded and trapped and his invulnerability can’t protect her from demon blades. 

He lifts their hands to his mouth and kisses her knuckles. When his lips press against her skin, both their hands burst into flames. Celestial light races down their arms, over and across the rest of their bodies like wildfire, and within a matter of seconds, they’re both ablaze. She doesn’t know how he learned to share his light and keep it for himself, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not just his anymore. It’s theirs.

“Together,” he echoes with a smile. 

He drops their hands back to their sides and folds his wings away. They turn, in unison and silent agreement, so that they’re standing back to back and facing the hordes of demons. 

“Kill them both,” Michael snarls.

The demons charge.

Chapter 30: Thirty

Notes:

At this point I'm just a broken record, but thanks for the love in my comments guys. I adore you all.

Chapter Text

Chloe splays her fingers and summons light and it obeys. 

It explodes from her palms, racing outward toward the first line of demons that charge at her. They dissolve mid-step when it hits them, their bodies disintegrating so fast that she freezes in shock. She just...she just incinerated people. 

Well, not people. Demons. But still. They were here and now they’re gone and she’s the reason why. 

Holy shit.  

A massive demon charges toward her with a yell and she snaps out of her shock and turns him into ash. As soon as he disappears there’s another two, and then another three, and she keeps summoning light but they just keep coming. 

Lucifer curses behind her. A moment later, she feels his hands wrapping around her torso. He twists her body to face his and then forces her down into a crouch. She can’t see anything because he’s cradling her head against his chest, but she hears his wings unfurl with a whoosh.  

He groans in pain, and when she pulls her head back to look up at him in concern, she’s startled to find that they’re crouching in a dome-like shield of feathers. Something glitters in the corner of her eye. A trio of Hell-forged blades are poking through his feathers. They’re circled in rings of scarlet, and it takes her a second to realize it’s blood. His blood. He just saved her life. 

Again. 

Lucifer lifts his hand and turns the blades to ash with a flick of his fingers. They’ve barely disintegrated before he leaps to his feet and flings his wings outward, sending a wall of angry flames racing through the warehouse. The demons surrounding them incinerate.

And then they’re immediately replaced. 

Chloe shoots to her feet and returns to her efforts to keep them at bay, but she hasn’t forgotten his wounds. 

“Lucifer?” she calls. “You okay?” 

“Fucking wings,” Lucifer mutters. She can feel him at her back, tall and broad. He feels hotter than usual, and she knows it’s because he’s angry. “The bloody hell is he doing giving the roaches wings?

Chloe takes her eyes off the encroaching demon horde just long enough to glance upward. The winged demons are circling overhead with Hell-forged blades gripped in their hands, watching and waiting for another opportunity. Lucifer is taking them out one by one, but he’s got demons on the ground to contend with too. 

One of the flying demons hurls a knife. It turns end over end on its way toward Lucifer, and Chloe shoots out her hand and sends a fireball to intercept it. The blade incinerates into ash just like the ones Lucifer destroyed.

“Oh, excellent shot, darling,” Lucifer says brightly. “When this is over, we should see who has better aim.”

“What do I get when I win?” Chloe asks, trying to lighten the mood even though the army of demons around them is making headway. 

“My head between your thighs, obviously,” Lucifer replies. “Every woman’s dream.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“I heard that,” Lucifer says. 

She laughs and sends a light beam blazing through the forehead of a demon that was getting a little too close for comfort. 

Above them, the winged demons are circling closer. Chloe tries to help Lucifer take them out, but every time she takes her eyes off the horde on the ground, it surges forward like a tide. Panic is starting to coalesce in her chest. There are too many demons to focus on. Even though Lucifer sends periodic waves of light out to incinerate them all, their replacements reappear even closer. Chloe knows they’re going to be overwhelmed soon. 

“Can you fly up and get all the ones with wings at once?” she asks Lucifer. 

There’s a demon sprinting toward her with a raised pike. She blasts him with light, and he falls with a baseball-sized hole in his chest and a dumbly surprised expression on his face. 

“Not without leaving you alone in the middle of all this,” Lucifer grunts in reply. 

“I can—”

“No.”

“Lucifer—”

“No.”

She sighs at him as she forms a fireball, and then extends her arms to stretch it and shoot it outward like a horizontal line of death. It cuts through a dozen demons, sawing straight through their abdomens so that their top halves topple to the ground. Chloe might be grossed out if she wasn’t so worried about staying alive. 

She glances up at the ceiling. There are even more winged demons than before, but there are still far fewer of them in the air than on the ground. If Lucifer won’t leave her in the middle of the crowd on the ground, then he’ll just have to let her take care of the ones in the air. 

“Do you trust me?” she asks him. 

He snorts. “Not when you ask me like that.”

She smiles. He knows her too well. 

“I’ll get the ones up high,” she says. “You do your superhero blast thing and get the ones down here. If we move quick enough, we might get a chance to go after Michael and get that band.”

“And how, exactly, do you plan to get up there? Last I checked only one of us has wings.”

“You mean you can’t share those too?” she teases.

He snorts. “As if I’d force you to endure feathers.”

“I think I could pull them off.”

“You could pull off a garbage bag, love.”

She laughs. He catches a blade inches before it buries itself in her shoulder, and then ignites it and flings it back to where it came from. It strikes a demon right between the eyes and he drops to the ground like a rock, his wings fluttering behind him. 

Another demon immediately takes his place. Chloe shoots a pair of fireballs at him. His wings ignite and he falls with a scream. She turns her attention back to the demons on the ground.

“What’s going on in that pretty blonde head of yours?” Lucifer prompts. “How are you planning to get up there?”

“You’re going to throw me.”

“I’m going to what?

Chloe stomps her foot forward as she sends a blast from her palms, and the motion seems to give her wave of light a little extra oomph. She incinerates dozens of demons, and then smirks. She’s getting pretty good at this. 

“You’re going to throw me,” she repeats. “And then you’re going to catch me.”

“Chloe—”

“On the count of three.” 

He sighs at her. “I never should have shared my powers with you.”

“Glad you’re finally admitting they’re superpowers.”

“I did not say super.”

“One.”

He sighs again. “When did I become the less reckless one in this relationship?”

“Just now. Two.”

“What if I don’t catch you?”

“You will. Three.”

She turns toward him and he turns toward her. He bends forward, holding out his woven-together fingers. She puts her foot in his hands, her fingers flexing on his shoulders for balance, and then as she steps forward, he heaves her upward with a grunt of effort. 

She catapults into the air. She ignites her hands as she goes, pressing her fist into her palm to build some force, and when her body reaches the peak of her flight and hovers briefly in the air, she flings her arms out and wills her light to explode in all directions just like Lucifer’s does. 

A second later, gravity pulls her down. As her body starts to fall, she watches her wave of light strike every winged demon that’s hovering in the air. They incinerate on contact, and what’s left of their bodies floats slowly toward the ground like grayish black snow. 

She falls much faster. The floor races up to meet her at a terrifying speed, but she isn’t scared. Lucifer will catch her.

He does. He bends his knees as she lands in his arms, cushioning her fall so that she barely feels any impact, but then they immediately shoot upward again. 

Chloe yelps and throws her arms around his neck. “Shit,” she gasps. The sound of Lucifer’s wings fills her ears. “Where are we going?”

“After my brother,” Lucifer growls. 

Chloe follows his gaze and sees Michael’s feet disappearing through the skylight up above them. 

“How the hell is he flying?” she wonders, feeling a flash of irritation. “I burned his wings.”

“Circe, I imagine,” Lucifer mutters in reply. He sounds furious, and Chloe wonders for the millionth time who the hell Circe is and why she’d want to help a jackass like Michael, but she doesn’t ask. Now’s not the time. 

They rocket upward, flying through the broken skylight and out into the night air. Chloe glances down just before the warehouse building disappears from her view, and sees hundreds of demons teeming over the warehouse floor. They look like a swarm of angry, heavily armed ants. She wonders what they’ll do now that they can’t come after her and Lucifer, but she already knows. They’ll leave the warehouse and go in search of humans to torture and kill, and all that blood will be on her hands. 

Guilt wells up in her chest, but she pushes it away. If they can get to Michael, they can stop all this. They just need to get to Michael. 

Lucifer seems to be thinking the same thing, because he’s flying fast. Chloe’s ponytail is whipping wildly in the wind and her eyes are watering. Her arms are bare because she left her bloodied leather jacket on the floor back at the warehouse, but she doesn’t feel cold. She wonders if it’s because she’s filled with celestial light, and if she’ll always feel warm from now on. 

Below them, the city races by. Buildings and streetlights and cars pass in blurs and shadows. Michael seems to be headed back toward Manhattan. The East River is stretched out in front of them, and the skyline is tall and imposing in the distance. When they reach the Brooklyn Bridge, though, he takes a hard left and then nosedives downward. 

“Hang on,” Lucifer commands. 

Chloe hangs on and Lucifer dives after him. As they race downward, the ground beneath them comes into clearer view. There’s a pier, and a sizable park that juts up against the river. A movie is playing on a giant inflatable screen set up in front of the water. Hundreds of people are sprawled out in the grass on blankets or in lawn chairs, watching a movie beneath the stars. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe breathes in horror. “He’s headed for those people.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw and flies faster. 

Michael lands right in the middle of the crowd, his wings still unfurled. The people around him glance up in surprise, and then they scurry away from him in panic. A teenage girl sitting on a blanket nearby leaps to her feet and tries to flee. Michael catches her by the arm and yanks her back in front of him like a human shield just as Lucifer touches down a few yards in front of him. 

“Let her go,” Lucifer commands, setting Chloe down on her feet.

Michael shakes his head. “No.”

Lucifer ignites his hands, and the people around him scream. The reaction flows through the crowd like a wave—people turn to look at the standoff, and then scramble to their feet to stare or run or whip out their phones and record.

“Let her go,” Lucifer repeats, his voice a snarl. 

Michael lifts his hand to touch the black band on his wrist with a grin. 

“No!” Chloe shouts. 

It’s too late. The word is barely out of her mouth before demons start to materialize all throughout the crowd. It’s dark outside, but their metallic armor and Hell-forged weapons glint dangerously under the streetlamps scattered throughout the park. They look around with wide, hungry eyes. The air fills with screaming. People bolt to their feet, running for their lives in all directions, and the demons immediately spring into action.

Chloe watches in horror as a demon behind Michael pulls his arm back to throw a battle axe. She lifts her hands, but she can’t do anything to stop him. There are too many people running back and forth in front of her. She’ll hit someone.

The axe turns end over end and buries itself between the shoulder blades of a man in a Yankees cap. He collapses to the ground, dead, and Michael laughs from the middle of the melee.

“Let’s see how well your light works when you’ve got to avoid collateral damage,” he hollers over the din. 

Lucifer lunges toward him with a snarl. Michael shoves the teenage girl at Lucifer and then takes off into the crowd, folding his wings back into his body so he blends in. The teenager collides with Lucifer’s chest and then bounces off with a shriek, and he pauses to catch her before she falls. 

Chloe darts forward and puts her hand on his arm. “Go get him,” she commands, reaching out to help the girl stand. “I’ll deal with the demons.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’m not—”

“They’re just going to keep multiplying until you get to him,” Chloe cuts him off. “The more of them there are, the more people die. You have to go, Lucifer. Now.

He hesitates for a second, gazing down at her with concern, and then he takes off after his brother. 

Chloe turns her attention back to the teenager standing in front of her. “Are you okay?”

“What are they?” the girl asks, staring at the chaos around her with wide eyes. 

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you,” Chloe mutters. 

A bloodcurdling scream echoes from behind her. She turns to see a woman on her knees, cowering before a demon with a raised sword. Chloe lifts her hand and sends a beam of light toward him. It hits him square in the chest and he collapses. 

“Oh my god, you’re one of them!” the teenager shrieks, stumbling backward in panic.

Chloe shakes her head but doesn’t bother contradicting her. There are demons everywhere, chasing and terrorizing and killing every human they can find, and rage boils in her blood. 

She ignites her hands and gets to work. She strides through the panicking crowd, alternating between blasts of light and fireballs as she dispatches one demon after another. It would be so much easier to just send out waves of light like Lucifer did at the warehouse, but she knows the light would incinerate humans just as fast as it incinerates demons, so she holds back.

She loses track of how many she kills. She takes them out one at a time, though sometimes she manages to find a cluster and take out the whole group. Even though she’s saving people, she can’t help but notice the terror in their eyes when they see her. It unsettles her more than she expects it to, and she wonders if this is a tiny fraction of how Lucifer feels when people react in horror to his face.

She’s just finished dealing with a pair of demons who cornered a young couple in front of a giant tree when she turns around and discovers she’s been surrounded. Ten demons stand around her in an arc, each of them holding a Hell-forged blade of some kind, and the look in their eyes is murderous. 

“So you’re the miracle,” the female demon closest to her sneers. 

Chloe ignites her hands and sends a fireball blasting toward the demon, who collapses to the ground with a gaping hole in her chest. The other demons startle in surprise, and then look up at Chloe with wide eyes. 

She grins. “Yeah, I’m the miracle.”

The demons charge. Chloe takes out three of them before they converge on top of her. She dodges the swing of a sword, taps the demon wielding it with a flaming hand, and he incinerates. She aims her hand at two others. A line of light bursts from her palm and slams into their chests. They careen backward from the force of it, taking out two other demons behind them, and then an arm wraps around Chloe from behind and she feels a knife press against her throat. 

“Got you,” a demon hisses in her ear.

Chloe grits her teeth—she is so sick of knives being pressed to her throat—and reaches up to grab his arm. The demon bellows in pain as her burning hands touch his skin and then melt his flesh. The knife drops from his grip and lands in the grass, and Chloe turns to face him. She tightens her hold on his arm and summons more heat, and he incinerates. 

Another demon charges at her through the cloud of ash. He wraps a hand around her neck and lifts her off the ground, and her feet dangle above the grass as he shoves her backward and slams her into the trunk of the tree. 

The couple she saved earlier cower at the base of the tree. Chloe feels a flash of irritation whip through her veins—why the hell haven’t they run away yet?—but she can’t ask because the hand around her throat is choking her.

Her cop training kicks in. She lifts her arm, thrusts it down across the demon’s, and sends her elbow rocketing backward into his face. He drops her and stumbles backward with a grunt. She starts to stride after him, lifting her fists into a fighter’s stance, but then she remembers she doesn’t need to risk a fistfight. She opens her hands and obliterates him with light. 

Five more demons take his place. 

“Seriously?” she sighs. She ignites her hands with flame as a warning, and somewhere nearby someone screams. She doesn’t look to see if she’s the one they’re screaming at. She doesn’t care anymore. 

She fixes her eyes on the demon at the front of the group. “At what point do you guys realize you can’t win?”

He grins at her. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

They charge in unison with a yell. Chloe sets her feet and lets her light fly, taking them out one by one as they race toward her, but things quickly descend to warehouse-level terrible. For every demon she kills, three more appear. She scans her surroundings, hoping that stupid couple and all the other humans have fled so she can send out a wave of light, but she can’t see them or anything else. She’s surrounded by chaos. 

She doesn’t see the dagger until it’s too late. 

It slides into her body with ease, slicing through skin and muscle until it’s buried to the hilt just above her hip bone. For a split second, there’s no pain. She just gasps and looks down at it in surprise. She can’t help but think that the intricate pattern carved into the handle is kind of pretty. 

And then she feels it.

She sucks in a breath as a terrible, agonizing pain explodes through her side. She staggers sideways and careens into a demon. He sneers at her, and she incinerates him. She stumbles again, trying to stay on her feet, but her knees are weak. 

Lucifer, she prays. 

A demon nearby raises his sword above her head. Another one on her left is pulling his arm back, an axe gripped in his palm. They’re going to kill her and she has no choice. She closes her eyes and hopes she doesn’t hit any humans and summons a wave of light.

It bursts out of her, bright and blinding and hot. The demons turn to ash but the effort intensifies her pain to an excruciating level. She can’t breathe. Her knees buckle as she reaches for the handle of the dagger buried in her side, and then she starts to fall. 

Lucifer catches her. He cradles her against him, her back pressed to his chest, and they land on the ground with her in his lap.

“Chloe,” he breathes in horror.

Black spots dot her vision. She feels dizzy, but she tilts her head back to look up at him. There’s a bleeding cut above his eyebrow, and a darkening bruise on his jaw, and terror in his eyes. 

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers. 

The pain in her side sharpens and she hisses through clenched teeth. 

“It’s all right,” Lucifer soothes. “You’re all right.” He unfurls his wings and they spread behind him like walls of gleaming white. “I’ve got you.”

His hand covers hers on the handle of the dagger. She shakes her head. “You’re not supposed to take it out.”

“I have to take it out.” 

She tries to stop him, but she’s in too much pain to put up much of a fight. He yanks it out and she gasps, her vision swimming with dark spots again. She’s going to pass out. Her body is in shock and she’s only human and she’s losing blood. There’s no way that dagger didn’t hit one of her organs. Maybe more than one. She’s probably bleeding internally. She won’t survive this.  

“Lucifer,” she says on an exhale. “Trixie—”

“Trixie will be fine. As will you.”

He plucks a feather from his wings. It flares golden. 

“Didn’t work with Maze,” she reminds him through clenched teeth. 

His jaw tightens in determination. “It’ll work this time.”

He lifts her shirt to expose her stomach and then presses the feather against her bleeding wound. The pressure of his hand makes her groan in pain, and she fists her fingers into the grass beneath her. It hurts.

She’s going to die.

She doesn’t want to die.

Tears sting her eyes. “I love you,” she whispers, just in case she doesn’t get another chance to say it.

Lucifer bends forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Just breathe, love,” he whispers into her skin. “I’ve got you.”

She closes her eyes and tries to obey. Lucifer’s hand is still pressed to her wound. A sudden, searing heat throbs through her and she gasps, her head tilting back and her eyes flying open, but she can’t see anything. There’s just light, golden and bright, and she wonders if this is her first glimpse of heaven. 

The light disappears just as quickly as it came. So does the pain. There’s still a dull ache, and all the other injuries she’s sustained over the course of the night still hurt, but she no longer feels like she’s suffocating in agony. 

Silence rings in her ears. She blinks up at the nighttime sky for a moment, stunned, and then she picks up her head. She glances down at her wound, but there isn’t one. There’s blood, but no dagger-sized hole. 

She looks up at Lucifer in shock. “How?”

“Ye of little faith,” he murmurs with a smile. 

She frowns. “Lucifer…”

He brushes his fingers along her jaw. “Dad will just have to wait for you.”

“He won’t have to wait long,” Michael’s voice snarls.

Chloe and Lucifer turn their heads toward him in unison. 

Michael is standing twenty yards away. He’s got another human shield in front of him, an older man who looks like he might pass out from terror, and Chloe hates that Michael isn’t dumb enough to give Lucifer an open shot. 

Behind him, there’s a steadily growing horde of demons. Most of them are standing with both feet on the ground, but there are winged demons circling above them too. There are too many of them to count. They’re just...they’re everywhere. 

Fear wells up in Chloe’s throat. She’s never given much thought to the apocalypse. Even when she realized she’d fallen in love with the actual Devil, she was too wrapped up in him to worry about the end of the world. But now it’s staring her straight in the face, and she can’t look away. Hell’s army has been summoned to earth, and the only thing standing between them and the rest of the world is her and Lucifer. 

“Help me up,” she says to Lucifer.

He looks down at her with a frown. “Chloe—”

“Help me up, Lucifer.”

He presses his lips together in a thin line of disapproval but does as she asks. She gets to her feet, hanging onto him for balance. Her t-shirt is heavy and sticky with blood. She no longer feels pain radiating through her side, but her entire body aches and throbs. She’s exhausted. She’s not sure how much longer she can do this. 

Lucifer weaves his fingers through hers and presses his shoulder against hers. “I could fly you away,” he murmurs in a low voice. “Take you somewhere safe. This isn’t your fight.” 

She looks up at him. “If it’s your fight, then it’s mine too. We’re partners, remember? Where you go, I go.”

He furrows his eyebrows, and she knows he’s thinking that if she dies, he can’t follow her. 

She squeezes his hand. “Together until we can’t be,” she whispers. 

Lucifer’s eyes are shining with unshed tears. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” Michael sneers. “They want to die together.”

The demons behind him cackle with laughter. 

Chloe tears her gaze away from Lucifer and scans the army before her. The demons standing on the front line are tilting forward, snarling and trembling in anticipation. She can smell Hell in the air, acrid and awful. 

Michael shoves the terrified looking man he’d been using as a shield aside. Violence glints in his eyes. 

“Finish them,” he commands.

The demons charge with a roar. Chloe feels Lucifer tense next to her, and she tenses too, and their hands break apart as they both burst into flames and ready themselves for a fight to the death. 

Lightning cracks across the nighttime sky, jagged and blinding. It illuminates the park and then a deafening, earth-rattling boom echoes through the air. 

The demons freeze when a figure drops to the grass in front of them. It lands so hard that the ground trembles beneath Chloe’s feet like an earthquake. She reaches out to Lucifer to steady herself, and then she realizes who just landed in front of her. 

“Amenadiel,” she breathes. 

Amenadiel straightens from a crouch with his hands curled into fists. He’s facing Michael, so Chloe can’t see his face, but there’s fury and power radiating off of him in waves.

“That’s enough, Michael,” he says, his voice booming through the park. 

The demons glance toward their leader. Michael blinks in surprise. Chloe glances up at Lucifer. He’s staring at his brother with his mouth wide open in shock. 

Michael recovers quickly. “Should have known you’d be spying on your pets,” he sneers at Amenadiel. 

Amenadiel shakes his head. “You’ve gone too far, brother. End this, and send these demons back to Hell, or you’ll face the consequences.”

“Consequences?” Michael repeats with a scoff. “Father is out of reach. Our brothers and sisters don’t care about this world like you do. No one can stop me.” 

“You’re mistaken.”

Michael steps forward with a snarl. “My army against the three of you is no different than my army against two. I’ll crush you just as easily as I’ll crush them.”

“That might be true if I came alone,” Amenadiel says. He shakes his head. “But I didn’t.”

Lightning cracks across the sky again. Two more figures drop from the heavens. They land on either side of Amenadiel, and just like before, the ground shivers beneath Chloe’s feet. 

They’re men, tall and broad shouldered and fearsome looking with their wings stretched out behind them. Chloe has never seen them before, but she knows based on the way Lucifer stiffens next to her that they must be two of his brothers. 

“End this crusade, brother,” one of them says to Michael.

Michael shakes his head. “You’ve chosen the wrong side, Raphael. Lucifer seeks the throne again. We must stop him.”

Raphael glances at Amenadiel. Amenadiel looks at the angel standing on his right and nods. The unnamed angel raises a trumpet to his lips and blows. 

A gorgeous sound reverberates through the air. Lightning cracks across the sky for a third time, and suddenly angels are falling like rain. They hit the ground in pairs, their wings stretched out behind them and glittering weapons clasped in their hands. 

When one of them lands just a few feet away from Chloe, she startles in surprise. Lucifer immediately steps in front of her. Chloe peers out from behind him. 

The angel is a woman. Her hair is black and cut into a bowl shape with bangs, and her eyeliner is dark and heavy. She’s wearing a hooded crimson cloak that’s fastened at her neck by a silver clasp, and her wings are gleaming beautifully in the moonlight. 

She grins excitedly at Lucifer. “Hey Lu!”

“Azrael?” Lucifer breathes. 

A memory prods at Chloe—a blanket in a field beneath the stars, and Lucifer’s hand in hers. I used to go there with my sister, Azrael. 

Azrael turns her gaze to Chloe, and her eyes light up. “Hi Chloe! Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you. Ella thinks you’re the best.”

Chloe gapes at her, unable to find the words to return the greeting. 

Azrael doesn’t seem to mind her lack of manners. “Oh, shoot,” she says, patting her hands over her cloak. “Where’d I put my dagger?”

A flapping sound fills the air behind Chloe, and she turns to see another angel landing nearby. He nods at her, and then unsheathes a sword. Chloe stares at him, her mouth hanging open, and then scans the rest of the park. 

There are angels everywhere. All of them are dressed in gleaming armor. They’re carrying weapons, swords and battle axes and spears and staffs. Most of them are standing in the grass, lining themselves up across from the demons, but there are plenty of them hovering in the air too, their eyes fixed on the winged demons in the distance. 

Chloe’s mind stutters to comprehend what she’s seeing. Michael has an army of demons that ascended from Hell, but there’s an army of angels descending from Heaven to meet them. This is celestial war. 

And the angels are siding with Lucifer.

“Lucifer,” she breathes. 

He shakes his head and doesn’t reply. He looks just as shocked as she feels. 

The last angel lands, and a hush falls over the park. 

“Last chance, brother,” Amenadiel says into the silence. “End this rebellion now.”

Michael looks stunned. He scans the army of angels before him, his eyes wide, but then he shakes his head. “He’s brainwashed all of you. This isn’t a rebellion. I’m preventing a rebellion. All I want is Lucifer.”

As if on cue, a group of seven angels land in perfect unison around Chloe and Lucifer. They’re arranged in a V-shape, with the angel at the tip landing directly between them and Michael. He shouts something in a language Chloe doesn’t understand. The six other angels shout back in unison and drop into fighting stances, their wings spreading to create a feathered shield that Chloe can just barely see over. 

In the distance, Amenadiel meets her gaze. He smiles at her, and then he turns to face Michael. 

“You want Lucifer?” he asks. He unfurls his wings with a snap. “You go through us.”

Michael stands silently for a moment, blinking in shock, and then his face twists into a vicious snarl. 

“So be it,” he hisses. He unfurls his wings and turns toward his army. “Destroy them all!”

The demons charge with a yell, and the angels charge too, and Chloe tenses in preparation for the clash of battle. 

It never comes. 

A blinding wave of light knocks them all to the ground. It sweeps Chloe off her feet, and as she lands she feels Lucifer reaching for her, tugging her into his chest and curling himself around her. 

For a moment, there’s nothing but deafening silence. Lucifer stirs, and then leans back and lifts his hands to Chloe’s face. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, tilting her head back to look at her. There’s a hint of panic in his voice.

She nods. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“Fine,” he mutters as if it doesn’t matter. He scans her body. When he doesn’t see any injuries, he sits up.

Chloe follows him. There are no more angels and demons hovering in the air. In fact, there are no more demons at all. They’re just...gone. The angels who stood against them are on the ground, sprawled in the grass just like her and Lucifer. There’s a lone figure standing in the distance near Amenadiel. 

Lucifer’s father. 

He looks just like Chloe remembers, right down to the knitted sweater, and she can’t believe it. He’s here. A week of silence, of nothing, and now he’s back.  

Lucifer can’t seem to believe it either. “It can’t be,” he breathes. 

He leaps to his feet and strides forward. Chloe scrambles after him, stepping over angel wings and legs on the way and muttering an apology when she accidentally stomps on someone’s hand. 

John turns to look at them when Lucifer is only a few yards away. Lucifer stops dead in his tracks, and Chloe stumbles to a stop behind him. John glances at her, and then at Lucifer, and he smiles. 

All the color drains from Lucifer’s face. He stares at his father, his body swaying a little, and Chloe reaches for him immediately. She weaves her fingers through his, pressing herself into his side and holding his hand in both of hers, and he squeezes her hand so tight it hurts. She grimaces but doesn’t dare say anything. 

“Father,” Michael says from the ground. He struggles to his feet. “You’re just in time.”

John lifts his eyebrows. “Am I?”

Michael gestures at Lucifer. “Samael is up to his old tricks. He’s deceived us all in an effort to claim your throne. If I hadn’t—”

“That’s a lie!” Chloe shouts before she can stop herself.

Hundreds of angels turn to look at her in surprise. Even Lucifer glances down at her, his eyes wide, and Chloe suddenly remembers that she’s standing in the middle of a celestial battlefield and she’s the only human here. 

And then she realizes she doesn’t care. Michael has been manipulating them all for millennia and they’ve never noticed. They’ve focused on Lucifer instead, torturing and punishing him without remorse, and enough is enough. This can’t keep happening. If she’s the only one who’s going to speak up for him, then so be it. 

She steps out from behind Lucifer and looks John straight in the eye. 

“Michael caused all of this. He brought Hell to earth. He killed Lucifer and he tried to kill me too.”

“Lies,” Michael hisses. “You can’t possibly believe—”

“Shut up,” Chloe snaps at him, and her hands ignite with the force of her words. 

Michael blinks in surprise. Behind her, a stunned murmur ripples through the crowd of angels.

Chloe ignores them. She extinguishes her hands and looks at John again. 

“He wants your throne, and he doesn’t care who he has to hurt to get it. Lucifer did nothing wrong. In fact, he’s the only one who’s done anything right. And if you’re a god who values justice and fairness, then it’s time to stop punishing him.” She glares at Michael again. “Lucifer’s not the one who deserves to be punished.”

Michael narrows his eyes at her, but she stares back without fear. She’ll kick his ass again if she has to. Hell, she’ll fight them all if that’s what it takes, every single one of Lucifer’s siblings and even his dad too, because she is so fucking sick of their shit. 

“You’re right,” John says. 

Chloe snaps her gaze back toward him in surprise. 

Michael looks as though he’s been slapped. “Father,” he starts.

John lifts a hand, and Michael falls silent. 

John turns toward the army of angels. “A week ago, I offered my most powerful sons an opportunity,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “I offered them the chance to sit on my throne and rule. To possess absolute and unfailing power.”

He turns toward Amenadiel. “You responded dutifully. You trusted me and did as I asked, even though it pained you, and in doing so you demonstrated your faith. I’m proud of you.”

Amenadiel’s lips smooth into a shy smile. 

John turns toward Lucifer. “I offered you everything you once said you wanted. A chance to make your own rules, the throne you once tried to take, the opportunity to be worshipped and adored. And you refused it all.” 

He turns his gaze toward Chloe. “Millennia before you were born, he swore to me that he would never kneel again. And yet tonight, he did.” 

Chloe remembers Lucifer kneeling before her in the warehouse amidst a deafening roar of taunts and jeers, and her chest aches.

John fixes his eyes on Lucifer again. He smiles. “I have never been more proud of you.”

Chloe glances at Lucifer. He looks bulldozed. Her chest aches again. 

John turns toward Michael. 

“And you,” he says, his voice dropping low as he narrows his eyes. “You responded with greed, and with selfishness. I gave you countless opportunities to make the right decision. To do the right thing. And you continued to do the opposite. Your lust for power and your willingness to sacrifice anything and anyone that stood in your way has destroyed you.”

“Father,” Michael starts.

Silence,” John commands.

Something in the air shifts. There’s a new thrum of energy in the atmosphere. The sky seems to have darkened overhead. Chloe feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. John may look like a harmless old man, but there’s nothing harmless about the power radiating off of him. 

“You thought you acted in secret,” he thunders. “But light exposes what lurks in the darkness. I saw everything. Amenadiel chose duty. Lucifer chose love. And you chose yourself. You failed the test, son. I’m disappointed.” 

Michael flinches as if the words have physically hurt him. 

“No one is beyond redemption,” John says, his voice softening. “But redemption must be earned, and evil must be punished. Hell requires a king. You require a throne. You deserve each other.”

Michael’s eyes widen. “No,” he breathes.

Sadness shivers across John’s expression, but there’s determination in his eyes. “Be gone.” 

Michael disappears into thin air, still sputtering in desperation. 

Silence hangs in the air once he’s gone. Nobody says a word. Nobody moves.

Chloe’s heart is pounding in her ears. She stares at the spot where Michael just was, and at the empty grass where hundreds of demons stood only a few minutes ago, and her breath catches in her throat. The horde of demons, the promise of death, all of it is gone. There won’t be a celestial war. Michael is the new King of Hell, which means Lucifer never has to go back. She should be relieved. 

But she’s not.

She’s furious.

“You were never going to retire, were you?” she says to John. 

He turns to look at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s what you just said,” she tells him. “It was all just a test. You set your sons up like lab rats in an experiment to see how they would act if you were gone. All of it was a lie.

The angel who blew the trumpet earlier steps forward. “Father doesn’t lie,” he booms in a voice that Chloe thinks is supposed to intimidate her. It doesn’t.

“Oh he doesn’t?” she challenges, glaring at him. The angel looks taken aback by her fury, and she shifts her attention back to John. “So you’re retiring then?”

John shakes his head. “I’ve never had any intention of retiring.”

Chloe looks at the angel who contradicted her. “You were saying?”

The angel drops his gaze to the grass and says nothing. 

Chloe looks at John. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

He looks pained by her anger. “Chloe,” he says gently. “I understand you’re upset—”

“Upset?” she repeats incredulously. “I’m not upset. I’m mad as hell. Do you have any idea what you put your son through? Or my daughter?” 

John doesn’t reply. 

Chloe throws up her hands. “Who am I kidding? Of course you do. Apparently you sat and watched it. What kind of father does that? What kind of god lets people suffer when he could stop it? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Another angel steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder. “Watch your mouth, human.”

Chloe jerks out of his grasp, but before she can say anything, Lucifer steps forward and shoves his brother. The angel stumbles backward a step or two and then straightens with a glare. 

Lucifer is undeterred. He steps directly in front of Chloe and ignites his hands. “Touch her again and I’ll turn you to ash.”

Amenadiel intervenes. He steps between them and faces Lucifer, his hands held up in a placating gesture.

“Easy, Luci,” he soothes. “No one is going to hurt Chloe.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Lucifer snarls, his hands still aflame. “Seeing as you’ve been MIA for the last bloody week.”

Amenadiel casts a glance toward Chloe that seems to say A little help here?  

Chloe feels her temper flare. “Don’t look at me,” she snaps at him. “He’s right. Where the hell have you been?”

Amenadiel looks stunned. “What?”

“Did you hear his prayers in L.A.?” she demands, gesturing at Lucifer. “Did you hear mine in that warehouse?”

Guilt shivers across Amenadiel’s face. “I did, yes.”

“So then where the hell were you? Were you up there with the rest of them, eating popcorn and watching the show? Were we entertaining enough for you?”

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that, Chloe.”

“But you chose to ignore us. Your dad told you to ignore us and so you did. Because that’s what he means, right? When he says that you did your duty and did as he asks, he means you watched us suffer and you did nothing.”

“Chloe—”

“I begged you, Amenadiel. I begged you to help us, and you ignored me. You let him die.”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

“Bullshit!” she explodes. “There’s always a choice. Standing by and letting something terrible happen when you have the power to stop it is just as bad as doing it yourself. You’re no better than Michael.” 

Amenadiel doesn’t answer. He looks devastated. 

Chloe doesn’t care. She turns toward John.

“And you,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve known everything all along, haven’t you? You knew it right from the start. That’s why you didn’t stop them from fighting at dinner. That’s what you meant when you told me that something was in motion that you didn’t want to stop. You knew what Michael was planning, and you knew what it would lead to, and you did nothing. You just let it happen. You let Trixie suffer. You let Lucifer suffer. You—” 

She stops abruptly when the memory of Maze, drenched in blood and struggling to breathe, crashes over her. Her eyes flood with tears. Her throat is so tight she can barely swallow, but she brandishes her finger at John and forces the words out.  

“Maze is dead. And that’s on you.”

The silence is deafening. A beat passes, and then she feels Lucifer’s fingers weave through hers. His hand is aflame, and the familiar warmth of it brings her comfort. She leans toward him, and their shoulders press together.

“I’m sorry about Mazikeen,” John says softly.

Chloe shakes her head and swipes her free hand across her eyes. “Sorry doesn’t bring her back.”

John nods. “You’re right.”

He clears his throat, and then turns to his left. The empty air before him shimmers briefly, and then there’s a soft pop.  

Maze appears out of thin air. She’s dressed in the same leather outfit she died in, but there are no holes in her chest. No gash in her thigh. No blood. 

She staggers. John reaches out and steadies her before she falls. Maze grabs onto his arm for balance, but when she looks up and sees who she’s touching, her face blanches. She recoils, stumbling away from him, and ends up falling backward into the grass with an uncharacteristic clumsiness. 

“Maze,” Chloe breathes. 

Maze furrows her eyebrows. “Chloe?” She glances at Lucifer, and then her frown deepens. “Lucifer, what...?” 

She finally notices there’s a crowd of angels standing behind them. Her eyes widen. She leaps to her feet, reaches back to pull out her curved blades, and drops into a fighting stance with a snarl.

It’s such a Maze thing to do that Chloe laughs, but it comes out as more of a sob. Maze frowns at her. Chloe ignores her questioning look, closes the distance between them, and throws herself into Maze’s arms. 

Maze grunts in surprise or displeasure or both. She doesn’t hug back, but Chloe doesn’t care. She just buries her face in Maze’s shoulder and clings to her, crying with joy and relief.

A moment passes, and then Maze pats her awkwardly on the back. 

“Uh, Decker?” she says. “You want to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

Chloe leans back with an apologetic laugh and then swipes at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “You died, Maze.”

Maze casts a sideways glance at John. “Yeah, I remember that part. Hurt like a bitch. But what am I doing here?

“He brought you back,” Chloe says, nodding at John. She puts her hands on Maze’s shoulders and grins at her, so relieved she thinks she might start crying again. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Maze stares at John in shock. “You…you brought me back?”

John smiles. “Welcome back, Mazikeen.”

Maze doesn’t smile back. In fact, she looks like she’s going to be sick. 

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks in concern. 

Maze shakes her head. “No, I…” She swallows and puts a hand on her chest. “I feel kind of weird.”

“That’s probably the soul,” John muses. 

He says it the way someone would say I think it’s going to rain and Chloe gapes at him. Maze does too. 

“What did you just say?” Lucifer asks incredulously from behind them. 

John smiles kindly at Maze. “Trixie speaks very highly of you. And she’s not the only one. You are dearly loved, Mazikeen, and you’ve proven on more than one occasion that you’re willing to risk your life for those you care about. Your sacrifice tonight was noble and selfless.”

Maze frowns. “But the spell…”

John tilts his head. “Would you have acted differently if you weren’t under the spell?”

Maze just stares at him. 

John smiles. “I know you wouldn’t have. You would have sacrificed yourself for Chloe just the same. And if that’s not worthy of a soul, then I don’t know what is.”

His explanation seems to leave Maze even more stunned than before. “So I...I have a soul?” 

John nods. “Yes, you do. It might take some time for you to adjust to the feeling, but you’ll get there.”

Chloe is crying again. She doesn’t know when she started, but there are tears streaming down her face. She grabs Maze’s hand and squeezes. 

“Maze,” she whispers. 

Maze turns to look at her. There are tears in her eyes too. “I have a soul,” she whispers, a smile tugging at her lips. 

Chloe laughs, and then lunges forward to hug her. This time, Maze hugs her back. When they pull apart, Lucifer appears next to them. He slides his hand along the small of Chloe’s back, and then smiles down at Maze with a look of pride.

“Congratulations, Mazikeen.”

Maze smiles up at him. “Thanks, Lucifer.”

Chloe glances between them and then shakes her head with a smile. There are a million things unsaid in those four words, and she knows they’ll remain unsaid. Lucifer and Maze aren’t much for words. But god, do they love each other. 

John interrupts the moment. 

“If you don’t mind, Mazikeen, there are some things I should like to discuss with my son and his Detective.” He steps forward, and holds out a folded sheet of paper. “I believe you’ll find what you’re looking for at this address.”

Maze frowns at him.

John smiles. “Perhaps I should clarify. I believe you’ll find who you’re looking for at that address.”

Maze’s eyes widen, and then she snatches the paper out of his hand so fast that John chuckles. 

Maze looks at Chloe, and then up at Lucifer. “Do you guys...I mean, are you okay if I...?”

“Go,” Chloe says. She leans into Lucifer’s side and wraps her arm around his waist with a smile. “Tell her we said hi.”

Maze shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, but there’s a dazzling grin on her lips and a spring in her step as she all but sprints away from them. 

Chloe smiles after her until John clears his throat. 

Her smile fades as she turns to look at him. He folds his hands behind his back and lifts his eyebrows expectantly. 

“Thank you,” Chloe says. “But that doesn’t make everything else you did okay.” 

John doesn’t look disappointed. He just smiles and then glances at Lucifer. “You were meant to meet with Death at dawn. But if you head to Battery Park now, you’ll find her waiting for you.”

Chloe’s heart skips a beat. After all the drama with Michael and the demons and celestial war, she’d nearly forgotten about their meeting with Death. She glances up at Lucifer.

“You could fix what Dream did without lifting a finger,” Lucifer says, eyeing his father with disdain.

John tilts his head. “I could,” he acknowledges. “But the Endless may interpret that as an act of war, and I’ve had enough threats of war for one night. Go and meet with her as you planned.”

“And if she refuses to help?”

“Then I’ll set things right. You have my word.”

Lucifer studies him for a second, his eyes narrowed, and then he wraps his arm more tightly around Chloe. 

“Let’s go, love,” he murmurs.

“Actually,” John says, stepping forward.

Lucifer stops, his body tensing.

“I’d like to speak with the Detective while you’re handling things with the Endless,” John says. He smiles at Chloe. “Provided she consents, of course.”

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer says. “I’m not leaving her alone with you.” He casts a distrustful look at his siblings. “I’m not leaving her alone with any of you.”

Amenadiel steps forward. “I’ll protect her, Luci. You have my word.” 

“Your word means nothing to me,” Lucifer snaps.

Amenadiel looks wounded. Chloe feels bad for him for a second until she remembers how desperately she pleaded for his help in the warehouse. 

She glances at John. He’s watching her with interest, and all of a sudden she remembers their conversation in the car after the shootout with the cartel. He’s giving her the same look now that he did then, and she hears his voice in her memory. 

If you have a question, I’d be happy to answer it. 

Just like that night, a million questions are surfacing in her mind. And she knows that if she doesn’t ask them now, she might never get another chance. 

She lifts her hand and sets it on Lucifer’s chest. “It’s okay, babe.”

He looks down at her in surprise. “Chloe,” he murmurs. 

It strikes her all of a sudden that he hasn’t called her Detective since he resurrected. He’s only used her first name or a pet name. She wonders why, but knows now isn’t the time to ask.

“It’s okay,” she repeats instead.

Lucifer glances at his father, and then turns more fully toward her. “You don’t have to do as he says,” he tells her in a low voice. “You’re free to do as you please. I have your back.”

“I know you do,” she murmurs, pressing her hand over his heart. “But we need our lives back, and I don’t want a war either. You can go. I’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t look convinced. 

She lifts her hands to his face and strokes her thumbs over his cheeks. He relaxes a little beneath her touch, but not much. Chloe leans closer to him. His entire family is watching them, but she can’t bring herself to care. Let them watch. She’s not ashamed of how much she loves him.

Her lip still hurts, but she doesn’t care about that either. She rises to her toes and kisses him. He presses his palm against the curve of her spine and holds her close, and when she tries to pull away he chases her mouth. She smiles against his lips and kisses him again before she drops back down to her feet. 

She straightens his jacket. “I’ll pray if I need you,” she murmurs, looking up at him. And then she smiles. “But try to be back before I can miss you.”

She’s teasing him, opening the door for him to say something arrogant or inappropriate or both, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. His eyebrows are still furrowed in concern. He covers her hands with his, and then lifts them to his mouth to press a kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you,” he murmurs into her hands.

She smiles at him. “I love you too.” She lowers her hands to his chest and pushes on him lightly. “Now go.”

He gives her one last, searching look. She smiles at him and holds his gaze, wanting him to see that she’s not afraid. He exhales a resigned sigh, and after ducking down to press a kiss to her forehead, he steps back and unfurls his wings. He casts an annoyed look at Amenadiel, and one at his father too, and then he winks at her and shoots upward into the sky. 

Chloe watches him until she can’t see him anymore. The white of his wings is stunning against the backdrop of the black nighttime sky. She loves him so much it’s almost painful. 

Once he’s out of sight, though, her heart flips in her chest. She’s alone and surrounded by angels and she just sent away the one person she knows is always on her side.

What the hell was she thinking?

She takes a deep breath and turns around to face an army of angels with a confidence she doesn’t feel. 

The creator of the universe smiles at her and gestures toward the river. 

“Shall we take a walk?”

Chapter 31: Thirty-One

Notes:

Thanks, as always, for the love in my comments y'all. What I said about the trailer also applies now that 5b is out—this and the remaining two chapters have been written for a while, and I haven't changed anything in response to what we've seen, so any similarities you see are just coincidences.

Chapter Text

Lucifer lands next to a fountain in Battery Park. 

It’s one of those fountains where the jets are buried in the ground. Geysers of water are shooting into the air in a spiral pattern. There are lights set into the stone too, and they’re bright enough to reach past the peaks of the water and illuminate the colored leaves on the tree branches stretched above them. In the distance past the fountain, the bay stretches out in inky endlessness until it meets the sky. It’s a beautiful spot. 

Chloe would love it. 

Lucifer’s chest aches. He doesn’t want to be here without her. He never wants to be anywhere without her ever again. He hates that he left her with his father. He knows she’s safe. His father does terrible things, but killing his prized creations isn’t one of them. Especially not Chloe, who he seems to like more than he likes his own offspring. 

Knowing that doesn’t ease Lucifer’s ache though. He was away from her—the real her—for so long, and then he came back and nearly lost her, and he just...he just wants to be with her. He wants to whisk her away and shut out the world and hold her until he forgets what it’s like not to be in her arms.

But he can’t. Not yet, anyway. He gave his word that he’d end this nightmare for her, and loathe as he is to agree with his father, he’s had enough rumblings of war for one evening too. Besides, he recognized that look in her eye. It’s the same look she gets before she asks someone to come into the station for questioning. She wants answers. She saw an opportunity to interrogate his father, and she wanted to take it, because that’s who she is. She wants an explanation. And he wants to give her what she wants. 

Even if it pains him.  

“Hello Lucifer.”

Lucifer smiles. He hasn’t heard that voice in a long time, but he’d know it anywhere. He turns around. 

Death stands a few yards away from him. She looks just like he remembers. She’s small—short and thin and delicate, though Lucifer knows better than to think she actually is delicate. She’s dressed casually and in all black, and it makes the paleness of her skin stand out even more in the moonlight. Her jet black hair is cut short. There are dark strands falling across her face, and when she flicks her head to push them back, he catches a glimpse of the marking beneath her right eye. 

“Hello darling,” he greets, tipping his head politely. 

Her smile deepens. “You look good for someone who recently went to Hell.”

“Yes, well, I’m afraid my stunning good looks are an albatross around my neck regardless of where I’ve been.”

Death laughs. It’s musical, and though it’s not nearly as beautiful as Chloe’s, it makes him smile. He studies the silver ankh hanging around her neck and is suddenly struck by the fact that she reminds him of Ms. Lopez. They’d get along famously, he’s sure, but he hopes they don’t meet for another several decades. 

“You look well too,” he observes. “I half expected you to show up as a geriatric man with a cane seeing as your day isn’t yet finished.”

She shakes her head as she walks toward him. “Actually, I chose to delay my tradition. I haven’t lived my day yet.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Something John Constantine said when he visited piqued my curiosity. I decided to investigate.” 

Lucifer smirks. “Was it about that horrific coat of his? Because I, too, wonder how often he launders it. My money’s on never.”

Death smiles as she stops next to him. “No.”

“Have they stopped making his brand of cigarettes? Nasty habit.”

“You smoked last time I saw you.”

“Things change.”

Death smiles knowingly at the fountain. “Apparently.”

Lucifer waits, but she doesn’t say anything. He sighs. “Well don’t keep me in suspense, darling. What was he on about this time?”

“You.”

Lucifer is so surprised he just stares at her.

She tilts her head up to look at him. “He said the Devil found his soulmate.”

Lucifer can’t seem to think of a response to that. Not because it isn’t true. Of course it’s true. Every bloody cliche in the book is true when it comes to Chloe. But he hadn’t expected Death, who’s never shown much of an interest in romance, to be intrigued by the fact that he fell in love. 

 She holds his gaze for a moment, still smiling, and then turns her attention back toward the fountain.  

“You know I’m a bit of an expert on souls,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. “I see them when they’re born. They’re clear and clean, a blank slate just waiting to be painted. And I see them at the end too, once they’re a mess of contradictions. Joy and grief. Pain and pleasure.” She casts a sideways look at him. “Darkness and light.”

Lucifer looks away from her and out across the bay in the distance. A sharp pain flares in his chest. The memory of his Hell loop is still fresh, and he can still hear the Detective’s voice warring with Chloe’s. The desire to unfurl his wings and fly back to the woman who saved his soul is nearly unbearable.

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Death says, unaware of how much he’s struggling to stay put. “So I watched you two.”

Shock snaps Lucifer’s head back in her direction. “You did what?”

“This week,” she clarifies. “From the moment my brother cast his dream until now. I had to sneak back in time to see what I’d missed prior to John’s arrival, of course. But I’ve seen it all. Right up until your Father asked me to meet you here.”

Lucifer gapes at her, trying to wrap his mind around what she’s saying, and then it sinks in and his temper flares. “And did you enjoy the show?”

She shakes her head and turns to face him. “Your anger is misplaced, Lucifer.”

“Is it?” he snaps. “Because it seems to me that everyone who could have stopped this nonsense was content to sit back and let it happen. My brother. My father. You. I’m so glad you all had such a marvelous time watching her suffer.”

“Is that your only takeaway from this week?” Death challenges. “That she suffered?”

Lucifer turns to face her. “I held her in my arms every night while she sobbed. What would you call it?” 

“And yet she told you she wouldn’t change a thing. If I summoned her here right now and asked her if she still felt that way, we both know she’d agree.”

“Leave her be,” Lucifer snarls. “She’s experienced enough supernatural interference to last several lifetimes.”

Death holds her hands up in surrender. Lucifer turns back toward the fountain with a huff of contempt. 

“We can’t truly understand joy without suffering, Lucifer,” Death says quietly. “Light isn’t light unless we first know the oppressive nature of darkness.”

“I’m not one of your souls in need of counseling,” Lucifer snaps. “So you can spare me the lecture about how the greatest costs lead to the greatest rewards. She’s innocent. More than that, she’s good. She never should have been asked to pay this price.”

“If she hadn’t been, then the two of you wouldn’t be what you are right now.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw.

“You pride yourself on being a truth teller, Lucifer. So tell the truth. You went through Hell for her. She did the same for you. It was horrible and difficult but it changed you both for the better, and it’s made your bond unbreakable.”

Lucifer clenches his fists. “What’s your point?”

“My point,” Death says, smiling kindly, “is that I know souls. Which means I know soulmates. And I’ve never seen two quite like you. I watched you because I wanted to know if John was right. And when I realized he was, I knew there was someone else who needed to see it too.”

Lucifer glances at her. “And who’s that?”

Death smiles. 

“Good evening, Lucifer,” a male voice says.

Lucifer stiffens. The desire to ignite his hands and let his light loose is so strong he can barely stifle it. He shoves his hands into his pockets and closes his eyes just long enough to pretend that Chloe is standing in front of him, her hand pressed against his heart as she whispers to him. 

Be light. 

He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes and turns away from Death. 

Dream is standing just a few yards away. Like his sister, his skin is pale white and his hair is jet black. Unlike her, though, he’s not wearing black. His faded jeans and gray t-shirt make him look almost human, but the silver and blue stars he has in place of eyes make it obvious he’s not. 

“Morpheus,” Lucifer greets as politely as he can.

Dream smirks. “I can feel your rage all the way over here.”

“You’re lucky you can’t feel my hand wrapped around your throat,” Lucifer snarls before he can stop himself.

Dream bristles. “You’re welcome to try.”

Lucifer opens his mouth but stops when Death puts her hand on his arm. He looks down at her, but it’s Dream who’s the focus of her reproachful look. 

“Don’t,” she tells her brother. “He has every right to be angry.”

Dream opens his mouth as if to argue, but seems to think better of it under the unwavering intensity of his sister’s gaze. He slides his hands into his pockets and looks at the ground like a chastised child. 

Lucifer tugs his arm out of Death’s grasp and straightens his jacket. She smiles at him, unfazed by his annoyance.

“I hear the two of you spent the week being voyeurs,” he says to Dream while fiddling with his cufflink. “I’m guessing that means I don’t have to tell you that my brother played you for a fool.”

Dream shakes his head. “I knew your brother had ulterior motives.”

“And you didn’t care?”

“Why should I care if I could still get what I wanted?” 

Lucifer sneers at him. “How machiavellian of you.” 

Dream tilts his head. “Isn’t that what you do when you grant favors? How are you and I any different?”

“I don’t punish those who don’t deserve it.”

“You’ve said that to me before.” 

“And I was right then too. If you wish to be a dictator, Morpheus, then stay in your realm and rule. Don’t come to earth and rob humans of their right to choose. Especially not my humans.”

Dream stares at him, and Lucifer stares back. He knows he needs to calm down and broach the subject of ending the dream, but he’s just so furious. He can’t stop thinking about how small Chloe felt in his arms in the middle of the night, sobbing because of nightmares that Dream caused. 

“You know, before you burst in to save the day, your human said something to your brother that intrigued me,” Dream says.

Lucifer shoots a look at Death. “What is it with the two of you and being intrigued by my girlfriend?”

Death smiles. “She’s rather extraordinary.”

“Of course she is,” Lucifer scoffs. “You’d have to be blind not to notice.”

Death’s smile deepens.

Lucifer turns back to Dream. “Well? Are you going to tell me what she said, or should I guess?”

“She said that if I truly loved Nada, I wouldn’t have tried to force her to do what I wanted. She said I didn’t love her because I was selfish.”

Lucifer fiddles with his cufflink. “She’s right.”

“You think you’re the authority on selflessness?” Dream asks incredulously. 

“No,” Lucifer replies, shaking his head. “I think Chloe is. If she says you’re selfish, then you are.”

“And you just blindly believe whatever she says?”

“I believe in her. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Dream stares at him for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle. “I don’t understand,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “She’s your beloved. Your soulmate. You bowed to her without any hesitation. And yet when she offered to be immortal and stay with you forever, you refused. Why?”

Lucifer swallows around the sudden tightness of his throat. “Because sometimes there are more important things than getting what you want.” 

Dream looks stunned. 

Death smiles. 

Lucifer thinks of Chloe and their eventual, inevitable goodbye, and his chest aches with longing. 

Dream is the first to break the silence. He clears his throat and narrows his eyes at Lucifer. “I won’t apologize.”

“Of course you won’t,” Lucifer says. “But if you don’t—”

“I just did,” Dream cuts him off. “Your humans are no longer under my influence. The dream is gone.” 

Lucifer blinks at him, speechless in surprise. 

Dream straightens. “And I’m planning to pay your brother a visit, by the way. My expectation of his betrayal doesn’t excuse it.”

“Well if you’re looking for my permission to kick his ass, permission granted,” Lucifer says with a grin. “He’s on dad’s shit list at the moment too, so feel free to do your worst.”

Dream smiles darkly. “Worst is a good word for it.” He glances at his sister. “Will you...?”

She smiles. “I will.” 

Dream nods, and then he disappears without another word. 

Lucifer gazes at the now empty space in front of him. The fountain is gushing merrily behind him, but there’s a silence underneath the sound that seems to ring painfully in his ears. He’s been so desperate for this moment, so hyper-focused on making sure it became a reality, and now that it is, he’s not sure what to do with himself. He didn’t expect it to be this easy. He thought he’d have to make a deal or offer some favors. At the very least, he thought there’d be some yelling and a few punches thrown. Instead, the dream is gone and Dream is going to kick Michael’s ass.

“Well that went well,” he says lightly.

Death laughs. 

Lucifer frowns and adjusts his jacket. “I should check and make sure he’s actually done what he said.” He glances at Death. “No offense, of course.”

“None taken.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a cell phone. “I thought you might want to make a call, so I grabbed your phone for you on my way here.”

Lucifer blinks at her. “You did what?”

She just smiles. 

He snatches the phone out of her hand and unlocks it to check and make sure it’s his. It is. He knows because beneath the apps on the homescreen is a picture of Chloe at the precinct. She’s sitting at her desk, bent forward over some paperwork with an intense look of concentration on her face as she nibbles the end of her pen. She looks adorable. 

He misses her.  

“You needn’t worry, you know,” Death says softly. “The two of you will have far more time together than you realize.”

Her reassurance doesn’t soothe him. Chloe’s death might be a long way off, but it’s still coming. Someday, he’ll have to say goodbye again. And it will break him. 

He turns to face Death. “Thank you for your assistance. Obviously I’d have preferred for you not to spend the week watching my girlfriend and I screw our way across the United States, but perhaps it’s finally opened your eyes to the joys of sex.”

He leers at her for good measure, and Death shakes her head at him with a fond look. “You know I really enjoyed watching you exist without your mask for a change.”

Lucifer frowns. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

“The way you are with her,” she clarifies. “You’re not afraid to be who you are.”

“You mean the Devil?”

She tilts her head. “Are you still the Devil?”

“Of course I’m still the Devil,” he scoffs. “My idiot brother might be the new King of Hell, but I’ll always be the Devil.”

Death studies him for a second, her expression pensive, and then she reaches up and presses her hand to his face. “Will you do me a favor?”

Lucifer smiles. “Careful, darling. It’s a dangerous thing to ask the Devil for a favor.”

She smiles, apparently unbothered by his warning. “Don’t think about who you’ve been. Think about who you want to spend the rest of eternity being.”

Lucifer has no idea what that means, but he knows her well enough to know that there’s no point in asking for an explanation. She won’t give him one. 

“Deal,” he murmurs. 

She smiles wider, her eyes alight with affection. “I’ll be paying your brother a visit as well, just so you know.”

Lucifer smirks. “Hopefully by now he’s found more suitable attire for Hell than those hideous turtlenecks. Please do let me know what he’s chosen. Unless, of course, he’s wearing a tank top, in which case I would rather die than be forced to imagine it.”

Death laughs, and then rises on her toes to brush a chaste kiss along his jaw. “Until we meet again, Lucifer,” she murmurs. “Send my regards to your father.”

She disappears before he can reply. 

Once again, he finds himself standing alone in the fountain-tinged silence of the park. He adjusts his jacket. He still can’t believe how easy that was. He wonders if his father knew it would be, and then rolls his eyes because of course his father knew. Omniscient git. 

Thinking of his father reminds him of Chloe. The desperate urge to be close to her wells up in his chest, and there’s nothing stopping him now. He could fly back across the river and have her in his arms in a matter of seconds. But he stays put instead, because he knows he hasn’t been gone long enough for her to get all her questions answered. 

He unlocks his phone instead of unfurling his wings, pulls up a familiar number in his contacts, and dials. 

“Luci,” John’s voice answers a moment later. “You all right, mate? Chloe okay?”

“Yes, we’re both fine,” Lucifer replies. “Is the urchin all right? Has there been any commotion?”

“I assume by commotion you mean have any more of your creepy ass demons shown up,” Zatanna’s voice cuts across the other end of the line. “And the answer’s no, they haven’t. Trixie’s sleeping and we’ve just been sitting here, waiting to hear from you.”

Lucifer smirks. “Sitting there, hm? I find that hard to believe. I suspect there’s been some flirting and perhaps a wandering hand or two.”

“Actually I was too busy kicking his ass in gin rummy to feel him up,” Zatanna says dryly.

“You were not,” John disputes, sounding offended. “I let you win.”

“You never let me win, John. You’re too competitive.”

“I nearly had you.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Lucifer grins. “Perhaps if you played naked gin rummy you might get a better showing out of him, Zee.”

“How the bloody hell do you play naked gin rummy?” John wonders. 

“Oh it’s delightful,” Lucifer says. “You start by—”

“Yeah, I don’t want to know that,” Zatanna cuts him off. “Did you take care of things with your brother, Lucifer? And Dream? Fill us in.”

“I’d be happy to,” Lucifer replies, turning away from the fountain. “But first, I’ve a favor to ask.”


Lucifer’s dad doesn’t say a word as he leads Chloe through the park and down toward the water. It’s not a tense silence, but it’s not a comfortable one either. It’s just...silence. 

She doesn’t know him very well, but she’s good enough at reading people to know that he’s not angry. His posture is relaxed, and his hands are folded casually behind his back. There’s an affable smile stretched across his lips. She’s pretty sure he knows that she’s watching him out of the corner of her eye, but he doesn’t remark on it. He just keeps smiling and walking in silence. 

He stops once they reach a lookout point at the very edge of the park. A hip-height fence marks the dropoff between the concrete beneath their feet and the water down below. To their right, the Brooklyn Bridge stretches out across the darkness of the river. The Manhattan skyline rises in the distance directly across from them. The skyscrapers are lit up proudly against the night sky, and the city seems to have a dome-like glow around it that stretches toward the heavens. It’s a gorgeous view. 

Chloe wishes Lucifer were here with her to see it. 

Her chest aches. They’ve been apart for two minutes and she already misses him. She’d roll her eyes at herself if she wasn’t so focused on trying not to tear up. She wonders if it’s going to be like this for a while once they get back to Los Angeles; if the road trip made them too accustomed to seeing each other every second of every day, and if his death traumatized them so much that they won’t want to be apart for more than a few minutes. 

She studies the skyline. A breeze blows over the water and catches her ponytail, brushing the ends of her hair against the back of her neck. Now that the adrenaline of the battle is gone, her body is screaming at her. Her joints ache. A dull headache pulses at her temples. Her split lip is throbbing, and so are her ribs where Michael’s foot briefly found a home, and she’s exhausted. 

John curls his fingers around the metal railing and clears his throat. Chloe forces herself out of her thoughts and looks at him. He’s gazing at the city in the distance the way a king might survey his kingdom, which makes sense considering he basically is. 

“If you’re holding your tongue because you’re concerned about offending me, you needn’t be,” he says into the silence. “You couldn’t possibly say anything I haven’t already heard from Lucifer at some point.”

Chloe wraps her hands around the railing too. “Yeah, I’ve heard him say a few things.”

“He called me a loathsome twatwaffle after you left family dinner.”

Chloe snorts out a shocked laugh and then smacks her hand over her mouth and turns to look at John with wide eyes. 

He’s smiling at her. “That was Linda’s reaction as well.”

Chloe can’t help it. She laughs again. 

John laughs too, rich and deep and somehow familiar. “There’s a reason he and Shakespeare were such good friends. My son has quite a way with words. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

Chloe thinks about how Lucifer spent the last week quoting other people’s words to her because he couldn’t seem to find his own, and she lowers her hand from her mouth. 

“He struggles when he’s talking about how he feels. But we all do sometimes, I guess.”

John glances at her. “Are you struggling at the moment?”

Chloe presses her lips together and glances down at her hands. She studies the lines of her palms for a while, and then she wills them to light. They burst into flames. She wiggles her fingers, watching as the fire dances over her skin, and then looks up at John.

“Why can I do this?”

He smiles. “Because Lucifer can. Light is his. And he’s yours.”

Chloe shakes her head. “That’s not good enough.”

John lifts his eyebrows. 

Chloe considers extinguishing her hands but doesn’t because they remind her of Lucifer. When her hands are aflame, it makes her feel like he’s here with her even though he isn’t. 

“I don’t want God riddles,” she tells John. “I want to know how and why. Is it because I’m a miracle? Because that’s the only thing I can come up with, and it doesn’t make any sense. Being a miracle makes me immune to him. I’m supposed to be able to resist his powers, not take them. And yet somehow he managed to make me invulnerable, and now I’m on fire, and I want to know why.”

John smiles. “How much do you know about nuclear fusion?”

For a second, Chloe wonders if he’s mocking her. But the look on his face is earnest, and he seems genuinely curious, so she pushes the thought away.

“Uh...pretty much nothing.”

“It’s the scientific process that powers the sun and the stars.”

“Does it power Lucifer too?” She glances down at her hands. “And me, apparently?”

John tilts his head. “Not exactly. There are celestial elements to what the two of you can do.”

“So then why bring it up?”

“Because it’s the best analogy for what’s happening. You see, when two hydrogen atoms bond together, or fuse, they produce a new element. Helium.”

Chloe furrows her eyebrows. “Okay?”

“The new element is heavier, but the total mass is less than the sum of the initial two hydrogen atoms that formed it.”

Chloe’s frown deepens. “Wait, they combine but somehow weigh less?” 

“They have less mass,” John corrects. “But don’t let the connotation of the word less fool you. In losing mass, energy was gained. You see, in order for the two atoms to overcome electrostatic repulsion…” 

He must notice the blank look on her face, because he trails off. 

“I’m not going to make myself clear if I discuss this in terms of nuclear fusion, am I?” 

Chloe shakes her head. “I’m just a cop, John. Nuclear fusion is more than a little out of my depth.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re just anything Chloe,” he says kindly. He shoots a significant glance toward her still flaming hands. “Not ever, but certainly not now.”

Chloe feels suddenly self conscious. She extinguishes her hands and slides them into the back pockets of her jeans. 

John studies her for a second, still smiling kindly, and then he says, “Have you ever looked closely at a zipper?”

Chloe blinks at him. “What?”

“A zipper,” he repeats as if he genuinely thinks she didn’t hear him. 

Chloe feels her temper flare. “What the hell do zippers have to do with anything?” 

John smiles. “Perhaps a visual will help. Allow me to change.”

Chloe blinks, and suddenly he’s standing before her in a different colored sweater. It’s still knitted, but it’s a deep cranberry color instead of cream, and there’s a zipper on the front instead of buttons. 

John reaches for the two unzipped sides of his sweater. “A zipping mechanism has two separate tracks,” he says, holding the tracks out for her to see. “The dozens of little teeth on this track are just waiting to be joined with the teeth on this one.”

He glances up at her with a sudden look of concern. “Although, just to be clear, there’s nothing forcing them together.” 

He rubs the two edges of the zipper tracks over each other, and they make a soft clicking sound that echoes through the night air. 

“They can exist on their own just fine. They might complement each other perfectly, but nothing is forcing them to join. The two edges of the track have to decide that they’d like to take the journey of the zipper together.”

“The journey of the zipper?” Chloe repeats dryly. 

John nods. “Yes.” He reaches for the zipper slide, notches the edge of the free track into the space on the bottom of the slide, and then looks up at her again. “You see? There’s a conscious choice on the part of this zipper track to join the other track. To be together.”

Chloe stares at him. She thinks she knows what he’s trying to say, but…

“Except you’re the one who put it in the zipper slide,” she points out. “They wouldn’t get zipped together if there wasn’t an outside force putting them into the slide together.”

John looks crestfallen. “Yes, well, it’s not a perfect analogy because they’re inanimate. They don’t move the way hydrogen atoms do. But you understand what I’m saying, correct?”

There’s cautious hope in his eyes, and for a second all Chloe can think about is Lucifer standing in front of her at the UCLA Medical Center, also trying to communicate using an analogy, and the similarity between father and son makes her heart ache in a way she didn’t expect.

“Yeah,” she says, taking pity on him. “I get it. Free will.”

John beams. “Exactly. You’ve always had free will, Chloe. What you said to Amenadiel earlier is true. There’s always a choice.”

A million questions about free will surface in Chloe’s mind, but she pushes them away.

“So the zipper,” she prompts, gesturing at his sweater.

“Right,” John says, snapping to attention. “Back to the zipper.” 

He grabs the slide and slowly starts to pull it upward, his sweater zipping closed as he does. “When the two tracks are pushed together beneath the slide, their complementary edges weave together. They’re in close proximity and under pressure, and they come out the other side of that experience as a fused whole rather than two separate tracks.” 

Chloe points at the top of his sweater where the zipper tracks are still undone. “So this is me and Lucifer before.”

“Yes.”

She points at the zipped portion of his sweater down by his stomach. “And this is us now.” 

John smiles. “Precisely. When you fell in love, you became something new. Two separate entities that are so tightly fused together that they’ve become one thing instead of two. And that close bond allows you to share things. Light, for instance.”

Chloe frowns. “But how does it work?

His smile deepens into something affectionate. “My children self-actualize, Chloe. They believe something about themselves, and it becomes true. Amenadiel, for example. He once believed that because of mistakes he thought he made, he wasn’t worthy to return to the Silver City. He lost his wings as a result of his belief, and was therefore prevented from returning. The Devil face you’ve seen Lucifer wear isn’t a creation of mine. It’s a creation of his. That’s what he believed he was, and so it’s what he became.”

“He believes that’s who he is because of you,” Chloe says before she can stop herself. “You did that to him.”

“That’s the point I’m trying to make,” John says calmly. “The relationship Lucifer has with you is similar to the relationship he has with me.”

Excuse me?” Chloe says. She turns more fully toward him and gestures between them. “You and I are nothing alike. I would never—”

“What I mean is that he loves you,” John cuts her off. “He seeks your approval, and what he thinks you believe about him influences what he believes about himself. Self-actualization is based on belief, Chloe. And there is nothing my son believes in more than you.”

That stops her short. All of a sudden, all she can think about is that diner parking lot and what she said to Lucifer before he finally had a breakthrough and summoned light.

I believe in you. 

“So Lucifer can light up because I believe in him?” she asks softly. 

John nods. “Yes. Your belief in him helps him to believe in himself. It helps him self-actualize.”

“So then I light up because…?” 

“Because he believes in you.”

She shakes her head. “But I’m not celestial. I’m just a human.”

“Why do you say just a human as if that makes you less than him? Being different doesn’t make you less than, Chloe. Nothing makes you less than unless you let it.”

Chloe swallows around a sudden tightness in her throat.

“I know the two of you thought it was desire that fueled your connection,” John continues. “You thought he lit up because you wanted him to, and he thought he made you bulletproof because he wanted you to be safe. It’s an understandable assumption, given that desire is his gift. And you’re not entirely wrong. Desire is part of belief. But so is love, and loyalty, and selflessness, and patience.”

She stares at him, trying to put the pieces together.

He smiles kindly. “It’s faith, Chloe. That’s what connects the two of you. That’s what gives you both power, whether literal or metaphorical. You believe in each other.”

Chloe’s ears are suddenly ringing. She reaches out and wraps a hand around the metal railing to steady herself. It feels cold beneath her palm. It’s not enough, though, and she turns more fully toward the fence and wraps her other hand around the railing too. She leans forward, gazing out across the water, and a memory of the first real conversation she ever had with Michael surfaces. 

I will never lose faith in me and him. 

She wonders if John heard her say that. She figures she might as well ask.

“Are you omniscient?” she asks, looking over at him. 

He nods. “Yes.”

The question of whether he heard her conversation with Michael fades, and it’s replaced by a sudden flash of irritation.

“So I was right earlier. You knew Michael was provoking Lucifer at dinner to set him up. You knew it was Lucifer who saved me at the cartel shootout. And you knew everything that was going to happen after that with Dream. You knew about all of this before it even happened.”

“Yes.”

“And the garden too,” she presses on, feeling anger start to boil in her blood. “You knew Michael manipulated Lucifer into sleeping with Eve and starting the rebellion. You knew Michael was behind it all and you punished Lucifer anyway.”

“Lucifer made a choice to rebel,” John says. “Choices have consequences.” 

Chloe straightens and turns to face him. “What about Michael’s consequences?”

“I think he faced those tonight, didn’t he? There are fates that are far worse than death.”

“Yeah, except his fate didn’t catch up with him until millennia after he started being a jerk.”

“Does justice become less meaningful if it’s delayed? Or is justice always justice?”

“This isn’t a philosophical debate, John,” she says, trying and failing to control her temper. “You could have stopped him before he did any of this. So why didn’t you?”

John gazes at her for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face, and then he gestures at the railing. Three glass vials filled with clear liquid appear out of thin air on the railing in front of him. 

Chloe blinks in surprise. She’s not sure where they came from or how they’re balanced so perfectly on a spherical rail, but decides there’s no point in asking. It’s all par for the course when you’re talking to the creator of the universe. 

“I’m omniscient,” he tells her. “That means I see every possibility and every outcome. Take these vials, for instance. I know what’s in every single one of them. I know that one contains water, and one contains vodka, and the other holds a poison that could kill you within seconds.”

“So?”

“So choose one.”

Dread washes over Chloe. She’s not sure why. If he wants her dead, she’ll die. There’s nothing she can do about it. She hesitates for a second, and then lifts her hand to obey. 

“Stop,” he orders. 

She freezes, her hand hovering in mid-air.

He smiles. “You were going to pick the one in the middle.”

Chloe shouldn’t be shocked he knew that. Of course he knew it. He’s God.  

But she’s still shocked. 

“I know which one you would’ve chosen in a dozen other circumstances too,” he adds, grabbing the middle vial and holding it out to her with a smile. 

She takes the vial with a frown. “What do you mean other circumstances?” 

“If I’d made these vials appear directly in front of you instead of directly in front of me, you would have chosen the one on the left rather than the one in the middle. If there were two instead of three, you would have chosen the one on the right. If there were four, you would have hesitated three seconds longer than you did just now, but you still would have chosen one of the vials in the middle. The left one, specifically.”

Chloe stares at him, stunned. 

He folds his hands in front of him. “I know all this because I see every possibility. I know how your past experiences, and your habits, and the circumstances around you will influence your decisions. But I also know every outcome of every choice you could possibly make.” He nods at the vial in her hand. “For instance, if you drink that, you’ll die.”

It takes every ounce of her self control not to fling the vial into the water. 

“I told you one of these vials contains poison,” John continues. “And yet you chose one anyway.”

“You asked me to.”

“But you could have refused. You didn’t. Now I’m telling you that what’s in your hand is poison. If you choose to drink it anyway, despite knowing all the facts, do I really have the right to stop you?”

“You’re joking, right? This would kill me.”

“Yes but only if you choose to drink it.”

She exhales a sharp breath. “Fine. But what if I didn’t choose it? What if someone else forced me to drink it? Would you intervene then? It wasn’t my choice.”

“But it was the choice of the person who forced you to drink it. If I give you the freedom to choose, I also need to give that freedom to everyone else. It’s unfair otherwise.” 

Chloe gapes at him. 

“I’m not saying I never intervene,” John says when she doesn’t respond. “Obviously I do because I did so tonight. But if I know that I can pull an antidote out of my pocket and that you’ll be fine in the end, then why would I rob you of the opportunity to make a choice? Why would I prevent Mazikeen from earning a soul, or Lucifer from conquering his guilt, or Michael from showing his true colors?”

Chloe narrows her eyes at him. “So you knew Michael would kill Lucifer and that he’d end up trapped in a Hell loop.”

“I also knew he would conquer his guilt and walk back out.”

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“Chloe—” 

“All’s well that ends well isn’t going to cut it for me, John.” She shoves the vial into his chest. “Lucifer suffered. Trixie suffered.” 

He tilts his head as he takes the vial from her. “So if you were me, you would have intervened even if it would have changed the final result?”

“I would have done whatever it took to make sure my kid didn’t suffer. What parent wouldn’t do that?”

John shakes his head. “You’re either lying or you’re being a hypocrite.”

Chloe bristles. “Excuse me?”

“Do you remember teaching your daughter how to ride a bike?”

“What does that have to do with—”

He reaches out and touches her arm, and what feels like an electric shock jolts through her body. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s jarring enough that she closes her eyes. 

When she opens them again, she finds herself standing in a park in Los Angeles on a beautiful spring day. A few yards in front of her, she can see a younger version of Trixie decked out in a bright pink helmet and knee and elbow pads. She’s wheeling her bike toward a couple standing a foot to Chloe’s left on the sidewalk. Chloe glances at them, and then double takes when she realizes she’s staring at herself. 

She looks different. Less tired, more tan. Her hair is blonder and loose around her shoulders, and there’s a wedding ring on her finger. Dan is standing next to her. He looks younger too.

“You know if I let her go like she wants, she might crash,” Dan says quietly. 

Chloe watches herself nod. “I know. But she wants the training wheels off and we can’t hang onto the back of her bike forever, right? I mean, I don’t want her to fall, but she has to learn somehow.”

The edges of the world blur. Another jolt rockets through Chloe’s body, and she blinks and finds herself back in New York. 

“Do you understand?” John asks.

Chloe shakes her head. “Letting Trixie fall off her bike while she learned to ride isn’t the same thing as kicking her out of the only home she’s ever known. And it’s definitely not the same thing as letting her torture herself in a Hell loop.”

“Maybe not,” John replies. “But choosing not to teach your daughter how to ride a bike would have had far less dire consequences than choosing not to address the pride and guilt eating away at my most powerful son.”

Chloe exhales an annoyed breath and looks out over the water.

“I knew which vial Lucifer would choose,” John says. He sounds like he’s pleading for her to understand. “I knew he would rebel, just as he knew what the consequence of that decision would be. He wanted to be his own man, Chloe. To make his own choices and face the consequences, come what may. So I gave him what he wanted.”

“And what about all this?” Chloe demands, holding out her arms. “You think he wanted to hear everyone he loves tell him that he’s evil and dangerous? You think he wanted to die in my arms? This whole last week, that spell and everything it caused, none of it is what Lucifer wanted.”

“Lucifer isn’t my only child,” John says patiently. “Michael is also my son, and he’s free to make his own choices just as Lucifer is.”

“Even if those choices hurt everyone else?”

“Free will is a zero sum game. If the world was filled with perfect people, then free will would bring no suffering. But it’s not. It’s made of imperfect people who sometimes make the wrong choices, and those choices hurt other people. Now, I can either come to terms with the fact that giving creation the freedom of choice also brings suffering, or I can force you all to do what’s right and let you become slaves in the process. You tell me which world you would rather live in.”

“Look, I’m not you, okay?” Chloe says, fixing him with a glare. “I don’t know how to run a universe so I’m not going to tell you how to do it. But I am a parent, and I like to think I’m a pretty good one.”

“You are,” John says kindly. “Your daughter is a remarkable—” 

“So is your son,” Chloe cuts him off, her voice cracking through the air like a whip.

John blinks at her, taken aback. 

Chloe swallows around the sudden lump in her throat and brandishes her finger at him. “Your son is an extraordinary man. He’s generous, and loyal, and protective, and sweet. Nobody has ever loved me as well as he does. And if there’s a miracle in our relationship, it’s that. Because I have no idea where he learned it from. He sure as hell didn’t learn it from you.”

John looks wounded. “I gave him what he asked for, Chloe.”

“You gave him what he asked his god for,” Chloe corrects. “But you’re not just his god, John. You’re his dad. And all any kid wants from their dad is love.”

“I do love him. I’ve always—”

“Does he know that? Have you told him that? Shown him in a way that he understands? Because if you have, please, tell me when. I’ll gladly be wrong.”

John presses his lips together and says nothing. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Chloe says, folding her arms over her chest. 

John doesn’t reply. He looks out at the water and the city in the distance, and so does Chloe.

For a while, they just stand there in silence. Another breeze blows off the water and tousles Chloe’s ponytail. Her split lip throbs. Her head is killing her. If someone offered her a bottle of Advil right now, she’d probably swallow the whole thing. She’s so tired her arms and legs feel like they’re filled with sand. She doesn’t want to be here, arguing with God over how shitty of a father he’s been. She just wants to go home. 

John clears his throat and leans his elbows against the railing. Chloe glances in his direction, and then double-takes when she sees the look on his face. He looks...defeated. Confused and sad in a weary sort of way that makes her ache. 

Memories of all the times when she’s felt like a bad mom crash over her. Her first day back at work after Trixie was born. That time she missed a school awards assembly because she was testifying in court. Coming home with other people’s blood on her clothes and smelling like gunpowder. 

Leaving her daughter on a beach when she was under a spell. 

The ache in Chloe’s chest intensifies. She exhales a sigh, and then steps forward and leans her elbows on the railing next to John. He doesn’t look at her. She clears her throat and searches for the right words. 

“You know, when you’re a god, you can snap your fingers and create things and be done with them,” she finally says. “But parenting isn’t like that. We don’t just throw our kids out into the world and tell them to go make choices and live with the consequences. We’re supposed to help them. We’re supposed to teach them how to make the right ones.”

He turns his head to look at her. “And when they don’t?”

She lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “We keep loving them. I’m not saying there aren’t consequences for bad choices. I’m just saying that those consequences shouldn’t last for millennia. They shouldn’t make someone hate themselves. And they should never, ever separate you from the people you love. Because when we mess up, that’s when we need love the most.”   

John looks down at his hands and then smiles. “I suppose that’s why you’re here.”

Chloe frowns. “What do you mean?”

He looks up at her. “I messed up,” he says quietly. “And now you’re showing me love even though you have no reason to. Even though, in your eyes, I don’t deserve it.”

Chloe shakes her head. “Everybody deserves love, John.”

He gazes at her for a moment, and then he straightens. “You know Lucifer better than anyone.”

Chloe nods. “Yeah.” 

“So what would you recommend I do in an effort to mend things?”

“What do you think you should do?”

He shrugs at her helplessly. 

She sighs. She’d never tell Lucifer he’s anything like his dad. But sometimes—like right now—she can see the resemblance.

“Apologize, maybe?” she suggests.

John furrows his eyebrows. “Do you think that would have value to him?”

“I mean, I don’t think it’s going to magically fix anything. But it’s a good place to start.”

John nods. 

Chloe chews her bottom lip and studies him. “You know I’m not going to tell him to forgive you, right?”

John glances at her with a frown.

“I’m on his side. I’m always on his side. So if all this is building up to you asking me to put in a good word for you, you’re wasting your breath. I’m not your advocate. I’m his.” 

“I would never ask you to speak on my behalf, Chloe,” John says quietly, shaking his head. “You’re not a pawn. You’ve always been free to make your own choices.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to ask a clarifying question about her miracle status and her light when they’re interrupted.

“Father.”

Chloe and John straighten in unison and turn around. Amenadiel is standing a few feet away. Another angel is standing to his left. Chloe recognizes him as one of the first two angels who arrived on the battlefield after Amenadiel. She thinks Michael called him Raphael. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and solid muscle, and he cuts an imposing figure even standing next to Amenadiel. But when Chloe meets his gaze, he smiles shyly at her. 

“Chloe, allow me to introduce you to my son, Raphael,” John says, gesturing at the angel. 

Raphael steps forward and offers his hand. “I believe it’s customary in your culture to…” He glances over his shoulder at Amenadiel with a frown.

“Shake hands,” Amenadiel says with a smile. 

“Shake hands,” Raphael repeats, turning back to Chloe. He smiles at her. “It’s an honor to meet you, Chloe Decker.”

Chloe blinks at him, and at the huge hand he has outstretched between them, and then she puts her hand in his and shakes. “Yeah, uh...nice to meet you too.”

Raphael glances at his father. “May I…?”

John shakes his head. “That’s not my decision.”

Raphael nods and turns back to Chloe. “You seem to have sustained some injuries,” he says, nodding at her busted lip. “I would be happy to heal your wounds if you would give me your consent.”

Chloe stares at him. “You can...heal me?” 

“It’s his gift,” Amenadiel says. 

“You mean like Lucifer’s mojo?”

Amenadiel smiles. “Something like that.”

Chloe glances at Raphael. He smiles reassuringly. “It won’t hurt. I’m told it merely feels warm.”

Chloe thinks of Lucifer and how warm he’s always felt to her, and her chest aches from missing him. She wonders how he’d feel about his brother healing her. She can see him in her mind, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath and maybe yanking her into the circle of his arm possessively afterward, but she knows he would agree. He wouldn't want her to be in pain if she doesn’t have to be.

“Yeah,” she says, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “Okay.” 

Raphael smiles broadly and then reaches his hand out toward her head. It’s not an aggressive movement, but she’s not prepared to be touched so she flinches away from him and ignites her hands.  

Raphael’s eyes widen. He looks down at her burning hands and then over at his father, but John just smiles at him. Chloe eyes the three celestials in front of her warily, her hands still aflame. 

“It’s all right, Chloe,” Amenadiel says in that low, soothing tone he’s so good at. 

Chloe doesn’t want to be reassured by him because she’s still mad that he ignored her prayers, but she can’t help it. There’s always been something about him that’s comforting. Usually, she finds it endearing. Right now, though, she just thinks it’s annoying.

He smiles at her like he knows what she’s thinking. “He won’t hurt you. He just needs to be touching you for it to work, that’s all.”

Chloe glances at John. He smiles at her but doesn’t offer any words of encouragement. She’s guessing he’s letting her decide without his interference. He seems to like doing that.

She takes a deep breath and wills the flames on her hands to disappear. “Sorry,” she mutters to Raphael.

He smiles. “It’s all right.” He holds up his hand. “I’m going to touch your forehead if that’s all right. I won’t touch you anywhere else, you have my word.”

Chloe swallows and nods. Raphael steps toward her and presses his massive palm against the center of her forehead. Chloe glances up at him. He leans closer, his eyes fixed on hers. 

“I restore your health and heal your wounds,” he murmurs. 

Warmth immediately spreads through Chloe’s body, starting in her head and then seeping downward. It’s different than the warmth she feels from Lucifer’s light. It’s sharper, more intense, though Amenadiel was right that it doesn’t hurt. The ache in her temples disappears, and then the throb in her bottom lip, followed by the dull but insistent pain pulsing in her ribs and throughout the rest of her body. She feels less weighed down all of a sudden. Less brittle. She’s still tired and she’s kind of hungry and there’s still a Lucifer-shaped hole in her heart, but nothing hurts anymore.

Raphael lowers his hand and then smiles. “How do you feel?”

Chloe smiles at him—a genuine smile this time—and says, “Much better. Thank you.”

There’s a woosh sound, and then Lucifer’s voice cuts through the night air. 

“I hope you asked for her consent before you did your mumbo jumbo.” 

Chloe snaps her head in the direction of Lucifer’s voice so fast she nearly gives herself whiplash. He’s standing a few feet away, fiddling with his cufflink and eyeing Raphael with suspicion. 

“I’d hate to have to light your hair on fire,” he says. His voice is light, but there’s a glint in his eye that makes it clear he’s not joking. “With that block of a head you’d look like humpty dumpty.”

“I asked for her permission,” Raphael confirms.

Lucifer rolls his shoulders and his wings disappear. “You better have,” he mutters. 

He finally shifts his attention to Chloe, and his gaze softens immediately. The corners of his mouth turn upward, and something inside Chloe clicks into place. 

“Lucifer,” she breathes. 

His smile deepens. “Hello, my love.”

She lunges forward and throws herself into his arms. He catches her with a surprised exhalation, and then a pleased laugh rumbles through his chest. She wonders if she should be embarrassed by her eagerness, but she’s not. She doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. How can she care when he’s here?

His arms tighten around her and he bends forward to bury his nose in her hair and inhale. She closes her eyes against the threat of tears. She probably smells like sweat and ash and death, but he keeps smelling her anyway and it makes her want to melt into a puddle.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

She nods into his chest. “I am now that you’re here.” 

She squeezes him—just to make sure he’s real, because she still isn’t over the fact that he died and resurrected and came back to her—and then she leans back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, lifting a hand to his face. She looks him over, but he doesn’t seem to have any injuries that he didn’t have before he left. She’s hoping that’s a good sign.

He cups her face in his hand and brushes his thumb over the place where her bottom lip had been split open. 

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” he murmurs with a smile. 

It’s sweet, but Chloe can’t stop staring at the cut above his eye and the darkening bruise on his jaw. 

She curls her fingers around his forearm. “You should let him heal you too.”

Lucifer glances past her at his brother, and she sees the suspicion darkening his eyes. “No.”

His voice is hard with resolve. Chloe chews her bottom lip. She wants to push him to change his mind because she doesn’t want him to be in pain. She knows that if she asked him to do it for her, he would. But she also knows what it would cost him to let one of his siblings help, regardless of the fact that they came to his aid tonight, and that’s a price she isn’t willing to ask him to pay. 

She brushes her fingertips lightly over the bruise on his jaw. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” he admits.

She tips his chin back to see if he’s bruised on the underside of his jaw too. He’s not. She coasts her fingers down his neck and then presses her hand over his heart with a smile. 

“We can ice it later. I’ll nurse you back to health.”

“Will you now,” he purrs with a wicked grin.

She gives him a look. “That wasn’t an innuendo.” 

He ignores her warning and leans closer. “You know, now that you mention it, I’ve got the most horrible pain in my—”

She smacks her hand over his mouth. “Do not finish that sentence.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, but before she can chastise him, someone clears their throat. 

Chloe startles at the sound. She turns around, and immediately blushes when she realizes that John, Amenadiel, and Raphael just witnessed her and Lucifer’s entire exchange. Amenadiel and John are smiling. Raphael is too, but his head is tilted like a puppy who’s hearing a sound for the first time. He looks adorably confused for such a massive man.

Chloe clears her throat and tries to scoot a more respectable distance away from Lucifer, but he yanks her back to his side. She collides against his body with an oomph, and he drapes his arm possessively around her shoulders. She shoots him a look, but he ignores her. 

He fixes his gaze on his father. “Death sends her regards.”

“What did she say?” Chloe asks before John can respond. “Is she going to talk to Dream for us?”

“She already did,” Lucifer replies, looking down at her. “And so did I.” 

Chloe frowns at him. 

He drops his arm from around her shoulders and turns to face her. “The spell is gone. Everyone is back to their right minds. I had John and Zee check just to be sure. Everyone you love knows what’s real and what isn’t.”

For a second, all Chloe can do is stare at him. That terrible night in L.A. was only a week ago, but it’s felt like years. She’s wanted to hear him say those words so badly, been absolutely desperate for them, but now that she’s finally heard them, she’s afraid it’s just another dream. 

Tears prick her eyes, and she has to swallow twice around the lump in her throat before she can speak. 

“It’s over?” 

Lucifer nods. “Yes,” he whispers, lifting a hand to her face. “It’s over.”

Chloe can’t keep the tears at bay anymore. Her eyes flood, and a sob of relief catches in her throat. Lucifer gives her a look that’s filled with so much affection it makes her cry harder, and then he pulls her into his embrace. 

She buries herself in his arms and cries, celestial audience be damned. Nobody says a word or tries to interfere. Lucifer rubs his hand in a comforting pattern over her back. It’s the same thing he does every night when she wakes up from a nightmare, and the familiarity soothes her until she realizes that there won’t be any more nightmares. The dream is gone. They finally have their lives back, and everything is going to go back to normal.

The thought has barely sunk in before it’s devoured by another, far less joyful realization. The spell may be gone, but the damage it caused isn’t. Dream took her life and crumpled it like paper in his fist, and even if Death took it back and smoothed it out, the creases and wrinkles remain. 

She leans out of Lucifer’s embrace and tips her head back to look up at him. “How are we going to explain this to everyone?” 

He brushes the trails of tears from her cheeks and doesn’t say anything. Dread squeezes her lungs into breathlessness. 

She clutches his jacket. “Lucifer, what are we going to do? I mean, Linda and Dan might get it, and maybe Trixie, but Ella? My mom? Everyone at the LAPD? How are we going to fix this?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I don’t know. But we’ll do it together, all right? Just like everything else.”

“Actually,” John says, “that won’t be necessary.”

Chloe turns to look at him with a confused frown. 

Next to her, Lucifer stiffens. “What the bloody hell does that mean?” 

John folds his hands in front of him. “The two of you have been through enough. And I don’t think it’s fair to ask you to continue to pay for Michael’s choices.”

A tiny flicker of hope sparks to life in Chloe’s chest. 

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Lucifer points out. 

“I altered the timeline and sent you back,” John replies. “You two will keep your memories of what transpired over the last week. So will Mazikeen, as she needs to remember she has a soul, and so will your friends John and Zatanna since you’ve tasked them with hunting down Circe. But as far as every other human is concerned, the spell never happened.”

Chloe gapes at him. “Wait a minute. You...you sent us back in time? ” She looks around, but her surroundings don’t appear any different. “Are we in the past right now?”

“I’ve paused everything for the time being,” John says with a smile. “But yes, we’re in the past.” 

“How far back did you send us?” Lucifer asks. 

“A week. Once I’m gone, the timeline will pick up at the exact moment when you texted Chloe and asked her to meet you at Lux for the evening. In Los Angeles, it was a few minutes after eight o’clock. Here, it’s just after eleven.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “And how are we supposed to explain our presence in New York?”

“Your family and friends are under the impression that you whisked Chloe off for an impromptu romantic getaway. Given your impulsive nature, no one will be surprised.” 

“Yes, but she’s not impulsive,” Lucifer says impatiently. “She has responsibilities. A job. A child.”

“I’ve taken care of those as well.” John looks at Chloe. “You aren’t expected back in L.A. until Tuesday afternoon. Trixie is with her father for the next few days, which I believe the two of you had previously agreed upon anyway, correct?”

Chloe nods numbly. 

“And your lieutenant was more than willing to give you the time off, given the number of vacation days you’ve accumulated and the fact that you recently busted the Fantasma cartel. The LAPD brass is quite pleased about that, by the way. I imagine there might be a medal headed your way in the near future.”

He smiles at her in a way that makes it clear that there’s no might about it. She’s going to get a medal. But Chloe doesn’t care if the LAPD brass is happy with her. She only cares about one thing. 

“So is Trixie okay?”

John nods. “She’s healthy and happy and safe. And excited to see what souvenirs you’ll bring back for her. Although, when Dan told her where you were going, she was a little disappointed she couldn’t come along.” He glances at Lucifer. “She is, as you know, very fond of Lucifer.”

Tears prick Chloe’s eyes all over again. “So she doesn’t remember the beach?”

“No,” John says gently. “The beach never happened for her. None of it did. The last time she saw you, it was when you dropped her off at her dad’s after her soccer game.”

A memory surfaces in Chloe’s mind. She’s standing outside Dan’s front door, handing him Trixie’s soccer bag and her unfinished bottle of Gatorade. Give me a kiss, monkey, she says, bending down, and Trixie wraps her arms around Chloe’s neck and gives her a peck on the cheek and says I love you. 

Chloe is crying again. Lucifer pulls her into his side. She leans into him and swipes at her tears. 

“There is one more thing,” John says. 

“Of course there is,” Lucifer mutters. “Do we turn back into pumpkins at midnight?”

John ignores the jab and meets Chloe’s gaze. “Your father asked me to pass along a message to you. He wants you to know that he loves you, and that he’s very proud of you.” 

He turns his gaze to Lucifer. “And he wanted me to tell you that you’ve earned his respect and admiration. He’s thankful that you love his daughter so well. And he’s looking forward to meeting you.”

The last sentence hits the air with the force of a bomb. Lucifer goes rigid next to Chloe. Chloe’s heart is suddenly pounding so hard that she’s afraid it might beat straight out of her chest. 

“But Lucifer can’t…” she starts. She doesn’t finish. 

John gazes intently at Lucifer. “The gates of the Silver City are open to you, my son. Your presence is not demanded or required. You are free to come and go as you please with no obligation.” He glances briefly at Chloe, and a knowing smile tugs at his lips. “I suspect we won’t be seeing you for many, many years. But when you do return…”

He trails off. He looks suddenly uncomfortable, nervous even, and Chloe realizes what he’s doing. He’s trying to take her advice. 

“There are things I’d like to say,” he says quietly. “And I’d like to listen, as well, if there are things you want to say. But I only wish to have those conversations if and when you’re ready. So until then…” 

He glances at Chloe again. She nods at him encouragingly.  

He clears his throat and lifts his chin. “I love you. And I’m proud of you.”

The words echo through the air. John looks sincere, though a little hesitant. Raphael and Amenadiel seem stunned. Lucifer, meanwhile, looks absolutely bulldozed. He leans heavily against Chloe with a soft exhale, and she wraps her arm around his waist and holds him tightly. 

John takes a step back. “I should be getting home. I’ve been away too long.” He smiles at Chloe. “Please tell Trixie that I hope I fulfilled her desire to her satisfaction.” 

It takes Chloe a second to realize that he’s talking about his retirement party, when Trixie asked him to let Lucifer stay with them forever. When it sinks in, her eyes flood. 

John’s smile widens. “I’m still working on her request for giraffes on Mars though.”

Chloe laughs despite her tears.

John looks at Lucifer. “I hope to see you soon.”

Lucifer just stares at him with his mouth open, apparently at a loss for words. Chloe holds him tighter. 

John doesn’t wait for a reply. He smiles, nods, and then disappears along with Raphael and Amenadiel. 

For a second, there’s nothing but silence and stillness and an eerie sense of calm. And then suddenly people blink into existence, talking and laughing and going about their Saturday night. Chloe stares at them, stunned at how surreal it all is. They have no idea that just a few seconds ago, God and an army of angels were on earth.

She looks up at Lucifer. His face is white as a sheet, and his eyes are glassy. She’s never seen him look this shell-shocked, and her heart aches. She can’t imagine how overwhelmed he must feel.

“Lucifer?” she whispers, pressing her hand against his chest. “You okay?”

He looks down at her. He blinks a few times, his gaze flickering over her face, and then he lifts his hands to her cheeks.

“We get forever,” he breathes in awe. 

The fact that he’s focused on that after everything he just heard steals the breath right out of Chloe’s lungs. Joy sparks in her chest, shimmering briefly before it explodes, and when she lunges forward to bury herself in his arms, it’s with the knowledge that she never, ever has to let him go.

Chapter 32: Thirty-Two

Notes:

Well guys, we're coming up on the end here. Next week is the last chapter. It's been fun, and I'm so thankful for y'all. But we're not quite done yet, and this chapter...well, let's just say things get steamy. Consider yourself warned ;)

Chapter Text

Chloe blinks at Lucifer in surprise when he tells her that Death delivered his phone to him. 

“She...what?”

“That’s precisely what I said,” he tells her with an eye roll and a fond smile. “That’s just how she is though. You’d like her, I think. Though I’d prefer if you two never met for obvious reasons.”

Chloe just stares at him. She can’t get over how ridiculous it is that Death fetched the Devil’s cell phone for him. She can’t get over any of this. She yelled at God a few minutes ago. Then he sent her back in time. Oh, and apparently her dead dad approves of her boyfriend the angel with laser beam hands. 

What the shit is her life right now?

“I thought you might want to call the urchin,” Lucifer says. “Although, given the current time in Los Angeles, you’ll have to pretend we’re still on my jet and flying here. Unless you wanted to tell her that my father transported us to New York.”

Chloe frowns. “No I...I don’t want her to know any of that.”

Lucifer nods. “I understand.” He holds out his phone. “I’ve pulled up her number for you.”

Chloe takes the phone eagerly, but stops when she glances down at the screen and sees that not only does Lucifer have Trixie’s cell phone number saved under Beatrice, the contact information includes a picture of her. 

“Lost a bet over Among Us, I’m afraid,” Lucifer murmurs in explanation. “My punishment was including a picture of her choosing with her contact information.” 

Chloe stares at the photo of Trixie sticking her tongue out at the camera and feels her eyes well up. She can’t believe the Devil plays Among Us with her daughter. She can’t believe she gets to keep them both forever.

“Chloe?” Lucifer says, concern threaded through his voice. “Are you all right?”

She looks up at him. “I just really, really love you.” 

He blinks at her in surprise, and then he smiles. “Well who could blame you? I’m incredible.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Incredible at ruining moments.”

He laughs, and then reaches out to tangle his fingers with hers. “I love you too.”

“Well who could blame you?” she teases with a smile.

He hums in agreement and steps into her space. She tips her head back to gaze up at him, and watches as he lowers his eyes to study the ring around her neck. He lets go of her hand and reaches up to clasp the ring in his fingers, and she thinks of that moment in the warehouse just before he died when he did the same thing. Grief twists her heart, but she pushes it away. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, because he looks upset.

“We don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to,” he says quietly. “It doesn’t matter that they don’t expect us back until Tuesday. If you want to see your child, I can have a private jet booked within an hour. If you want to go home, I’ll take you home.”

Another wave of affection crashes over her. She doesn’t know what to say—doesn’t know how to tell him how much it means to her that he not only understands her relationship with her daughter, but actively supports her attempts to put Trixie first—so she doesn’t say anything. She just slides her hand up to the back of his head and pulls him down to kiss him. 

He wraps his hands around her hips and pulls her flush against his chest. She’s still got his phone gripped in one hand, but she drapes her arms around his neck. His arms snake around her body. He pulls her closer and holds her tighter and kisses her deeper. 

She sinks into it. It’s not desire. She knows when he wants her, and that’s not what this is. This is different. 

It’s relief. 

For the hundredth time, she wonders how long he was in Hell. What was his loop? How many times was he forced to endure it before he walked out? A million terrible possibilities sprout in her imagination, and she hates every single one of them, so she pulls him closer and pours herself into the kiss. 

When they finally part, they don’t go far. He presses his forehead to hers. Sirens wail in the distance, and somewhere nearby a man is shouting angrily into his phone, but even with those reminders that they’re out in the world and definitely not alone, Chloe feels like they’re in a bubble. Nothing can touch them right now. Maybe nothing ever will.

Lucifer is the one who breaks the silence. 

“Shall I call for the jet?” he whispers. 

Chloe weaves her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. “If we go home early, people will wonder why. They’ll ask questions, and I’m tired of questions. I just want things to be normal. Especially for Trixie.” 

“So you want to stay here?”

She leans back to look at him. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not. Not if that’s what you desire.” He smiles. “We can have an actual romantic getaway. One where we don’t need to hide from cameras and cops.”

Chloe smiles. “That’d be nice.” And then an idea strikes her. “Wait, if your dad sent us back in time, does that mean our Airbnb is gone? And the Escalade and all our stuff?”

“Yes, I suppose it does.” He frowns. “Is there anything you wanted to keep?”

She shakes her head. “Everything I had was something you bought for me.”

He smiles. “Well then I’ll buy it all again.”

“Guess we’ll get to stay in one of your fancy hotel suites after all.”

“We’re no longer on the run, darling. That won’t be necessary.”

She tilts her head. “What does that mean?”

“First things first.” He pulls her arms down from around his neck and unlocks his phone. “Call the urchin.”

Chloe smiles at him, and then presses Trixie’s number and lifts the phone to her ear. It rings twice before someone answers.

“Hi Lucifer!” Trixie’s voice says brightly on the other end of the line. “Are you in New York yet? Did you see the Statue of Liberty? Do they have better chocolate cake than California? You should bring me some. It’s only fair since you didn’t let me come with you. Can I come with you next time?”

Chloe opens her mouth, but she can’t speak. Her throat is too tight, and her eyes are brimming with tears. She didn’t realize how much she missed the sound of Trixie’s voice. 

Lucifer leans closer to her and brushes away the tears that are suddenly spilling down her cheeks.

“Hello?” Trixie says on the other end of the line. “Lucifer? Are you there?”

Chloe sucks in a breath in an effort to compose herself. “Hey monkey,” she manages to say. “It’s me.”

“Hi Mom!” Trixie greets with even more enthusiasm than before. The excitement in her voice is so startlingly clear that Chloe wants to sob. 

She reaches out and fists her hand in Lucifer’s jacket in an effort to hold herself steady. “Hey baby.”

“Why are you calling me from Lucifer’s phone?” Trixie wonders. 

“I seem to have lost mine,” Chloe replies, her voice trembling. “I think I’ll have to get a new one.”

“Are you crying? What’s wrong?”

Chloe sniffs. “I’m fine. I just miss you, that’s all.”

“Moooom,” Trixie says, and Chloe can practically see her rolling her eyes. “You haven’t even been gone for a full day yet. What are you going to do if I go to Mars?”

“I’ll just have to go with you, I guess.”

“Really?!” Trixie gasps. “That would be so fun! Do you think Lucifer would come too?”

Apprehension flickers in Chloe’s chest. “Do you want him to come?”

“Of course I want him to come,” Trixie says in exasperation. “He’d be so funny in a space suit. I bet the aliens would think he’s funny too. Do you think he can still fly when there’s no gravity?”

Chloe tightens her fist in Lucifer’s jacket as she struggles not to sob at the proof that the spell is really gone. She’s got Trixie back. 

“I don’t know, babe,” she says, leaning into Lucifer’s hand when he wipes away more of her tears. “You’d have to ask him.”

“Is he there? Can you put me on speaker phone so I can ask?”

Chloe pulls the phone down from her ear and presses the speaker button. 

“Okay, monkey, you’re on speaker.”

“Hi Lucifer!” Trixie greets. 

Chloe watches as the hurricane of emotions currently swirling through her chest shivers plainly across Lucifer’s expression. 

“Hello urchin,” he greets. His voice is even, but Chloe can tell by the look on his face that he’s struggling.  

“Mom and I are trying to figure out if you can fly when there’s no gravity,” Trixie tells him. “Can you? Or do your wings not work in space?”

“How dare you,” he scoffs. “My wings work everywhere.”

“That’s so cool,”  Trixie breathes. “Can you fly me and Mom to Mars then?”

“Absolutely not. You’d suffocate in space.”

“What about Mount Everest? Can you fly us to the top of Mount Everest?”

Lucifer frowns. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

“Only babies go to sleep this early, Lucifer,” Trixie says with a sigh. “Besides, Dad lets me stay up late on Saturdays. So are you guys going to do romantic date stuff in New York? Like with candles and flowers and stuff? Or are you going to do cool stuff like feeding the birds?”

“You think feeding the birds is cool?” Lucifer says incredulously. 

“Yeah like the bird lady in that Christmas movie!”

Lucifer shoots Chloe a confused look. 

Home Alone 2,” Chloe explains with a laugh. 

Lucifer makes a face. “I don’t like Christmas movies.” 

“You will when you watch them with me and Mom,” Trixie says confidently. “We start the day after Thanksgiving. We decorate the tree, and we bake cookies and sing Christmas carols, and this year since your Mom’s boyfriend you can do it with us! We’re going to get you a stocking with your name on it.” She gasps. “Mom, let's get him one with devil horns!”

Chloe didn’t expect the suggestion of a stocking with devil horns to make her sob-laugh, but it does. Lucifer looks a little stunned, and Trixie sounds completely thrilled by the idea of spending Christmas with him, and it’s just...it’s all a little much after the events of the last week. 

“That’s a great idea, monkey,” she says through her tears. “But it might be hard to find one.”

“I’ll make one then,” Trixie decides. “It’ll be the best stocking he’s ever had!”

“It’ll be the only stocking I’ve ever had,” Lucifer mutters. He furrows his eyebrows. “And I’m afraid it will be filled with coal.”

“No way,” Trixie scoffs. “Mom would totally shoot Santa if he gave you coal.”

Chloe laughs.

Lucifer smiles. “You know, I suspect you’re right.”

“Oh shoot, I have to go,” Trixie says. “Jenna is texting me. We’re going to play our game. Mom, are you going to call me tomorrow?”

“Of course I will,” Chloe promises. “Be good for your dad, okay?”

“Okay. I love you. I love you too, Lucifer.”

Chloe glances up at Lucifer. He’s staring at the phone, his face frozen in surprise.

“We love you too, babe,” Chloe murmurs for him, her voice catching. “Sleep good.”

“Bye!” Trixie says. 

She hangs up. 

Lucifer keeps staring at the phone with that same shocked look on his face. His entire body has gone still. Chloe’s not sure he’s even breathing.

She tilts closer to him. “You okay?” 

The distant look in his eyes fades. He reaches up to hold her face and smiles. 

“Never better,” he whispers as he bends forward to kiss her. 


It turns out that when Lucifer said we’re no longer on the run so that won’t be necessary, what he meant was I own a ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment that’s far nicer than any hotel suite.  

As they ride the private elevator up to the penthouse, Chloe wonders if it will ever sink in for her that the love of her life is absurdly, disgustingly wealthy. Maybe someday she’ll get used to the expensive clothes and top-shelf liquor and the private jet on standby. Maybe someday a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue worth $57 million dollars won’t seem like such a big deal. 

But today’s not someday.

The doors to the penthouse slide open, and Chloe has no sooner stepped off the elevator than she freezes. The entryway is breathtaking. The ceiling is vaulted and there’s an enormous crystal chandelier hanging above them. The floors are gleaming marble. The round table a few feet in front of her holds a crystal vase and what appears to be a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers. A large painting on the wall nearby looks familiar.

Lucifer notices her staring. “It’s a Van Gogh,” he tells her. 

She turns to face him. “Like an actual Van Gogh?”

He looks offended. “You think I’d hang an imitation on my wall?”

She just stares at him. Of course he wouldn’t. But like...holy shit.

He sets his hand on the small of her back and leads her into the penthouse, unbothered by her shock. “Let me give you the tour.”

The tour is ridiculous. 

The entire apartment is ridiculous. 

There are more vaulted ceilings and more marble floors and more artwork. There’s sleek furniture and fireplaces and a gleaming Steinway. She didn’t think the kitchen at the Vegas property could be outdone, but clearly she was wrong because she’s never seen anything more spectacular. There’s a library and a gym and multiple bathrooms and multiple bedrooms. There are floor to ceiling windows everywhere, and each one has a breathtaking view of Central Park or the city skyline or both. 

Eventually, Lucifer guides her up a stunning staircase to the master suite. There’s a wall of glass across from the bed, and beyond the glass, the biggest terrace she’s ever seen. 

Chloe walks toward it wordlessly. It isn’t until she’s standing between an oversized chaise and a hot tub, surrounded by the sounds of Manhattan at night, that she finally laughs. 

Lucifer frowns. “Are you...are you laughing?

She covers her mouth with her hand because he looks genuinely offended, but another giggle slips out. His frown deepens. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, dropping her hand. “It’s just...I mean, come on, Lucifer. You can’t be serious about this place. You really own this?”

He tugs on his jacket. “Of course I do.”

“How often do you even come to New York?”

“I haven’t been here in years.”

“Then why own it?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Because I can.”

Chloe studies him. Because I can is such a Lucifer thing to say, and even though she’s more than a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of wealth surrounding her, it pales in comparison to the affection that’s thrumming through her veins. He’s just...he’s so ridiculous.  

And she is so completely, ridiculously in love with him.

The truth of how head over heels she is sends warmth flooding through her veins, but there’s an accompanying sharpness to the heat. It’s memories. The look in his eyes when he bowed for her. The way he dragged himself, broken and bleeding, across the warehouse floor, desperate to get to her. The awe on his face when he whispered heart and soul just before he took his last breath. 

Suddenly a few feet of space between them is too much. She steps forward and latches onto the front of his jacket and tugs him closer. Grief is welling up in her throat and she can’t seem to swallow it down. She could’ve lost him tonight. She did lose him tonight. He’s back now, but there’s a part of her that can’t quite grasp it. Part of her that’s afraid he isn’t real. 

He lifts his hand to her cheek. She tilts her head into his touch. He flicks his gaze over her face like he’s trying to memorize her, like she’s water in the desert and he’s been wandering for days. She knows there’s no way she looks good right now. She caught a glimpse of herself in the stainless steel doors of the elevator and wasn’t impressed by what she saw. There are dark circles beneath her eyes and mascara smudged over top of them. There are strands of hair hanging loose from her ponytail. The front of her shirt is soaked in blood thanks to her dagger wound, and it’s starting to dry and crust. It’s scratching her skin. 

She needs to wash this night off before it sinks into her bones. 

“Will you take a shower with me?” she asks quietly.

It’s an opportunity for him to say something inappropriate, but he doesn’t. He just nods, and then reaches for her hand and leads her back through the bedroom. 

The master bathroom is just as gorgeous as the rest of the apartment. The floors and walls are made of white and gray marble. There’s a giant soaker tub that reminds her of that hotel suite in Illinois, though this tub is far more impressive. The shower stall is massive and encased in glass, and there’s a built-in marble bench affixed to one of the walls.

“I don’t have your shampoo,” Lucifer murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing.

Chloe squeezes his hand. “That’s okay. I’d rather smell like you.”

He smiles at her, and then releases her hand and heads toward the shower stall to flip on the faucet. 

She blinks in surprise when the water turns on. Not only are there three showerheads hanging from the ceiling, there are jets lining the walls of the stall too. Water shoots sideways out of them, and it must be warm because steam immediately starts to form. It’s the most ridiculously luxurious shower she’s ever seen. More so, even, than the one in his penthouse back in Los Angeles.  

Lucifer walks slowly back toward her. On any other night, he’d be saying something about getting dirty before they get clean, or maybe giving her that wicked smile she loves. But this isn’t any other night, and all of a sudden she’s thinking about the warehouse again. 

He died. 

She lost him. 

When he stops in front of her, she reaches up to push his jacket gently from his shoulders. It drops to the floor with a soft sound, and then she starts on the buttons of his shirt. He’s watching her, but she doesn’t meet his gaze. She thinks the tears sitting in her eyes might spill if she does. She undoes the buttons of his shirt one by one instead, her fingers trembling a little as she works, and then she pushes open his shirt to look at the spot on his side where Michael stabbed him. 

There’s no scar. She isn’t sure if she’s surprised or not. She runs her fingertips over the place where it would be. He flexes beneath her touch and she runs her fingers over his skin again and again. She can’t stop thinking about holding her leather jacket against this same place where there used to be a gaping, bleeding hole. She can’t stop thinking about the way it felt when she realized there was nothing she could do to keep him with her. 

He reaches for her hand. She finally looks up at him. He lifts their hands to his neck, and then presses her fingertips over his pulsepoint. She can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingers, and she knows he’s trying to reassure her. Her eyes feel warm with tears again. 

She holds her fingers against his neck for a while, wanting to memorize the rhythm of his heart, and then she pushes the shirt off his shoulders. It flutters to the floor and lands on top of his jacket. She chews her bottom lip, and then tilts closer to him.

“Show me your wings,” she whispers. 

He doesn’t look surprised by her request. He doesn’t hesitate to obey, either. He rolls his shoulders, and his wings unfurl with a soft sound that echoes over the noise of the shower. 

His wingspan makes her feel even smaller than she usually does when she’s standing before him. His feathers are gleaming, pure and blinding white, but her gaze gets caught on a trio of dried blood patches that must be from the demon blades he shielded her from in the warehouse. 

Lucifer notices her staring. “I’m all right,” he murmurs. “They’re healed.”

She frowns at him, because the wounds on his face definitely aren’t healed.

“Wings work a bit differently,” he explains as if he can read her mind. 

She knows he’d explain what a bit differently means to her if she asked, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to know. Suddenly all she can think about is his wings sitting on that warehouse floor, spattered with blood and gore. She tries to dismiss the thought, but she can’t. She feels like she’s looking at a lenticular print. He’s standing before her, whole and unscathed, but then she blinks and he’s lying in a pool of blood, wingless and dying and looking at her like she’s the one who painted the sky with stars. 

She doesn’t ask if she can touch them. She knows she doesn’t need to. She just reaches out and strokes her hand over his feathers. He doesn’t flinch the way he did a week ago in that dark alley. He leans into her touch instead, tilting toward her like he doesn’t want her to stop, and she doesn’t.  

Eventually, when she’s sure that she’s not going to blink and find herself back in that warehouse, she drops her hands. He rolls his shoulders, and his wings disappear. She misses the way they fill the room, but she doesn’t ask him to unfurl them again. She will later. But not now. 

He reaches for the hem of her shirt. She raises her arms, and he lifts it up and over her head. It feels good not to have bloodied fabric sitting against her skin anymore. When she looks up at him, though, she notices he’s gone still. His eyes are fixed on her chest, but it’s not the way he usually looks at her when she’s half dressed. She glances down at herself, confused, and then she realizes what he’s staring at. 

She’s still wearing that lingerie. 

Another flood of memories hits her. The giddy excitement of putting it on and imagining his reaction. The sound of the front door opening, and the way her heart skipped because she thought it was him. The shock of seeing Michael instead, and then the horror, and then the fear. 

“I put it on after you left to get ice cream,” she tells Lucifer quietly. “It’s one of the sets I got from Valerie in Denver. I was going to save it for when the dream was over so we could celebrate, but then you told me you loved me and I thought maybe I’d surprise you when you came back.”

And then Michael showed up, she tries to say, but she can’t seem to get the words out. She can’t stop thinking about the panic that slithered through her veins when Michael looked her up and down, and the disgust pushing into her throat when he watched her change.

“Were you wearing this when...” Lucifer starts. He doesn’t finish. 

She presses her lips together and nods. “Under one of your shirts.”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “Did he…?”

He looks agonized, and it takes her a second to realize what he’s asking. When she does, though, her heart aches. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head. She slides her hands over his chest, up to his face, and leans closer. “He didn’t touch me, Lucifer.”

He lifts his hand and brushes his thumb over her bottom lip. “He made you bleed,” he whispers. He sounds devastated. 

She grabs his hand and pulls it down from her face so she can set it over her heart. His palm is warm against her sternum, and his knuckles press into her palm. She ignites her hand, and she watches as the reflection of the flames dances in his eyes.

“You saved me,” she whispers. “You protected me even when you were gone.”

His eyes are brimming with tears. “Chloe,” he says on an exhale. 

“I’m okay,” she tells him. “We’re okay, Lucifer.”

He searches her gaze, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he ducks forward and kisses her. 

She’s surprised by the ferocity of it. His hand wraps around her throat like he wants to hold her in place, but he doesn’t need to. She’s not going anywhere. 

She opens her mouth for him, but he leans back just as quickly as he surged forward. They stare at each other, both a little breathless. There’s a nearly audible crackle of heat in the air. Chloe’s heart is suddenly pounding in her ears, drowning out the sound of the shower. The tension between them ratchets higher, and then higher still. 

“Sorry,” Lucifer whispers. But his hand is still around her throat, and he doesn’t let her go. 

He’s staring at her lips, and she knows what he wants. She wants it too. She didn’t expect for it to happen right now. She just thought they’d shower and then collapse into bed and sleep because they’re both exhausted. But there’s a sharp edge of need building within her, and she doesn’t think she can ignore it. She doesn’t want to. She wants to feel him against her, all over her, inside of her. She wants to drown in him.  

It’s her turn to lunge at him. She rises on her toes and throws her arms around his neck and crashes her lips against his. He responds immediately and with a desperation that matches her own. His hands are everywhere on her body, hot as fire but leaving goosebumps in their wake, and she can’t stifle a whimper. 

They fumble with their shoes, their bodies contorted awkwardly as they try to keep their mouths fused. They come together again once they’re both barefoot, pressing against each other and then sighing at the contact. She reaches impatiently for his belt. She’s fumbling to unbuckle it when he reaches for her ponytail and pulls her hair tie free, sending her hair cascading down around her shoulders. He buries his hands in it and tugs just a little, just enough to make her groan, and he smiles against her lips. 

He walks her backward toward the shower. She finally gets his belt undone and his pants unzipped. He pauses at the threshold of the shower stall to kick them off. He’s naked, and she feels overdressed, so she reaches behind herself to unhook her bra. He huffs at her and bats her hands away. She grins at him. He kisses the grin from her lips and darts his hands around her to unhook her bra with a practiced ease that turns her on way more than it probably should. She helps him slide it off her arms. He tosses it over his shoulder, and then he pushes her backward and underneath the shower spray without warning. 

She pulls back from his mouth with a gasp. The water is warm, but between the showerheads and the jets there’s a ton of it and it’s overwhelming. She’s immediately soaked. The blood staining her skin from her dagger wound washes away almost instantly, and red-tinged water swirls at their feet and down the drain. She’s still wearing her jeans, and she can feel the denim suctioning to her legs. She doesn’t have time to dwell on what a pain in the ass it’s going to be to get them off, though, because suddenly Lucifer is kissing her again and he’s so good at it she can’t help but moan. 

He pushes her backward again, one arm tight around her body as the other reaches out for the wall. His palm smacks against the tile and then a moment later her shoulder blades collide with it too. She hisses into his mouth because of the chill on her skin and arches away from the wall. He seems to take that as an invitation and trails his mouth down the column of her neck, and then across the line of her clavicle until he gets to the ring threaded through her necklace and sitting in the hollow of her throat. 

He leans back. One of his hands is still planted on the tile next to her head, but the other is sliding slowly up her body. He’s looming over her, and she’s gazing up at him. The steam curling around their bodies isn’t half as hot as the desire coiling deep inside her. His hand lingers near one of her breasts. His fingers brush lightly over her skin, swirling in an achingly soft pattern, and she arches toward him, desperate for more. He lifts his hand to the ring around her neck instead. 

“Don’t ever take this off,” he tells her. His voice is low, a possessive growl. “Never.”

“Never,” she agrees.

He studies her with so much intensity she expects his eyes to flare red. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that in the heat of the moment. Honestly, it kind of turns her on. This time, though, there’s no red. His eyes flare white and gold instead, twin flames that she’s only ever seen when he goes supernova. She thinks about the pure, unbridled power that’s coursing through his veins, and how it’s coursing through her veins now too, and she wants him so bad she aches. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers, digging her nails into his shoulders. 

He kisses her, his mouth searing hot against hers. She pulls him closer, and he presses her back into the wall. His lips trace along her jawline, down her throat and then lower. 

His mouth and hands map her chest with abandon. She tips her head back against the tile and tries to remember how to breathe. He’s a leg man, but he’s always loved this part of her body. She suspects it has something to do with Hot Tub High School, though she’s never asked. She doesn’t really care. He knows what she likes, knows how to suck and lick and squeeze so that she writhes in pleasure, and that’s all she cares about. 

She’s lost in sensation when she feels him tugging on her belt buckle. She glances down at him. Her jeans are suctioned to her legs from the water and he’s going to have to peel them off. She reaches down to help, but he doesn’t seem to need it. He curls his fingers into the waistband of her jeans and her underwear, and then yanks them both past her hips, kneeling before her as he tugs them down her legs. 

She sets her hand on his shoulder for balance. He lifts one of her legs and yanks her clothes down past her ankle, and then does the same with the other leg. He tosses her clothes over his shoulder and into a wet heap, and just like that, she’s naked before him. 

He casts an admiring look over her body. The lust in his eyes makes her feel like she’s catching fire. He reaches for her left ankle. He lifts her leg and drapes it over his body, her calf pressing into the top of his shoulder, and then he ducks forward and buries his face between her legs. 

She exhales a curse as her hips jerk toward his mouth. He splays his fingers over her ass and pulls her closer. Her hips twitch again. He lifts his other arm and pins her to the wall, his forearm pressing across her hips to hold her still, and then his tongue is stroking over her and she’s gasping his name.

He’s not being rough with her. Not even close. He’s just relentless, suddenly and single-mindedly focused on her body in a way that leaves her breathless. He doesn’t waste time teasing her. He works her over like it’s his job, his mouth and his fingers urging her toward a release, and she shudders and moans because fuck, it feels so good. He knows what it takes to get her off, and he clearly wants her to get off, and shit shit shit she wants to come so bad. She wants it so bad. 

But the release doesn’t come. 

Pleasure sings through her veins. Her hips are twitching and her thighs are shaking and she’s gasping for breath, but she can’t get there. Every time she thinks she’s close, every time she thinks here it comes and sucks in a breath, her brain flits back to a memory. 

The way he looked at her when she begged him to let her go. 

The way that Hell-forged chain dug into her skin as she screamed herself hoarse.

The blood all over her hands. His blood all over her hands.

There’s no blood on her hands now. There’s water everywhere, pouring over her in buckets, but the truth of tonight is a stain that won’t wash off. 

He died. 

She lost him. 

She grits her teeth and tries to focus on what’s real. The hot water pelting her skin and rolling down her body. The startling contrast of the cool tile against her back. Lucifer, beautiful and muscled and on his knees before her, his dark head buried between her thighs. 

But this isn’t the first time he’s knelt for her tonight.

I think it’s time for you to bow before your king. 

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. One of Lucifer’s hands is gripping her hip to hold her in place. She covers it with hers and slides his hand over her stomach, up to palm one of her breasts. He doesn’t need more encouragement than that. 

Heat coils inside her beneath his touch. His head is still buried between her legs. He closes his mouth around her and sucks hard, and she moans. This will be it. This has to be it. She focuses on the building wave of pleasure within her, desperate to grab the sensation and hang onto it, and then her brain flicks on again. 

The world almost ended. 

She almost lost him forever. 

The orgasm evaporates. She lets out a groan of frustration and fists her hand in Lucifer’s hair. She tugs hard, and he growls. He does that thing with his tongue, and she whimpers and arches off the tiles so that only her shoulder blades are making contact. Her right foot is still on the floor but she’s up on her toes, and most of her weight is settled on her leg thrown over his shoulder. 

He’s still doing that thing with his tongue, and now his fingers are...shit, his fingers are doing that other thing. She loves when he does this in tandem. On any other night, she would’ve come already. She wants to come for him. She’s desperate for it. So why can’t she…?

He leans back abruptly. She snaps her eyes open at the loss of contact and glances down at him in surprise. 

He’s staring at her. She can’t read the expression on his face, and she wonders if it’s frustration. He spent god knows how long in Hell, and sex is his language, and he’s been on his knees for an unusually long amount of time given how skilled he is at giving head, but she can’t seem to give him what he wants. 

For a second, the only sound between them is the shower. They just stare at each other. And then she breaks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice catching. “I don’t—”

“Don’t be sorry,” he cuts her off. He pulls her leg off his shoulder and rises to his feet, reaching up to hold her face. “Don’t be sorry, love.”

Her eyes flood. She presses her lips together and shakes her head, but she can’t seem to find any words.

“Talk to me,” he murmurs. He leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead, and then to each of her cheeks, and then her nose. “Talk to me, Chloe.”

A sob wells up in her throat. “I lost you,” she whispers. Grief shudders through her and she flexes her fingers against his hips. “You left me.”

“I’m right here.” 

He grabs her hand and lifts it to the underside of his jaw and presses her fingers against his pulsepoint like he did before. His heartbeat thrums, strong and steady, beneath her fingertips. 

“I’m right here, Chloe. I’ll never leave you again. Never.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes.

“Promise me,” she whispers. Her heart twists at the memory of the last time she asked him to promise her something, but that just makes her more insistent. He kept that promise. That means he’ll keep this one too, right? 

“Promise me, Lucifer.”

“I promise,” he says without hesitation. “I’m yours as long as you want me.”

“I want you forever.”

“Then I’ll give you forever.”

Her eyes are still closed but tears are leaking out anyway. He brushes her wet hair back over her shoulder, and then lifts his hands to her cheeks and peppers her face with gentle kisses.

“It’s all right,” he soothes, his lips brushing over her cheek and then her temple. “I’m here. I love you.” 

The dam breaks. 

She cries. 

He holds her for a long time, whispering to her and kissing her and promising that he’ll never leave her again. She shudders through her grief, clinging to him until the feeling slowly starts to subside. The sharp pain fades into a dull ache, and then the truth sets in. He’s alive. His body, tall and strong and steady, is pressed against hers. His arms are wrapped around her. He’s here, and he’s hers, and he’ll follow her no matter where she goes because he loves her. 

“Heart and soul,” he whispers in her ear. 

The final vestiges of grief dissolve. She exhales a slow breath. His fingers trace the curve of her spine. She sniffs, takes a deep breath, and leans back to look at him. 

He smiles down at her, his eyes full of concern and softness. “All right?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead, and then pushes her a step to the right so she’s not directly under the water anymore. She frowns. He reaches for a shampoo bottle sitting on a shelf nearby. She watches as he flicks the lid open and pours some into his palm, and then snaps the lid closed and puts the bottle back. 

When he buries his hands in her hair and starts to lather it up with shampoo, she blinks at him in surprise. 

He seems amused by her surprise. He smiles down at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief, and works the shampoo through her hair. Her heart skips in her chest, and then she grins. He ducks down to kiss her briefly, as if he can’t quite resist the urge to taste her smile, and then he turns his attention back to her hair. 

She leans close to him as he works, mapping the freckles on his skin with her fingers. When he’s done, he tugs her under the water and rinses the shampoo from her hair. He reaches for a bottle of conditioner after that, but she clicks her tongue at him and grabs the shampoo bottle from the shelf. He huffs at her. She ignores him. She dumps some shampoo into her palm, sets the bottle back on the shelf, and rises onto her toes to lather his hair. 

He bends his knees a little so that she doesn’t have to reach as far. She smiles at him and scratches her nails over his scalp because she knows he likes that. He purrs at her, and she laughs. She pulls him back under the spray when she’s done and rinses his hair clean. His hands find her waist as she works, and then he starts to hum under his breath. 

She furrows her eyebrows as she washes the last remnants of shampoo from his hair. “What are you humming?”

“Those fingers in my hair,” he sings quietly. “That sly come hither stare, that strips my conscience bare, it’s witchcraft.”

She grins and shakes her head. “You are the most absurd.”

He doesn’t seem offended by her assessment. “And I’ve got no defense for it,” he sings, sliding his arms around her waist and pulling her close. “The heat is too intense for it.” He bends toward her and presses his forehead against hers. “What good would common sense for it do?”

Maybe it’s the low croon of his singing voice that stirs desire back to life inside her. Maybe it’s the hot water raining down around them, and the steam curling around their bodies. Maybe it’s just him. The droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes and rolling down his perfect skin. His muscled chest pressed against hers. His fingers stroking her lower back. 

She stretches upward and lifts her mouth to kiss him. She can tell by the tentative way he kisses her back that he’s not sure what she wants. She loves him for that, loves how he’s always prized her consent and comfort above everything else including his own desire, and it makes her want him. 

She pulls him closer. He relaxes against her. She kisses him for a while, letting the heat between them build slowly but purposefully. When his kiss starts to feel desperate and the ache between her legs is nearly unbearable, she takes a step back and pulls him with her so that she’s pinned against the tile again. 

He goes still. “Chloe,” he whispers into her mouth. “I don’t expect—”

“I want it,” she cuts him off. She nips at his bottom lip and then sucks it into her mouth. His body shudders against hers. “I need it. I need you.”

He exhales a heavy breath and drops his head forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder. She turns her mouth toward his ear. 

“Remind me what’s real,” she whispers. 

He breathes her name, and then he turns his head and sucks on her neck. He’s gentle at first, and then he sucks harder, and she knows he’s marking her. She doesn’t care. She wants him to mark her everywhere. 

“Please,” she breathes.

He trails his mouth across her clavicle, and then lower, and lower, until he’s on his knees again. He drapes her leg over his shoulder and then looks up at her, and she brushes a few wet curls back from his forehead. 

He holds her gaze, leans forward, and slowly trails his tongue between her legs. Heat flares inside her but she keeps her eyes locked with his. He likes when she watches him. 

He waits a beat, letting her anticipation build, and then he strokes his tongue over her again. Her mouth falls open and her chest lifts with an inhale. His eyes dart briefly to her chest, and then back up to meet her gaze.

“I love you,” he murmurs.

She fists her hand in his hair. “Show me.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. He leans forward again, and she closes her eyes, and this time it’s not difficult. This time, there’s nothing to think about except him—the wet silk of his hair in her fist, and his mouth and fingers between her legs, and his promise hanging in the air. 

I’ll give you forever. 

The release builds hot and fast and it hits hard. Even after the initial wave subsides, Lucifer doesn’t stop. Chloe whimpers his name but he keeps going, and suddenly she’s shuddering into a second wave that’s almost as intense as the first, and she loses track of everything except pleasure.  

It’s not the first time he’s left her incoherent. This feels more intense than usual though. She’s just...she’s so gone for him. Her body and her heart and her soul, all of it, every piece of her belongs to him. 

And she gets to keep him forever.

She feels him kissing his way up her body, his stubble scratching along her skin. She keeps her eyes closed, basking in the warmth of the water and the warmth in her veins and the warmth of his skin against hers. 

“I love you,” he whispers when he finally reaches her lips. 

She drapes her arms around his neck. “I love you too.”

He leans closer to her, his hands sliding along her hips as he bends forward to press a kiss to the curve of her neck. His mouth is hot on her skin. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers. 

He knows what she wants, even without her asking. He bends forward, his hands sliding down the backs of her thighs, and lifts her into his arms. She wraps her legs around his hips, and tightens her arms around his neck, and after a few more adjustments, he finally pushes into her. 

He starts slow at first. It feels so good the breath catches in her lungs and the world seems to blur at the edges. She isn’t quiet because she knows he likes when she’s not. He’s not quiet either. He whispers that he missed her, that he loves her, that nobody’s ever felt like she does, and she sucks a mark into his skin and revels in the fact that she’s the only person who’s ever marked him like that. He belongs to her.

His tongue flicks over her skin where the chain around her neck sits. “Tell me you’re mine,” he says. 

She thinks of their half date in Denver, and the way he groaned when she whispered I’m yours in his ear just before he came.

She does it again. “I’m yours,” she whispers. “Only yours, Lucifer.”

He groans. They’re both panting. She can feel another release flickering to life inside her, and she wants it. 

“Harder,” she breathes.

He picks up the pace, his hips transitioning from a slow roll to a sharp snap. His teeth scrape over her neck. Her nails dig into his shoulders. She can tell that even though he’s just as desperate as she is, he’s trying to restrain himself. She doesn’t want him to. 

“Stop holding back,” she whispers in his ear. 

He growls into her neck but doesn’t obey. 

She wills her body to ignite into flames just for a second, just long enough to make a point. 

“Chloe,” he chokes.

“I’m not fragile, Lucifer. Stop holding back.”

He stops holding back.

Neither of them last very long. 

She’s incoherent again afterward. They both are. Eventually, he sets her feet back on the ground and pulls her into the center of the shower and under the spray. Water pours down all around them. He wraps his arms around her, bends forward, and buries his face in the curve of her shoulder. 

They stand there like that for a long time, holding each other as the water washes everything away. Chloe knows it’s going to take them a while to come to terms with everything they’ve been through. The rest of the world has no idea what happened. But they do, and they’ve got scars on their souls to prove it. It’s going to be a struggle to readjust. 

But she’s not afraid. Why should she be? 

They’re going to do it together.


The Detective is crying. 

“You ruined me,” she murmurs. Her hands are covered in blood and her eyes are cold and Lucifer can feel her hatred deep in his soul, like a parasite that’s devouring him from the inside out. 

“You poisoned everything and everyone I love,” she spits at him. “You filled my life with venom and darkness, and I can’t escape. This is my eternity. You damned me to Hell.”

Lucifer collapses to his knees. He tries to crawl toward her, but he’s stuck. He can’t breathe. “Forgive me,” he begs, reaching for her. 

She recoils from his touch. “You don’t deserve forgiveness. You’re not worthy of it.”

“No,” he sobs. He stretches his arm out again, still reaching for her even though she’s rejected him. “Please, Detective.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe’s voice calls. 

The Detective glares at him. “I hate you.”

He sobs again, stretching his arm out to her for a third time, but she keeps getting farther away. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe’s voice calls, more insistent this time. “Babe, wake up.”

“Don’t hate me,” he pleads with the Detective. “Please love me. Please.

The Detective glares at him. “I never loved you. And I never will.”

Pain explodes in his chest.

Lucifer,” Chloe’s voice nearly shouts. 

Lucifer bolts awake. He looks around, his chest heaving as he struggles to breathe, but he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. He doesn’t know where he is. It’s dark. Hell is dark. He must be in Hell. 

He feels a hand on his shoulder, small and warm, and his heart shoots into his throat. He can’t jerk away from it fast enough. He lunges off the bed, scrambling onto the floor and igniting his hands as he turns to face the threat.

It’s Chloe. She’s wearing one of his shirts and sitting in a bed. Her hair is down around her shoulders. Her eyes are wide, and he can see the reflection of his flames in them. 

She lifts her hands slowly, her palms facing him in a sign of surrender. “It’s just me,” she whispers. 

He’s panting. There’s sweat on his brow. He can’t...he can’t breathe. He looks around the room, trying to understand this new nightmare his Hell loop has conjured up to torture him, but this doesn’t look like a Hell loop. It doesn’t feel like a Hell loop. He can feel his heart thudding in his chest. He can feel cool air against his skin. He’s alive. 

He glances toward Chloe again. Her hands are still up in the air. 

“Lucifer,” she whispers. “It’s just me, babe.”

He tilts his head and frowns. She wouldn’t call him that in a Hell loop. She wouldn’t look at him like that in a Hell loop. 

He extinguishes his hands. “Chloe?” he breathes.

She smiles a little. “Yeah. It’s just me.”

He shakes his head. He wants to believe her. But what if…?

He stumbles across the room, still struggling to breathe. He puts a knee on the mattress and leans over the bed toward her. She doesn’t flinch away from him when he reaches for her. She doesn’t drop her hands from their surrendered position either. She sits perfectly still, and lets him shove the collar of his shirt aside so he can see her sternum. 

His ring is hanging from a chain around her neck. 

It’s the reality check he needs. Everything comes flooding back—walking out of his loop for her, reuniting with her, fighting demons with her, making love to her. He’s not in Hell anymore. He’s on earth, and he’s with her. 

She’s real. 

He exhales a heavy breath. Chloe is watching him, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and he suddenly realizes that he must have scared her. He woke her up and bolted out of bed and threatened her with his light, and now he’s pawing at her chest like a madman and staring at her jewelry like an idiot. 

“I’m sorry,” he tries to say, but he chokes on the words. His throat is tight. His eyes are flooding. It felt so real. He was back in his Hell loop, and she hated him, and he could feel his soul shattering beneath the weight of her refusal to love him. 

He lets go of the ring and leans away from her. He drops down to sit on the very edge of the mattress so that there are a few feet of space between them. He can feel her watching him, and he can see her out of the corner of his eye. Grief starts to expand in his chest, pressing against his lungs and leaving him breathless, but he needs to make sure she’s okay. He needs to make sure she isn’t afraid of him. 

“I didn’t…” he tries again. Fails again. 

“It’s okay,” she murmurs. She rises up onto her knees and crawls toward him. The distance between them disappears. She lifts her hands to his face and strokes her fingers down his neck and over his shoulders and then back up. Her skin is warm and soft and perfect. 

“It’s okay, Lucifer.”

The kindness in her voice and the gentleness in her touch make him ache. He can’t keep the tears at bay anymore. They spill free. She wipes away the first few that fall, whispering his name, and then she sits on the bed next to him. She wraps her hands around his shoulders and tugs him into her arms. He goes willingly. He buries his face in her chest and fists his hands in her shirt. She scoots backward a little so that she’s resting against the headboard, and then she bends forward to put her mouth by his ear.

“Let it out, babe,” she whispers. 

The floodgates open immediately. Tears pour from his eyes, and a sob shudders through his chest, and he doesn’t try to stop it. He doesn’t try to rein it in. He just cries. He cries about the dream and how much everyone hated him. He cries about his loop. He cries about Amenadiel and the rest of his siblings. He cries about Death and Dream, and then about his dad. He cries about Beatrice and a stocking with devil horns. And then he cries for Chloe, for this miracle who holds him like he’s priceless, this woman who has so much faith in him that she rescued him from himself over and over again.

He settles down eventually, but she doesn’t let him go. One of her hands is combing through his hair. The other is curled around the arm he has wrapped around her waist, and her thumb is stroking idly over his bicep. She’s still leaning against the headboard, and her legs are stretched out in front of her. He’s draped across them, and he wonders if the weight of his body is hurting her.

He pulls back from her embrace. She lets him go, but her hands curl around his arms and squeeze as if to say I’m still right here. He wipes a hand across his face and wonders if he should feel foolish, but then he looks at her and the question fades. 

No one has ever looked at him the way she does. There’s so much love in her eyes he can feel it, and he wants to hold her. 

He tugs the sheets down and gestures at her, and she seems to realize what he wants. She slides beneath them. He joins her, pulling the blankets over them and then dropping his head onto his pillow so that he’s facing her. She turns toward him too, and he’s glad because he wants to look at her. He tangles his legs with hers and yanks her body a little closer. She doesn’t protest. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just watch each other. He doesn’t know what time it is because there’s no clock and he has expensive blackout shades, but he doesn’t care. They have nowhere to be and nothing they need to do and all he wants to do is this.

She’s the one who breaks the silence.

“What did you dream about?” she asks gently, brushing her hand over his face.

He presses his lips together. He can’t lie. But he knows if he tells her the truth, if he tells her that he dreamt of his Hell loop and that she was his torturer, it will break her heart. He doesn’t want to do that. He doesn’t want to break her heart. 

“You said my name,” she whispers. Her voice is unsteady. “You said Detective, and you haven’t done that since…”

Since before you died hangs in the air, but she doesn’t say it. 

She presses her hand to his chest. “It was your Hell loop, wasn’t it? I was in your Hell loop.”

He knows he could sidestep her. He could tell her he doesn’t want to talk about it, and she wouldn’t push him. But he remembers the way he agonized over her dreams when he asked her the same question and she refused to answer, and he doesn’t want to make her feel that way. He doesn’t want to go backward anymore. Only forward. Always forward, and always with her. 

So he tells her. He pushes the collar of his shirt aside so he can see the chain around her neck, and then he tells her about how he woke up in Lux. He tells her about the thrones and Michael and her black dress, and how she was so beautiful and he was so desperate for her but she ignored him. He tells her about her daughter, all grown up and full of fury. He tells her about the ring that was on her finger and the ring that wasn’t around her neck. He tells her about Daniel, about his tattoos and his rage and what she was forced to do to him. 

He starts to tell her about the final showdown with an apparition of her, but he can’t seem to get the words out. He isn’t sure if it’s his lingering pain over the hatred that the Hell version of her expressed, or if he’s afraid of hurting the real her with the truth. 

He’s already hurt her though. She’s been crying for a while now, silent tears falling down her cheeks, and he hates that. He doesn’t want to hurt her. 

He lifts his hand to her face and brushes his thumb over the trails of her tears.

“What did I say?” she whispers. 

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t real.”

She curls her fingers around his wrist. “What did I say, Lucifer?”

It takes him a minute to find the courage to say it out loud. 

“You said I was venom and darkness,” he whispers. “That I ruined you, and that you hated me.”

Her eyes fill, brimming with tears, and he struggles with his guilt. A few of them slide down her cheeks, and she wipes them away and then presses her hand against his chest. 

“You’re light, Lucifer.”

He knows what she’s doing, but he doesn’t need her to. He shakes his head. “Chloe—”

“You’re light,” she cuts him off fiercely. “You’re my light. You make me better, you make my life better, and I love you. I’m in love with you. Today and tomorrow and every second of every day for the rest of forever. Heart and soul.”

His eyes start to warm with tears of his own. Maybe he did need her to say it. Maybe…

He curls his fingers around the ring he gave her. “Is it still worth it?” he whispers. “The price you’ve had to pay, everything you’ve had to do, is it still…?” 

“Every second of it,” she whispers with just as much certainty as the first time. She covers his hand with hers. “You’re worth it, Lucifer. You’re worth all of it.”

He swallows around the tightness in his throat. “I’d do it again.”

“Do what?”

“Everything. Bowing. Dying. The loop. Seeing my family. I’d do it all again if it ended like this. If it ended with you and me.”

She smiles. “It always ends with you and me, Lucifer. There’s nothing that can take me from you.”

A flurry of emotions storm through his chest, and there are so many of them that he doesn’t know which one he feels deepest. He can’t even name them all. He just knows he feels them, and that he’s not afraid to feel them, because he’s not afraid when he’s with her.

He surges forward and kisses her. She kisses him back, her mouth eager against his, and he smiles. He can’t help it. 

When he leans back, she’s smiling too. She brushes his hair back from his forehead. He traces his fingertips over the curve of her lips until a thought strikes him.

“What about you?”

She furrows her eyebrows. “What about me?”

“What happened after I died?”

She winces.

“Sorry,” he says immediately. He thinks about how devastated she sounded in the shower when she whispered I lost you and regret sears through him. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “It’s okay.”

He wants to apologize again because he feels guilty for reminding her of something that clearly upsets her, but he resists the urge. It’s going to take him some time to adjust to facing his guilt and dealing with it like he learned to do in his loop, but this is a good place to start. She’s a safe place to start. 

“I cried,” she tells him. She smiles humorlessly. “A lot.”

He aches for her. 

She swallows, the line of her throat constricting. “And then Michael grabbed me. That’s how I cut my lip.”

Rage simmers in Lucifer’s blood. “He hit you.”

She nods. “And then he grabbed a sword, and he tried to kill me, but he couldn’t.”

“Because you kicked his ass?”

She smiles, and this time it’s a genuine one. “Because I lit up like a Christmas tree. The sword shattered into a million pieces when it hit my arms because I was on fire. And then I kicked his ass.”

“That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said.”

She laughs. “It was pretty cathartic.” Her smile fades. “But I’m glad you showed up when you did. I hate him. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate him. But I don’t…”

“You’re glad his punishment isn’t on your conscience,” he finishes for her quietly. 

She nods. “Do you wish your dad would have done something else instead of sending him to Hell?”

Lucifer considers the question for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No. Destroying him wouldn’t have been a punishment. He wouldn’t have suffered. Sitting down there in disgrace, isolated and alone on a throne he used to mock will be torture for him.”

“Like his own personal Hell loop.”

“Yes. Except loops aren’t real, and this is. That makes it worse. He can’t walk out of this. He can’t tell himself it’s just an illusion.”

She shifts a little closer to him. “He can’t come back up here though, right? Or send demons up here to possess people and mess with us?”

“I checked the gates of Hell after I spoke with Death and before I returned to you. They’re sealed.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing inside of Hell can get out unless my father unseals the gates. Given his anger, I doubt that will happen anytime soon.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “Were you sealed in Hell?”

“For a few millennia, yes.”

She looks angry, and he loves her for it. 

“I’m not now,” he reminds her. “And I never have to go back.”

That seems to soften her anger a bit. He twines a strand of her hair around his finger. He thinks about watching Michael do that in the loop, and how much he hated it. But that loop wasn’t real, and this is. She’s alive and breathing and his, and he’s the only one who gets to play with her hair for the rest of forever. 

“Do you want to talk about what happened with your dad?” she asks softly. 

His chest tightens. She brushes her hand over his face. He curls his fingers around her wrist and holds her in place so he can turn his head and press a kiss to her palm. 

“Not yet,” he whispers into her skin. “I’m not sure how I feel, so I wouldn’t know what to say.”

She smiles. “I know it’s a lot. When you’re ready to talk about it, though, I’m ready to listen.”

He nods. “I know.” He kisses her hand again, and then again, and then he presses her palm to his chest because he likes feeling her skin against his. “How did your conversation with him go? Did you get the answers you needed?”

She exhales a slow breath. “Yes and no.” She smiles sheepishly. “I kind of yelled at him.”

Pride and affection flare in Lucifer’s chest. “Did you now,” he murmurs. “And do you feel guilty about it?”

She smiles. “No. I mean, I wasn’t trying to hurt him. I was just trying to tell the truth.”

“About how awful it is that he allowed you to go through this?”

She shakes her head. “No. About how great you are, and how you deserve so much more than what he’s given you.”

Lucifer stares at her, stunned. 

It’s her turn to grab his hand and press it over her heart. “I told him you’re extraordinary,” she says softly but with a ferocity he can’t ignore. “I told him that no one has ever loved me as well as you do. And I told him that no matter what he does or what he says, I’ll always be your advocate. Not his.”

“You’re the Devil’s advocate?” 

She smiles. “Now and always, babe.”

He really thought he’d cried all his tears. But apparently he hasn’t, because his eyes are filling with more. 

He leans closer to her. “Chloe,” he murmurs, his voice wavering. “What you did for me tonight, not just with my dad, but with Michael and everyone else, I’ve never...no one’s ever done that for me before. I don’t know how to...”

His throat tightens. He can’t get any more words out. He doesn’t even know what words he would say, because he doesn’t know how he could possibly describe how he feels. She went toe to toe with the Endless and demons and angels and God himself, and she didn’t blink. Not even once. She stood at his side as the world burned around them, and she didn’t flinch. She didn’t leave him. She just loved him.

There are no words for that. 

He leans forward and kisses her. She hums against his lips, and then wraps her arms around him and pulls his body on top of hers. 

He goes willingly. He settles between her legs but he doesn’t try to initiate anything. Neither does she. They just kiss each other, smiling against the other person’s lips and tracing their hands over the other person’s skin. It’s something he’s learned from her—how nice it is to just lay in bed and kiss someone you love without needing to fuck them senseless. 

When she presses her hand against his chest and pushes him back from her mouth, though, he pouts. She smiles and brushes her thumb over the bottom lip he’s sticking out at her. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course. But the answer is yes, I’m more than willing to handcuff you to this headboard.”

She laughs. He smiles because he loves the sound of her laugh. 

“Your brother threatened to put me in Hell-forged cuffs, you know,” she says, reaching up to weave her fingers through his hair. “I told him that no one cuffs me but you.”

“Damn right,” he says. He leans toward her with a smile. “Shall I fetch the cuffs then?”

She shakes her head. “Not right now. I have a question.”

“Right, of course. Ask away.”

She runs her fingers over his stubble. “What did Michael say to you in the warehouse?”

He frowns. “When?”

“Before you…” Her eyebrows furrow and she licks her lips. “Before you bowed for me. What did he say to you?”

“Ah,” Lucifer says. He rolls off of her and onto his side and then props himself up on his elbow. “He said that before I burst through the skylight to save you, you told him that you lost faith in me.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a lie.”

“I know,” he says, reaching out to set his hand on her sternum. Her ring presses into his palm. “That’s one of the reasons why I knelt. Because I wanted you to know that I hadn’t lost faith in you either.”

She covers his hand with hers, and then ignites her hand with flame. “Your dad said that’s why I can do this,” she murmurs. “He said it’s faith. You believe in me.”

Lucifer smiles. “You made the Devil a believer.” 

Her eyes are gleaming with unshed tears. She extinguishes her light and then squeezes his hand. “I know you’re not ready to talk about your dad, but are you...I mean, do you think you’ll go home soon?”

He shakes his head. “The Silver City isn’t home, love. You are.” 

Her smile is breathtaking, and this time she’s the one who leans forward to kiss him. They get lost in each other all over again, and he revels in it. He can’t believe she wants to do this with him forever. He can’t believe he gets to keep her forever. 

When she finally leans away, she looks thoughtful. He reaches up to brush his fingertips over the crease in her brow. 

“What’s going on in that pretty blonde head of yours?”

She chews her bottom lip. “I’m human.” 

“Superhuman now, I think.”

Her lips break into a smile. “Should we get matching costumes?”

“Absolutely not. I forbid it.”

“You can’t—”

“I most certainly can when it comes to our wardrobe. Dad knows you don’t have the fashion sense to make those decisions on our behalf.”

“Is this about my Lakers sweatshirt again?”

“It’s a travesty.”

“It’s comfortable.

He huffs at her in disgust. She rolls her eyes. He leans forward to kiss her because she’s adorable when she rolls her eyes and he loves her.

“You were saying that you’re human?” he prompts when he leans back again.

She nods. “Yeah. And you’re not.”

He tilts his head. “So?”

She gestures at his body. “So you’re always going to look like this. But I won’t. I’m just going to keep getting older and older, and in thirty years I’m going to be, like, wrinkly and saggy and—”

“Beautiful. You’ll age like a fine wine, darling. More exquisite with each passing day.”

She gives him a look. “That’s sweet, Lucifer, but we both know it’s not true. We’re going to go on dates and you’re going to be this muscled, sexy guy in a suit and I’m going to be this little old lady and we’re going to...I mean, people will stare.”

“People stare at us now. I mean, have you seen us? Between your jaw and my—”

“Lucifer, I’m being serious. Someday I’ll…” She presses her lips together and doesn’t finish. 

“Someday you’ll what?” 

She fidgets with the cuff of his shirt that she’s wearing. “I won’t look like this forever.”

“You will, actually. When you enter Heaven, you’ll take whatever form you want. So if you like the way you look now, you can look that way forever.”

She blinks at him. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. That’s…” She frowns and shakes her head. “That doesn’t change what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you’re immortal, and I’m not, and I just...I mean, what happens when I can’t handle marathon sex sessions anymore? What happens when my hair turns white, or I have to put on glasses just to read restaurant menus, or I—”

“Chloe,” he cuts her off. 

She stops talking but doesn’t look at him. 

“Look at me, love.”

She lifts her gaze slowly to meet his. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he says softly. “But I didn’t bow to you because you’re beautiful. I didn’t go to Hell for you because you’re pretty. Sex with you is so good I willingly ate SPAM—” 

She snorts out a laugh.

“—but our releationship is more than sex.” He tilts his head. “I mean yes, even I can acknowledge we have a lot of sex.”

So much sex,” she agrees with a grin. 

“But it’s not just sex,” he says. “We’re more than that. So if you can’t have marathon sex sessions anymore, then we’ll watch those horrid home remodeling shows you love and learn to crochet scarves for your grandchildren. And if you can’t see the restaurant menu, I’ll read it to you. And if your legs stop working and you refuse to use a walker because you’re too stubborn for your own good, then I’ll carry you wherever you want to go like your own personal chauffeur.” 

Her eyes are shining with tears. “Yeah?” she says in a small, hopeful voice.  

“Yes,” he confirms. “We’re going to live the rest of your life together on this earth, and then when it’s time, I’m going to fly you up to the Silver City and we’ll live out eternity together too. You’re stuck with me. No take-backsies.”

She laughs, beautiful and carefree, and he smiles. 

“I love your laugh,” he tells her, just in case she didn’t know. 

She smiles affectionately at him. “I love you.”

“Yes, well, who could—”

“Shut up, Lucifer.”

He laughs. She studies him for a moment or two, smiling, and then she rolls onto her side to face him and props herself up on her elbow to mirror his posture. He can tell there’s something else on her mind, but he waits for her to gather her thoughts instead of prompting her to share. Patience is another thing she’s taught him.

“I meant what I said,” she murmurs eventually. “I want to spend forever with you. But I don’t want you to follow me to the Silver City if you don’t want to be there.”

He frowns. “Why wouldn’t I want to be there?”

“Because you hate it there. Because it’s filled with bad memories. And because your family is there, and they kind of suck.”

He smiles. “Such poetry.”

She shoves his shoulder with a huff of offense. 

He grabs her hand before she can pull it back, and brings it to his lips. “I won’t hate it if you’re there.”

She furrows her eyebrows. “I can’t make up for all of that.”

“You can and you do.”

“Forever is a long time, Lucifer. What if you get bored or need a break?”

“We’ve been over this. Eating apple pie for the rest of eternity won’t be difficult. You underestimate how good you taste.”

She bites her lip to hide a smile, and he doesn’t miss the faint blush that rises to her cheeks. He wonders if she’s thinking about his apple pie-coated tongue between her legs. 

“That’s not what I mean,” she says. “I mean what if you miss earth?”

He shrugs. “What is there to miss if you’re not here?”

He can tell by the look on her face that she wants to believe him, but something is holding her back. She needs more reassurance. 

He scoots closer to her. “I have wings, remember?”

She frowns. “So?”

“So if we miss earth, or if we get bored living in paradise, then I’ll bring you down here for a little vacation. We can spend a week at the beach. Or skiing in the mountains. Or traipsing through Europe. Hell, we can come down for a whole year and spend it in Tuscany.”

She tilts her head. “Is that allowed?”

Lucifer grins. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my father is very fond of you. I’ve a feeling he’ll make an exception for you even if it is against the rules. Especially if we visit the urchin, who seems to be his other favorite human.”

Chloe’s face lights up. “You’ll bring me down to visit Trixie?”

“Whenever you want,” he promises. “We can go wherever you want, Chloe. Do whatever you want. The world is your oyster and we’ve got forever to explore together.”

She covers his hand with hers and then leans forward to kiss him. “I love you,” she whispers.

He wraps his arm around her body and pulls her on top of him. “Show me,” he murmurs with a smile. 

She does.

Chapter 33: Thirty-Three

Notes:

Well, guys, it’s been an absolute pleasure. Thanks for sticking with me through this absurdly long story and all of my terribly mean cliffhangers. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for the kudos, the comments, and the kindness. I really do love you boos. Until next time ;)

Chapter Text

Lucifer likes New York. 

Not as much as he likes Los Angeles, of course, but he’s always been fond of the city that never sleeps. During his cross-country road trip with Chloe, he spent a lot of time thinking about all the places he wanted to show her. Not the touristy places that everyone knows, but the ones only he knows. His favorite nightclub. The record shop where he met half of the Ramones. The Brazilian restaurant he adores, and the tiny German cafe that makes bread so good it should be a sin. 

Thanks to his father’s meddling, they have a couple days to explore the city. It’s plenty of time to take Chloe to all the places he loves. But he doesn’t take her anywhere. Instead, they barely even leave the penthouse. 

He loves every second of it. 

They spend all of Saturday night and most of Sunday tangled in the sheets and each other. He falls asleep on her chest, listening to her heartbeat as she combs her fingers through his hair. They debate the ethics of free will while eating bagels in bed. He tells her stories about Azrael and Raphael and his brother Raguel, who tried and failed to intimidate her into silence. She cuffs him to the headboard and teases him for what feels like hours, and when she finally sinks onto him and starts to move he comes embarassingly fast. He tells her that her prayer was the catalyst for his escape from his Hell loop. She cries again, and he cries too, and they say I love you over and over but it never seems to get old.   

On Sunday night, they snuggle beneath a blanket on an oversized chaise out on the terrace. They share a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream and talk about all the places they’ll visit now that they’ve got forever to see the world. She falls asleep in his arms, curled into his side with her nose pressed against his neck. He stares at the stars and strokes his hand through her hair and revels in the fact that he gets to spend the rest of forever being loved by her. 

On Monday morning, she teaches him how to make her father’s sandwich. He notices her eyes are wet with unshed tears once they’re done, and when he asks her about it, she confesses that even though she has no interest in dying any time soon, she can’t wait to introduce him to her dad. He feels suddenly nervous. What if her father hates him? He spends five minutes awkwardly quizzing her about the best way to impress her dad until she realizes what he’s doing, and then she smiles and pulls him close and tells him that he has nothing to worry about because he’s incredible. 

They watch a Love It or List It marathon after that, and end up taking an impromptu nap on the couch. She wakes him with her mouth. Her mouth is...bloody hell, her mouth is sinful. He comes so hard he sees stars, and in the afterglow he blurts out that she’s the best sex he’s ever had. She stares at him in shock for a moment or two, and then they lunge at each other and spend the rest of the afternoon screwing each other senseless. 

On Monday evening around eight, they finally pry themselves out of the penthouse. He takes her to a bistro a few blocks away, an intimate little Italian place with white tablecloths and candlelight that makes her eyes shine. They drink wine and eat pasta and flirt shamelessly. There’s nobody hunting them, nobody plotting to rip them apart, and he can’t believe how good it feels. She looks relaxed and happy and he just...he can’t stop staring at her. He’s so in love with her it’s absurd. 

They make out in the back of the cab the entire ride back to the apartment building, and the whole elevator ride up to the penthouse too. By the time the elevator doors slide open, he wants her so bad he can’t wait. He shoves the flower vase off the entryway table and out of their way and fucks her right there on top of the table beneath the crystal chandelier.

“How does it just keep getting better? ” she whines afterward, her arm slung over her face as she pants to catch her breath. 

He laughs because he was thinking the same thing. He kisses her, and then he carries her upstairs, and their next round is the exact opposite of the first—slow and purposeful and intense in a way that he’s only ever experienced with her. He can’t remember what it’s like to be with anyone else. He doesn’t want to. She’s everything.

Hours later, he wakes from another nightmare. He bolts upright in bed, panting in terror and drenched in sweat. She’s fast asleep next to him. He can see the chain around her neck. It glints in the moonlight, a reminder of what’s real, and he presses his hand against her skin so he can feel her warmth. He wore her out and she’s still trying to catch up on sleep after a week of nightmares, so she doesn’t stir awake at his touch. He knows she wouldn’t mind if he woke her up. He knows she would hold him and whisper what’s real until he believes it. But he doesn’t wake her. 

He waits until his breathing has slowed to normal, and then he slides out of bed and heads for the bathroom. The sweat on his skin is drying but he feels sticky and uncomfortable from the nightmare, so he turns the shower to a scalding temperature and rinses off quickly. Once he’s dry, he pulls on a pair of silk sleep pants he left puddled on the floor when he followed Chloe into the shower this morning, and then heads back out into the bedroom. 

She’s still sleeping. He stops at the foot of the bed and stares at her, watching the way her shoulders rise and fall slowly as she breathes. She looks peaceful. She is peaceful. She hasn’t had a nightmare since Dream undid his spell. The urge to crawl back into bed and wrap himself around her flutters in his chest, but he feels restless. He doesn’t want to wake her with his fidgeting. So he wanders over to the bar cart instead, pours himself a tumbler full of whiskey, and then walks barefoot out onto the terrace. 

It’s nearly three in the morning, so the sounds of the city are muted but not silent. He stops at the edge of the terrace near the railing and lifts his glass to his lips. Central Park is spread before him. The skyscrapers of the city surround him. Up above, the sky is dark. The stars are difficult to see thanks to all the city light and some clouds, but he knows they’re there. He thinks of that field in Nebraska, and the hotel blanket he and Chloe sprawled out on, and he smiles into his whiskey. 

He hears a soft whoosh behind him, and his smile fades. 

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just sips his whiskey and enjoys the way it burns his throat. The nighttime air is chilly, but he doesn’t feel cold. He imagines it has something to do with the light in his veins. He wonders if Chloe will be immune to the cold now that she has light in her veins too. He wonders if she’ll let him drape his jacket over her shoulders anyway. 

He lowers his glass. “Brother,” he greets. 

“Good evening, Luci,” Amenadiel replies, stepping up to stand next to him. 

Lucifer finally looks at him. “It’s three in the morning.”

Amenadiel smiles. “Good morning then.”

Lucifer snorts in disdain. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Has Father changed his mind and barred me from the Silver City again?”

“No,” Amenadiel says, setting his hands on the terrace railing. “I’m not here on Father’s behalf. I came on my own.”

“Lucky me,” Lucifer mutters, lifting his glass to his lips. 

“I wanted to explain my actions.” 

“You mean your lack of action?”

“Yes.”

Lucifer feels his temper flare, and he turns to face his brother with a glare. “I won’t allow you to wake her from the first solid sleep she’s had in a week. Particularly since you’re partly to blame for her nightmares.”

“I have no desire to disturb Chloe.”

“Well then there’s no need for you to stay. Go away.”

Amenadiel, as usual, looks unbothered by his rage. “I think I owe you an explanation as well, don’t I?”

Lucifer scoffs. “You did what you always do and sided with Dad. I’m not surprised by your choice, nor did I expect anything else from the favorite son. So no, I don’t need an explanation. I don’t desire one either.”

Amenadiel turns to face him. “Actually, Luci, I sided with you.”

“Has all that time breathing Silver City air rotted your brain?” Lucifer snaps. “How the bloody hell—”

“I told Father that you deserved to come home.”

Lucifer stares at him, stunned. 

“After family dinner, he and I went for a walk,” Amenadiel explains. “He asked me if I thought Michael was right about your willingness to start a war for Chloe. I told him he was asking the wrong question. It wasn’t about what you were willing to do. It was about why you were willing to do it.”

“Do you and Dad practice making vague pronouncements together, or do they just come naturally for you? Because the similarity is uncanny.”

Amenadiel ignores the jab. 

“You fell because you didn’t recognize that there are more important things than getting what you want,” he says. “You only cared about yourself. But that’s not who you are anymore. You’re not the same angel you were when you fell, and your punishment should have ended long before now. If it had, then war wouldn’t have even been on the table for you.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes. “You really expect me to believe that you convinced Dad to let me come home?”

Amenadiel shakes his head. “I don’t think he needed convincing. I think he’d already made up his mind. He wanted you to come home too.”

“Then why didn’t he just bloody say so? Why sit back and let all this happen? Why go through the charade of retirement and put Chloe through hell?”

The corner of Amenadiel’s mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Are you asking me to explain free will to you?”

Lucifer tightens his hold on his glass but somehow manages to resist the urge to smash it against his brother’s stupid bald head. “He could have tested us without hurting her.”

“No he couldn’t. The two of you are so intertwined that when you’re in pain, so is she. There’s no way to separate you.”

Lucifer scowls and lifts his glass back to his lips. 

“Look, Luci, you and Father can argue about his motives and his decisions when you return to the Silver City, but I—”

“I won’t walk through those gates until it’s time for Chloe to walk through them.”

Amenadiel nods. “That’s your prerogative.”

“You’re damn right it is.”

Amenadiel exhales a patient breath. “I’m here because I want you to understand why I didn’t respond when you asked for my help. After I told Father that I thought you’d changed and that you deserved to come home, he told me what would happen between you and Michael and Dream. He told me that he knew how it would end. That you would conquer your guilt and walk out of your Hell loop and get back to Chloe. That you and Michael would both prove beyond a shadow of a doubt who you are and where you belong.”

“So all’s well that ends well?” Lucifer says bitterly. 

Amenadiel smiles sadly. “He said that it would only happen that way if I stayed on the sidelines. If I didn’t interfere. I had to let you make your own choices, and I had to let Michael make his. I had to let it all play out.”

Lucifer clenches his jaw and says nothing. He can see the unenviable position Amenadiel was forced into, but that doesn’t assuage his anger. It doesn’t erase the memories of tears streaming down Chloe’s face. 

“I wanted you to be free from your guilt, Luci,” Amenadiel murmurs earnestly. “I know how it tortures you, how it’s always tortured you, and I wanted you to be free of it. I wanted to give you a chance to face it head on and conquer it once and for all. So I didn’t interfere.”

“And Chloe?”

“She said she wanted you forever.”

Lucifer frowns. 

“At Father’s retirement party,” Amenadiel clarifies. “Trixie asked him to let you stay with them forever, and Chloe told him she wanted that too.”

Lucifer blinks. “She did?”

Amenadiel gives him a look. “Of course she did. She loves you. She wants to spend forever with you. And the only way I could make sure she had the opportunity to do that was if I didn’t interfere.” He sighs. “I know it was extremely painful for both of you.”

“Understatement,” Lucifer mutters.

Amenadiel grimaces. “I’m sorry. I never wanted to cause either of you any pain. But there was no alternative. Not if I wanted to give you both what you wanted. What you deserve.

Lucifer scoffs and sips his whiskey. Amenadiel doesn’t make another attempt to explain himself, and silence envelops them. Lucifer doesn’t bother to fill it. He doesn’t have anything to say. 

They stand there for a long time. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. A breeze blows across the terrace, cool and soft. Lucifer wants to turn on his heel and walk back into the bedroom and bury himself in Chloe’s arms. He doesn’t. He isn’t sure why. 

Up above him, a pair of clouds float apart. He glances upward and catches a glimpse of a dull shine in the new space between them. 

His stars. 

He goes still. Last night, he and Chloe were snuggled beneath these stars, sipping wine and feeding each other ice cream and planning their future together. They wouldn’t have been able to do that if Amenadiel had intervened. They wouldn’t have suffered, of course. But they wouldn’t have eternity stretched out before them either. 

Every second of it, Chloe’s voice whispers in his memory.

Lucifer sighs and looks down at the glass in his hand. It takes him a while to find the words. But he thinks of the way Chloe’s eyes light up when she talks about forever, and he finds them. 

“I understand.”

Amenadiel glances toward him. “You do?”

Lucifer sighs again and meets his gaze. “Yes.” He shakes his head. “But she won’t forgive you as easily.”

Amenadiel smiles. “She’s a force to be reckoned with when it comes to protecting you.”

“She’s a force to be reckoned with all the time.”

Amenadiel laughs. “Very true.”

They stand in silence again. A car horn blares on the street below. 

“I meant what I said at family dinner,” Amenadiel says softly. “You’re a good man, Luci. And I’m proud to call you my brother.”

Lucifer hates that warmth blossoms in his chest from the words. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he just feels like he’s supposed to. Maybe, just like facing his guilt when it inevitably crops up, this is another thing he’ll have to learn to deal with.

“Likewise,” he says quietly.

Amenadiel smiles and sets his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow in L.A.?”

Lucifer nods. “Tomorrow.”

Amenadiel smiles wider, and then he unfurls his wings and takes off. 

Lucifer doesn’t watch him go. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and takes a sip and studies his stars instead. He’s always thought he made them perfectly. He’s always thought the job was done. But he sees now he was wrong. 

Chloe is too beautiful not to have her likeness spread across the sky.

He senses her as soon as she stirs. He can hear her skin sliding over the sheets, and the soft sound of her bare feet hitting the floor. There’s a rustle of fabric, and he smiles because she’s pulling on one of his shirts. He knows when she starts to walk toward him because he can feel it. He can feel her. It’s like there are magnets beneath his skin, pulling her toward him, and there’s an ache in his chest that’s only ever soothed when she’s in his arms. 

Her arms wrap around his torso a minute later, and the ache dissipates. He feels her breath on the bare skin of his back, and then her lips when she presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. Her hands are folded together over his stomach. He covers them with one of his and strokes his thumb over her knuckles. 

“Hi,” she whispers. 

Someday he’s going to tell her how much he loves the sound of her voice when she says that word. Hi. It’s impossibly adorable.

“How much did you hear?” he murmurs. 

She presses her forehead against his back. “Enough.” 

“Enough to forgive him?”

“Eh.”

He smiles. He can feel her smiling too as she kisses the spot between his shoulder blades again. 

He turns to face her. She’s wearing the shirt he wore to dinner. It’s a deep crimson color that he knows she likes. That’s why he chose to wear it. He likes it better on her though. He doesn’t try to pretend that he’s not looking her up and down, and she doesn’t pretend she doesn’t like it. She takes the glass from his hand, and then holds his gaze as she tilts her head back and swallows the last of his whiskey. 

He lowers his eyes to her mouth as she lowers the glass. She tilts a little closer to him, a barely perceptible lean that reminds him of the early days of their partnership when they both wanted the same thing but didn’t think they could have it. Heat thrums in the air between them. He lets it linger for a second because he knows she likes the build up of anticipation just as much as he does, but his resolve breaks soon after. Her lips are wet with whiskey, and he wants to taste it. To taste her.  

So he does.

She hums in the back of her throat and kisses him back. He buries his hand in her hair and holds the back of her neck. She scratches her nails lightly along his abs, and when he flexes, she smiles. 

“Come back to bed,” she whispers. 

He smiles. “Tired, are you?”

“Oh exhausted,” she murmurs in mock seriousness. She curls her fingers beneath the top edge of his silk pants and then walks backward and toward the bedroom, pulling him after her by his waistband. “I desperately need sleep.”

“Desperately, hm?” He plucks the whiskey glass from her hand and tosses it over his shoulder. It hits the stone terrace and shatters into a million pieces but she doesn’t seem bothered by his carelessness or the mess. He likes that. He likes that a lot.

“You know I’m feeling a bit desperate too all of a sudden,” he murmurs.

She smiles and shakes her head as they cross the threshold of the bedroom. “You’re always desperate.”

“Have you looked in a mirror?”

She laughs. He kisses it from her lips and then curls his fingers around the edges of the shirt she’s wearing. He rips it open, and buttons fly across the room in all directions, but he doesn’t care. He just hums in approval at the sight of her naked body. She’s so damn beautiful it hurts.

“I like this shirt,” she complains. 

The backs of her legs hit the bed but he keeps pushing into her, and they topple onto the mattress. She laughs when he lands on top of her, and then sighs when he buries his face in her neck and flicks his tongue over her skin. 

“I’ll buy you a thousand of them if that’s what you want,” he whispers. 

She rakes her nails over his back. “I just want you.”

She’s all he wants too.


When Lucifer’s private jet touches down in Los Angeles, Chloe turns toward her boyfriend with a frown. 

“Does it feel weird to you?”

He furrows his eyebrows at her. “Does what feel weird?”

“I don’t know,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “Being back in L.A. Not being fugitives. How fast it all got undone.”

He blinks at her. “Did you want it to last longer?”

“No, of course not,” she says, waving her hand. “I’m glad it’s over. It’s just...I don’t know. It took us an entire week to get to New York, and now in a matter of hours we’re back in L.A., and I just…”

She trails off. He’s watching her, waiting for more of an explanation, but she doesn’t have one. She looks down at her hands and searches for the right words. She’s relieved the dream is over, and she can’t wait to see Trixie and get back to their normal lives but…

“You’ll miss it,” he says softly. 

She looks up at him in surprise. 

He turns toward her, and leans over the arm rest between them and into her space. “I’ll miss it too,” he murmurs, brushing her hair behind her ear. She left it down for him again today. “I didn’t like that you suffered, but I suppose I…”

She smooths her hand over his lapels when his silence goes on a little too long. “You what?”

He sighs. “Well I suppose part of me liked it being us against the world. I liked knowing that it didn’t matter how terrible everything else was because we still had each other. And I liked having you all to myself with no distractions.”

She nods because that’s exactly how she feels too. She’s glad to be back. But she’s going to miss bickering over radio stations and flirting in gas stations and sleeping naked in his arms. She’s going to miss having him all to herself.

He must misinterpret her nod because he frowns. “I don’t mean for that to sound possessive,” he clarifies. “I’m aware that you have other priorities and responsibilities. Your child comes first, and obviously your job is important, and I would never—”

“Lucifer,” she cuts him off. 

He stops. He looks a little sheepish, and a little guilty, and she doesn’t want that. 

She brushes her hand over his face. “You’re a priority for me, okay? You always have been and you always will be.” She leans closer to him. “And I liked having you all to myself too.”

He smiles. “Did you now?”

She nods. “Yeah. So maybe we could, I don’t know, make a date night?”

“Date night?” he repeats, tilting his head.

“Yeah. Like, every week we have one night where it’s just me and you. No work, no Lux, no Trixie, no celestial craziness. Nothing but us.”

“And sex.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Lucifer. And sex.”

He grins. “I accept your terms. Can I interest you in another round in the bathroom as a means of sealing the deal?”

Memories of what they did somewhere over Colorado flash through Chloe’s mind. Her arms outstretched and her palms flat against the bathroom mirror. Lucifer behind her, his body driving into hers and his mouth whispering filthy things in her ear, one hand shoved up her shirt and the other circling between her legs. She tried to stay quiet, but it felt so good she had to bite her own arm right before she came just so she wouldn’t scream his name. 

“You’re thinking about it,” Lucifer purrs. 

She can feel her face flushing. “No,” she says, shaking her head. 

He lifts his eyebrows.

“Okay, yes, I was thinking about it,” she admits. “But we already landed so it’s not going to happen.”

“But we had so much fun.

It was fun but there’s no way in hell she’s going to admit that, because if she does then he’s going to turn on the charm, and she’s going to end up right back in that bathroom for round two, and this time, the pilots will definitely know what they’re doing. 

She pats his chest. “Not today, Satan.”

He sighs and turns away from her with a pout. She smiles and grabs his hand. He softens and weaves his fingers through hers. 

A few minutes later, once the plane has stopped on the tarmac, Chloe climbs out of her seat and starts toward the exit. “Did you have someone drop off your Corvette to drive us home?”

“No.”

She stops at the top of the steps leading down to the tarmac and frowns over her shoulder at him. “How are we getting home then?”

Lucifer smiles mischievously. “I called in a favor.”

“What does that—”

“Mom!”

Chloe freezes at the sound of Trixie’s voice. She’s heard it over the phone several times in the past few days, but hearing it in person…

She whips her head back toward the plane’s exit and looks out across the tarmac. Her daughter is racing in her direction, her dark ponytail flying behind her. Dan is in the distance, sitting on the hood of his cruiser and smiling while Trixie sprints toward the plane, and Chloe’s heart stops. 

“Trixie,” she breathes.

Her heart roars back to life, and with it comes a joy so intense she thinks her chest might shatter from sheer force. Her daughter is sprinting toward her with a massive grin on her face. She’s wearing that sushi shirt she had on in the picture Michael had on his phone, but there’s no Michael to worry about anymore. No demons. No Dream and no nightmares. 

She’s home.

And her kid is happy to see her. 

Her body reacts without any conscious thought on her part. She jerks forward and stumbles down the stairs with a sob caught in her throat, her eyes already blurring with tears. She barely has time to set her feet on the pavement before Trixie catapults into her arms.

Chloe catches her. She wraps her arms around her daughter and buries her face in the top of her head and cries. She knows Trixie must be confused by the vehemence of her outburst, but she doesn’t pull away and she doesn’t protest. She just squeezes her mother tightly and murmurs I missed you into her chest and Chloe can’t even breathe she’s so happy.

By the time she finally lets Trixie go, Dan has crossed the tarmac and is only a few yards away. He smiles at her as he comes to a stop.

“Welcome back.” 

Chloe smiles. “Thanks.” She swipes at her eyes, and then she holds Trixie’s face in her hands and grins down at her daughter. 

“Hey monkey,” she murmurs. 

Trixie grins. “You really missed me, huh?”

Chloe laughs. “You have no idea.” She brushes a few flyaway strands of hair back from Trixie’s face. “How are you? You okay?”

“Yep!” She grins slyly at her dad. “Dad let me stay home from school so we could come get you, and we had cake for lunch.”

Chloe glances at Dan with lifted eyebrows. 

“We had other food too,” Dan says defensively. “Including vegetables.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “The cheeseburgers had lettuce.”

“And tomato,” Dan points out.

“And tomato,” Trixie acknowledges. She leans toward Chloe and whispers, “But we ate the cake first.” 

Chloe laughs and pulls her daughter in for another hug. Trixie hugs her again eagerly for a moment, but then she leans back with a frown. “Where’s Lucifer?”

“Oh, he’s…” Chloe trails off when she turns around and realizes he’s not behind her. She frowns. Why hasn’t he gotten off the plane yet?

She’s opening her mouth to call for him when it hits her. 

Her heart aches. 

She glances down at her daughter. “Just give me a minute, okay?” she says, brushing her hand over Trixie’s face. 

Trixie nods. “Okay.”

Chloe smiles at her and then climbs back up the steps. She ducks back inside the plane, and finds Lucifer pacing down the middle aisle and fiddling with his cufflink. 

He stops in his tracks when he sees her. She lifts her eyebrows at him in an unspoken question.

“I uh, I thought you might want a moment alone,” he says, tugging on his jacket. “I didn’t want to interrupt the reunion.”

He doesn’t lie, so she knows that’s true. But she also knows it’s not the whole truth, and her heart aches again for him. 

She closes the distance between them and reaches out to curl her fingers around the edges of his jacket and straighten it since he left it askew. When she glances up at him, she can see it in his eyes. 

He’s nervous.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

She shakes her head. “Don’t be.” She slides her arms beneath his jacket and around his torso. “It’s over, babe,” she whispers. “This is real.”

He swallows, and then lifts his hand to brush his fingers over the ring around her neck. She lets him stare at it for a minute, and then she rises onto her toes and kisses him, soft and sweet and sure. When she drops back down to her feet, she reaches for his hand and weaves her fingers through his. She ignites their hands briefly, just long enough for him to notice, and then she smiles.  

“We’ll do it together, yeah?”

He nods. 

She squeezes his hand, and then leads him down the aisle and out of the plane and into the California sunshine. 

“Hi Lucifer!” Trixie greets as soon as they come into view. 

Lucifer stiffens. Chloe squeezes his hand again and leads him down the stairs. He’s barely stepped off the final stair before Trixie throws herself at him and wraps her arms around his waist. 

“I’m so glad you’re back!” she exclaims.

Lucifer’s entire body seizes up when she hugs him. Chloe rubs her hand over his back the same way he’s done so many times for her. He glances over at her, his eyes wide, and she smiles and nods reassuringly.

He relaxes. He glances down at Trixie, hesitates, and then wraps his arms around her and gives her a gentle squeeze. “Hello Beatrice,” he murmurs. 

Trixie steps out of his arms and beams up at him. “How was your trip? Did you guys feed the birds?”

Lucifer frowns down at her. “Uh, no.”

“Did you bring me chocolate cake like you said you would?”

“Trix,” Chloe chastises. “It isn’t polite to—”

“Of course I did,” Lucifer interrupts. “I brought you the finest chocolate cake the east coast has to offer. You’ve never tasted anything better.”

Trixie’s eyes widen. “Can we eat it now?”

“Trix, you had cake for lunch,” Dan reminds her.

Trixie turns to face him. “Yeah, but not east coast cake.”

Dan looks at Chloe.

Chloe brushes another strand of hair back from Trixie’s face. She really needs to teach Dan how to do a proper ponytail. “I think maybe we’ll wait on the cake, okay babe?”

Trixie sighs in disappointment. “Okay.” And then she turns back to Lucifer. “Is this your plane?” 

Lucifer turns his nose up at her. “Of course it’s my plane. Only cheap men like your father fly commercial.”

Dan purses his lips. “Nice to see you too, man.”

“Cool!” Trixie yells. She pushes past Lucifer and sprints up the stairs. “Do you have TVs? And a refrigerator? Is that where you’re keeping the cake?!”

She gets to the top of the steps and gasps again when she sees the interior of the plane. 

“These seats are like my abuelo’s recliner! Do the legs come up?!”

She disappears into the plane.

Lucifer’s eyes widen in alarm and then he bolts after her. “Those seats are made from Italian leather!” he bellows, taking the steps two at a time. “Do not put your sticky hands all over my Italian leather or I will…”

His voice trails off as he disappears inside the plane. Chloe smiles after them, thrilled that things are already back to normal, and then turns to face Dan. 

“Thanks for coming to get us,” she tells him.

He shrugs. “No problem. You guys have a good time?”

She nods. “Yeah. It was…” 

A memory of Lucifer dying in her arms flashes briefly across her mind, and she swallows around the grief that’s suddenly lodged in her throat. She takes a deep breath and forces herself to think about the last two days instead, and about how it feels to fall asleep in Lucifer’s arms and know that she’s home and she never, ever has to leave again. 

She smiles. “It was great.”

Dan furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head.

“What?” Chloe asks warily.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I just...” He reaches out and squeezes her arm. “You deserve to be happy, Chlo. And he obviously makes you happy even though he’s...you know.”

“The Devil?” she offers.

“I was going to say annoying and cocky as hell.” 

She laughs. “Don’t let him hear you say he’s cocky.”

Dan makes a face. “Gross.”

Chloe laughs again.

“Anyway, I don’t think I’ve said it yet, but I’m happy for you. I know it took a while for you guys to figure everything out, but it seems like you finally got there and I’m glad.”

Chloe thinks about the beach and all the awful things Dan said to her while he was under the spell, and her eyes start to fill with tears. 

Dan frowns at her in concern. “What’s wrong? I wasn’t trying to—”

Chloe throws herself into his arms before he can finish. 

He grunts in surprise, but then he chuckles and wraps his arms around her. 

“I love you,” she murmurs into his shoulder. 

He squeezes her tighter. “I love you too, Chlo.” 


Trixie talks the entire drive home. 

She insists on sitting in the backseat between Lucifer and Chloe. Lucifer attempts to sit in the passenger seat first, but when he spots what appears to be a very small remnant of chocolate pudding on the edge of the seat, he throws a tantrum about the “absurdly filthy conditions” of Dan’s car. Dan bristles, and after a ridiculous bout of bickering that requires Chloe’s intervention before it finally ceases, Lucifer crams himself into the backseat with a dramatic sigh. 

“You want to sit up front?” Dan asks Chloe with a smirk. 

“Mom, sit by me,” Trixie pleads, latching onto Chloe’s hand.

Chloe smiles at Dan. “I think I can handle the backseat with the children.”

Dan snorts.

“Oh marvelous, we can pack in like sardines,” Lucifer mutters through the rolled down window. “And then when we finally reach our destination—which will undoubtedly take centuries given Daniel’s penchant for driving like an elderly woman—we can pile out into the street like clowns from a circus car.”

Dan grins. “Glad you’re finally aware you’re a clown. They say acceptance is the first step.”

Lucifer narrows his eyes and opens his mouth, but Chloe intervenes. She steps toward the car and bends forward to put her mouth by Lucifer’s ear.

“Behave and I’ll do that thing later,” she whispers. 

Lucifer considers the offer with a hum. “Twice or no deal.”

Chloe leans back and gives him a look. “No more pouting or no deal.”

He huffs at her. “Fine.”

She grins, gives him a peck on the cheek, and then reaches for Trixie’s hand. “Come on, monkey.”

Trixie grins and follows her around the back of the car toward the other door.

“Bet she never did the thing for you,” Lucifer mutters to Dan. 

Dan frowns. “What thing?”

“That’s not what I meant by behaving and now I’m only doing it once,” Chloe calls over her shoulder. 

“Dad damn it,” Lucifer mutters. “You’ve cost me an orgasm, Daniel.”

Lucifer,” Chloe hisses, shooting her hands up to cover Trixie’s ears.

Trixie looks confused. “What are we talking about?”

“Nothing baby,” Chloe says.

“Oh gross,” Dan says. He curls his hand around his throat like he’s afraid he might vomit and then makes a face. “I need to go wash my brain with bleach.”

Lucifer snickers. “Perhaps try swallowing some while you’re at it.”

“And now I’m not doing it at all,” Chloe says, bending forward to look at him as she pulls the back door open.

Lucifer whips around to look at her in horror, but before he can sputter out a defense, Trixie slides across the backseat and presses against his side. 

“I bet if you apologize Mom will change her mind. She always says it’s important to apologize when you do something wrong.”

“I refuse to apologize for suggesting what we’re all thinking,” Lucifer sniffs, pressing himself against the door in an attempt to regain his lost personal space.

“No one was thinking that,” Dan says. 

“Oblivious as always,” Lucifer shoots back. 

“You don’t really want my dad to drink bleach,” Trixie says. “You’re just being mean cause that’s how you express your affection.”

Lucifer frowns at her. “Affection?” he repeats incredulously. “I’ve many feelings for your father, child. Disgust. Disdain. Ridicule. But certainly not affection.”

Chloe settles into the backseat next to Trixie. “You’re going to slip into the negatives here pretty soon, babe.”

Lucifer huffs at her indignantly. “I can withhold your favorites just as easily as you can withhold mine, you know.”

She grins at him. “Want to bet?”

He opens his mouth, but seems to think better of it. He folds his arms over his chest and turns toward the window to pout in silence. 

Chloe grins.

Dan snickers as he gets into the car.

Trixie starts talking about school and doesn’t stop. 

When Dan finally shifts the car into park outside Chloe’s building, Lucifer throws the door open with a dramatic sigh of relief. He unfolds his ridiculously long legs and climbs out of the car, and then he looks down at his suit and groans.

Wrinkles,” he says in disgust. 

Trixie scurries out of the car after him. “Don’t worry, Lucifer, you still look great.”

Lucifer runs a hand down the front of his suit. “I do, don’t I? A few wrinkles can’t keep the Devil down.” He shoots a look over the roof of the car at Chloe as she gets out. “Only your mother can do that.”

“You’re in the red,” she says, brandishing her finger at him. “Deep in the red.”

“Well you do like it deep,” he says with a smirk.

“Dude,” Dan says, slamming the driver’s door shut with a scowl. “Can you not?”

Trixe grabs Lucifer’s hand and yanks him toward the sidewalk. “Come on, Lucifer, we should go before they gang up on you like they do to me.”

“You’re misunderstood and underappreciated as well, hm?” Lucifer says, glancing down at her. “It’s hard being a rainbow in a black and white world.”

Trixie grins up at him. “You’re definitely a rainbow.”

Lucifer beams. They walk hand in hand up the sidewalk and toward the apartment as Trixie chatters a mile a minute about rainbows. Chloe watches them for a moment, pressing her lips together around a grin, and then starts to follow them.

She stops when Dan catches her arm. 

“Wait.”

She turns to look at him. “What’s up?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I know you hate surprises, so just as a heads up, there’s a surprise party waiting for you guys inside.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“It was Amenadiel’s idea,” Dan replies with a shrug. “He said Lucifer had a rough go of it last week while his dad was here, and that’s one of the reasons why you guys ran off to New York for the weekend. He thought it would be nice if we all got together to hang out and remind Lucifer that there are people here who love him.”

Chloe feels a wave of warmth wash over her at Amenadiel’s gesture. But then she realizes what a surprise party implies, and she freezes. 

“Wait, they’re inside right now? Like, they’re going to jump out and yell surprise at Lucifer?”

Dan nods. “Yeah. Why?” 

Chloe bolts toward her apartment without answering. 

“Chloe?” Dan calls. He takes off after her. “Chloe, what the hell.”

She ignores him. She gets to the top of the steps just as Trixie is reaching for the door handle, and yells, “Wait!” 

Trixie freezes.

Lucifer looks at Chloe with furrowed eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“I just, um…” She hurries forward and pulls Lucifer’s hand from Trixie’s. “I just wanted to hold your hand.”

Lucifer looks pleased and puffs his chest out. “Feeling a little jealous of your offspring, hm?”

Chloe shakes her head and leans toward him. “Babe, there’s a—”

Trixie flings open the door before Chloe can get the words out.

There’s a sudden and loud chorus of Surprise!, and Lucifer’s hand in Chloe’s bursts into flame. 

Chloe yanks his hand behind her back the instant before Trixie spins around to face them. 

“Are you surprised?!” Trixie asks excitedly. 

“Holy shit,” Dan breathes from behind them. 

“Deckerstar back in the house!” Ella hollers from inside. 

Charlie screeches excitedly in Linda’s arms and holds his hands out toward Lucifer. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” Lucifer breathes. 

“Lucifer,” Chloe mutters. 

Lucifer extinguishes his hand. 

There’s a beat of confused silence—well, except for Dan, who is making a weird noise in the back of his throat that’s somewhere between a whimper and a squeak—and then Lucifer straightens and exclaims, “Well would you look at that! A surprise party for me because I’m so extraordinary!”

Everyone except Dan laughs.

“Me and Amenadiel planned it!” Trixie exclaims.

Lucifer pats her on the head like she’s a dog. “Well done, child.”

Trixie beams, and then grabs his hand and yanks him inside and toward their friends. 

Chloe turns toward Dan. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“His hand was on fire,” he mutters. His face is completely ashen. “His hand was on fire, Chloe.”

“I know,” Chloe says gently. She steps toward him. “It’s okay. He’s—”

“You know? ” Dan interrupts. “You mean you...is that just…” His eyes get even wider. “Oh my god, is it hellfire?”

Chloe shakes her head. “No.”

“But he’s—”

“I know what he is,” she cuts him off. “It’s not hellfire. It’s celestial fire.”

Dan frowns. 

“It’s heavenly,” she clarifies. “He’s an angel.”

Dan gapes at her. 

Chloe puts her hands on his chest. “Dan, listen to me. Everything's okay, all right? You don’t need to panic. He’s the same Lucifer you’ve always known and what you just saw doesn’t change that.”

“But he was on fire! ” Dan sputters. 

Chloe’s opening her mouth to reply when Lucifer appears behind her. He leans over her shoulder and grins at Dan. “Did she tell you that she can catch on fire too?”

Chloe didn’t think it was possible for Dan’s eyes to get any bigger, but somehow they do. He lets out an inhuman wail and stumbles backward, batting her hands away from his chest as if they’re on fire. 

Chloe shoots Lucifer a glare. “You are in so much trouble.”

He grins. “You can spank me later.”

“You’re going to be spanking yourself for the next week if you don’t cut it out.”

Dan wails again and puts his hands on either side of his head. He trips, staggers into a nearby wall, and then sinks to the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest and starts to rock back and forth. 

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “Oh dear. I think we’ve broken him, darling.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and then shoves him inside the apartment. “Just go away until he calms down.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

He grins at her. “That’s not—”

“Shut up, Lucifer,” she says, but even as she slams the door in his face, she’s grinning at him.


Two hours later, Lucifer is standing in Chloe’s kitchen and pouring himself a glass of the Crown Royale that Ms. Lopez presented him with (“Because I love you and you love whiskey!” she’d exclaimed) when Doctor Linda approaches. 

“Ah, hello Doctor,” he greets with a smile. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you,” she says. She grins at him. “I’ve had half a bottle of wine already.”

“Well no need to stop at half. Drink the whole bottle. Amenadiel can drive.”

She laughs. “I’m okay for now, but thank you.”

Lucifer shrugs. “Suit yourself.” 

He lifts the glass to his lips and glances out across the apartment, searching for Chloe. He’s been trying not to follow her around the party like a lost puppy, but it’s proving more difficult than he expected. He just...he wants to be close to her. She smells good. And she touches him a lot. They’re just little touches—her fingers brushing his, her shoulder bumping his, her hand on his back—but they remind him that she’s real, and they’re real, and they always will be. 

He spots her standing behind the couch, holding Charlie in her arms and talking to Amenadiel. She doesn’t look angry, but the expression on her face is stern enough to make him smile. He knows she’s already forgiven Amenadiel. She might not admit it, but she has. That’s just who she is. But that doesn’t mean she won’t give him a piece of her mind. 

“She’s unfairly pretty, don’t you think?” he asks the Doctor. 

The Doctor follows his gaze across the apartment and then smiles. “She’s very pretty, yes.” 

“You should see her in lingerie.”

The Doctor snorts. 

Lucifer grins into his whiskey. “But you won’t, and neither will anyone else, because she’s all mine. She said so.”

The Doctor just grins at him. 

Lucifer frowns. “What?” And then he narrows his eyes. “You’re not going to lecture me about being possessive, are you?”

The Doctor shakes her head. “If Chloe enjoys it and it’s not unhealthy—which it doesn’t seem to be—then there’s nothing to lecture about.”

“So then why are you looking at me like that?”

She lifts a shoulder. “I was just thinking that the two of you seem different since you got back.”

“Different how?”

“You seem more…” she trails off and furrows her eyebrows as if she’s searching for the right word. “Steadfast,” she finally says. 

Lucifer considers brushing her off. But then he thinks of the last week with Chloe—of the nightmare that took over reality, the sex and the fights, the death and the resurrection and the promise of forever—and decides he doesn’t want to brush her off. He doesn’t want to pretend. He’s had enough illusions to last him several lifetimes.

“We are,” he admits. And then he frowns. “Did my brother tell you what happened?”

Doctor Linda tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

Lucifer studies her. He can tell by the way her voice lifts and the look in her eyes that she’s feigning ignorance. She does this sometimes during therapy sessions, a habit he never actually noticed until Chloe pointed it out to him during a particularly deep conversation on their road trip. 

“He told you,” Lucifer decides. 

The Doctor smiles and doesn’t try to keep up the charade. “Not all the details. But I got the gist.”

Lucifer smirks at her over the rim of his glass. “Can’t wait to get me back on the couch and hear all about it, hm?”

“If it’s something you’d like to discuss with your therapist, absolutely,” Doctor Linda says. She steps closer to him. “But as your friend, I just want to say that I…” 

She presses her lips together, and her eyebrows furrow. Her eyes fill with tears, and she looks suddenly distraught, and Lucifer turns toward her in concern. 

“Doctor? What’s the matter?”

She reaches out and puts her hand on his arm. “I don’t know what I said when I was under that spell,” she says softly. “Amenadiel won’t tell me. And I think that’s for the best. I don’t want to know because it doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is the truth. And the truth is that you’re a good man, Lucifer. You’re a good friend. And Chloe is very lucky to be loved by someone like you.”

Lucifer stares at her, at a complete loss for words. 

The Doctor squeezes his arm. “All of us are. Myself included.”

Lucifer opens his mouth, but no words will come out. They stand there for a minute or so, just staring at each other. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable by his inability to respond. She never is. 

He pulls her abruptly into his chest for a hug. She doesn’t hesitate to hug him back. She wraps her arms around him and squeezes, and Lucifer closes his eyes and holds her tighter. He’s opening his mouth to tell her that he’s the lucky one when Ms. Lopez interrupts. 

“Aw, are we doing hugs?” she says. “Can I join?” She bounds forward without waiting for an answer, wraps her arms around them both, and squeezes. “Man, I love you guys. I’m so glad we’re doing this. We should do this every week!”

The Doctor laughs. “If there’s wine, I’m there.”

The front door swings open before Lucifer can respond, and Maze saunters in. She sees Lucifer wrapped in the arms of the Doctor and Ms. Lopez, and grins. 

“Started the party without me, huh?”

Lucifer smiles. “Hello Mazikeen.”

Maze grins. “Hope it’s okay I brought a friend.” She slides aside, and Eve steps forward into the empty space. 

“Hi Lucifer,” she greets with a shy smile. 

Lucifer grins. “Hello darling.”

“Maze!” Trixie shouts. She sprints across the room and throws herself at Maze, and Maze catches her easily and with a laugh. 

“Hey little human,” she murmurs. She sets Trixie down and tugs lightly on her ponytail. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” She grins. “Well, technically you’ve already met, but it’s different this time.”

Trixie beams. “Okay.”

Maze introduces Trixie to Eve, and Ella puts her hand over her heart and sighs. “Aw, they’re in love.” She looks up at Lucifer. “First you and Decker, now Maze and Eve. I mean, it must be in the air, am I right?”

Lucifer smiles. “Apparently.”

“This calls for more hugs,” Ella announces.  

She bounces toward the door to hug Eve. The Doctor disentangles herself from Lucifer’s embrace and follows her. Amenadiel crosses the room with Charlie in his arms, and Dan is close behind, but Lucifer doesn’t see Chloe. 

He scans the apartment with a frown, suddenly nervous. Where is she? 

He spots her just before she disappears up the stairs, her head bent forward and her hair shielding her face from view. He doesn’t know where she’s going, or why she’s slipping away in all the commotion, so he does what he’s always done.

He follows her. 


Chloe is holding Charlie and watching Ella, Trixie, and Dan play Uno when Amenadiel approaches her. 

He stops next to her and slides his hands into his pockets but doesn’t say anything. Chloe doesn’t either for a while. She’s too busy bouncing Charlie, who won’t stop giggling and grabbing fistfuls of her hair, and basking in the sound of Trixie laughing every time Dan has to pick up a card. 

It feels really, really good to be home. 

“You were right the other night,” Amenadiel says eventually. His voice is soft but sure. “I did have a choice. There’s always a choice.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, thinking of his father. “So I’ve been told.”

Amenadiel turns toward her. “Does it help to know that I made the choice I did for Lucifer’s sake?”

Chloe finally looks at him. “I get the logic of it, Amenadiel. I do. And I’m not disputing the fact that we’re better off now than we would have been if you’d intervened like we asked. But if you’re about to tell me all’s well that ends well and expect me to just smile and agree, then I’m going to punch you. Hard. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my fists catch on fire now.”

Amenadiel smiles. “Yes, I noticed.”

His amusement makes her want to smile too, but she resists the urge. She shifts Charlie onto her other hip.

“He needed you. You’re the only sibling who’s ever been on his side, and you weren’t there when he needed you the most.”

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. He’s been abandoned and rejected so many times that he’s internalized it. His first instinct is to think he deserves it. And I just...” 

She sighs and glances across the room at Lucifer, who is talking to Linda in the kitchen. He’s wearing a suit that looks just like the one he wore the night she stood before him in a hotel room and asked him to show her the Devil. She thinks of the self-hatred in his voice, the fear in his eyes, the grief that shuddered through his body when he finally broke down in her arms, and she aches. 

“I won’t let it happen again,” she says resolutely. She looks at Amenadiel. “So the next time he asks for your help, you better damn well give it to him.”

Amenadiel nods. “Understood.”

Charlie finally seems to realize that his father is standing nearby. He squirms in Chloe’s arms and then stretches out his chubby little hands toward his dad with a gurgle. Chloe heeds the unspoken request and hands him over, and Amenadiel takes him with a smile. 

Chloe turns back toward her own child. Trixie is grinning triumphantly. When she sets a draw four card down on top of the discard pile with a flourish, Dan groans and Ella cackles. Trixie laughs. Chloe smiles and plays absently with the ring hanging around her neck. 

Amenadiel doesn’t walk away. He just stands next to her like a silent sentinel, bouncing Charlie in his arms, apparently willing to remain in her presence even if she’s angry with him. The longer he stands there, holding his son and smiling at her daughter, the more Chloe softens.

“Just give me some time,” she says eventually.

Amenadiel smiles and nods. “As much as you want. If there’s something that you’d like me to say or do—”

“No,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “Getting everybody together so that Lucifer can see with his own two eyes that the dream is gone was…” She sighs. “Thank you.”

Amenadiel smiles. “I did it for you too.”

Chloe nods. “Yeah. I know.”

Amenadiel gazes at her for a moment, and then turns to face her. “I also wanted to say thank you.” 

Chloe frowns. “For what?”

“For setting my brother free.”

Chloe’s frown deepens.

“I watched him spend millennia running from his guilt,” Amenadiel explains. “It was eating him alive but he wouldn’t acknowledge it. He was afraid to confront it. But then he met you, and he fell in love, and you set him free. He walked out of his loop.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I didn’t do that, Amenadiel. He did.”

“He did the work,” Amenadiel acknowledges. “But he couldn’t have done it without you. You’re the spark that lit him up.”

The front door swings open and Maze enters. Trixie hollers in excitement and abandons her Uno game. Eve appears, and everyone heads for the door to greet the newest arrivals, Amenadiel included. 

Chloe doesn’t though. She stands rooted to the floor, lost in a memory of Lucifer dying in her arms and smiling at her like she was the answer to every question he’d ever asked. 

You’ve always lit me up.  

It’s the always she’s stuck on. They have forever stretched out before them now, and it would be easy to get lost in the possibilities, but she doesn’t want to spend so much time focused on where they’re going that she forgets where they’ve been. She doesn’t want to forget the way he looked at her when she woke up in that hospital bed after Jimmy Barnes shot her. She doesn’t want to forget the sound of his voice on that beach right before she kissed him for the first time. She wants to remember what it was like to fall in love with him.

And she thinks she knows what might help.

She takes advantage of the commotion by the door to slip away from the party unnoticed. Once she gets upstairs and steps over the threshold of her bedroom, she pauses. The last time she was in this room, she was getting ready to meet Lucifer at Lux. She was wearing that black dress, and those strappy high heels, and her body was practically vibrating with excitement. There’s a different kind of excitement thrumming through her veins now—the promise of forever instead of just one night—but the undercurrent is the same. It all comes back to Lucifer. 

She finds what she’s looking for in the jewelry box sitting on top of her dresser. It’s coiled neatly in a corner on the inside of the box. She unhooks the necklace from around her neck, pulls the ring off the chain, and then threads the ring through the other chain she just pulled out of the box.

She’s just finished clasping it around her neck when she hears the floor creak behind her. She turns and sees Lucifer standing in the doorway. He furrows his eyebrows at her in an unspoken question, but then he notices what’s sitting on the chain around her neck next to her ring, and he goes still. 

For a moment he just stands there, staring. When he finally meets her gaze again, she smiles. He crosses the room, stops in front of her, and lifts his hand to hold the bullet he gave her for her birthday.

“I wanted to remember where we started,” she murmurs, tipping her head back to look up at him. “And how far we’ve come.”

He lets go of the bullet, brushes his fingers over the ring, and then lifts his hand to her face. She tilts her head into his palm as he strokes his thumb over the swell of her cheek. 

“We love with a love that’s more than love,” he whispers. “And neither the angels in Heaven above nor the demons down under the sea can ever dissever my soul from yours.”

The words steal the breath straight out of her lungs.

He smiles like he knows. “It’s a quote from—”

“You,” she cuts him off. “They’re your words even if they’re someone else’s.”

He shakes his head. “I have my own words now, love.” He pulls her closer. “I love you.”

She lifts her hands to his face and rises to her toes and kisses him because words don’t feel like enough. He slides his hands along her waist and pulls her closer. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he palms the curve of her back, and she forgets about everything that isn’t him. 

“Maze, I found them!” Trixie’s voice shouts.

Chloe startles in surprise and jerks away from Lucifer.

“Bloody hell, child,” Lucifer mutters. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Trixie, who is standing in the doorway of the bedroom, grins. “And you were right, they’re kissing!” 

“Are they naked?” Maze’s voice hollers from downstairs. 

“Not yet but we’re working on it!” Lucifer hollers back. 

Lucifer,” Chloe hisses. 

“Decker, put your tongue back in your mouth and get down here so I can whip your ass at Uno!” Maze bellows from downstairs.

Trixie crinkles her nose. “Can you guys wait to get naked until after the party?”

“No one is getting naked,” Chloe says, disentangling herself from Lucifer’s arms. He huffs impatiently and reaches for her again. She slaps his hand and gives him a stern look, and he sighs deeply but keeps his hands to himself.

“We’re going to play a giant game of Uno,” Trixie says. “You guys are going to play, right?”

“Of course we are,” Chloe says. 

Trixie beams. “Good cause Dad says if I win I can eat the east coast chocolate cake.”

Lucifer frowns. “What do I get if I win?”

“Cake,” Trixie says with a shrug before turning on her heel and disappearing down the hallway. 

Lucifer scowls after her. “But I don’t want cake. And I hate Uno. Especially with Maze, she cheats.” 

Chloe leans toward him. “If you win I’ll let you eat it off me.”

Lucifer’s eyes bulge in his head, and then he bolts for the door. 

“Make way for the King of Uno!” he hollers. 

Chloe laughs.


It’s a beautiful day in Los Angeles. 

The sky is a stunning shade of blue, and there’s not a cloud to be seen. It’s warm but not hot, and there’s a nice breeze. The Original Farmer’s Market is bustling with people, and there’s a line forming near the Bennett’s Ice Cream stall. 

Chloe isn’t paying attention to the line or the crowds. She’s standing at the counter, waiting for her ice cream cone and watching her boyfriend and her daughter. 

Lucifer has the tallest cone Chloe has ever seen gripped in his hand, and despite the fact that he’s licking the ice cream at a furious pace, it’s melting all over his hand. Trixie is laughing at him. The cone she’s holding is much smaller and far less messy. In between licks, Lucifer is whining to her about how unfair it is that her ice cream isn’t melting as fast as his.

Chloe’s heart feels so full she thinks her chest might burst open. 

“Here you go, ma’am.”

Chloe smiles at the man behind the counter and takes her cone. She grabs a handful of napkins, and then licks her ice cream as she walks toward Lucifer and Trixie.  

“Mom, look how messy he is,” Trixie says with a laugh. “He’s the worst ice cream cone eater ever.”

“How dare you,” Lucifer says. “I excel at everything I do.”

“Yeah except eating ice cream cones,” Trixie snorts. “I bet even Charlie could do it better than you.”

Lucifer huffs in indignation and turns toward Chloe. “Aren’t you going to defend my honor?”

Chloe grins. “No.”

Trixie cackles with laughter.

Lucifer looks deeply offended. “I’m going to spend the rest of eternity being ganged up on by Decker women, aren’t I?”

“Maybe grandma will be on your side,” Trixie offers. 

“Oh that’s right,” Lucifer says with a sly grin. “Mama Decker has always been Team Lucifer.” 

Chloe rolls her eyes.

“Hi Trixie!” a blonde girl shouts from nearby. Trixie turns, gasps, and then whips back around to face Chloe. “Jenna is here! Can I go say hi?!”

Chloe glances toward the nearby table where Trixie’s best friend Jenna is sitting with her parents and brothers. Jenna’s mom waves, and Chloe waves back with a smile. 

“Sure monkey. But don’t stay too long, they might be having family time.”

“Okay!” Trixie says and then takes off. 

Chloe waits until Trixie is safely seated at Jenna’s table, and then turns toward her boyfriend. 

“Bloody hell,” he sighs.

There’s ice cream everywhere. It’s coating the back of his knuckles, staining the cuffs of his shirt, and dripping onto the tops of his shoes. He’s staring down at the chocolate drops on the front of his white shirt with a forlorn look, and there’s a smear of chocolate on his chin. 

Chloe can’t help but laugh. 

Lucifer looks up at her with a glare. “It’s not funny, darling. This is Burberry.”

Chloe wipes a napkin over the smear of chocolate on his chin. “It’s a little funny. Who knew the Devil’s greatest weakness was melty ice cream?”

His lips smooth into a wicked grin. “Actually my greatest weakness is when my girlfriend—”

“Okay,” Chloe cuts him off. “We don’t need to talk about that in public.”

He leans closer to her. “But sex is always more fun in public.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, but when he leans forward to kiss her, she doesn’t shy away. 

“You taste like ice cream,” he hums happily. 

Chloe smiles and kisses him again before leaning back. She runs her free hand down his lapel and thinks about the last time they were here—the night when the dream first started, and they’d just fled the beach and left Trixie behind. 

Lucifer promised her that she’d eat ice cream with Trixie again. And now here she is, eating ice cream with her daughter and the love of her life, and it doesn’t get better than this. Nothing is better than this. 

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer murmurs. 

“Nothing,” she replies, shaking her head. “I was just thinking about how much I love you.”

He grins. “And how much do you love me?” 

She smiles at him, rises onto her toes, and whispers the words against his lips. 

“Heart and soul, Lucifer.”