Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bob was my turtle.

It all makes more sense as Chloe scrutinizes the crude turtle sketch that the bubbly forensic scientist slaps on her desk. It’s a welcome distraction from Dan’s squeaking desk chair that contains Earth’s First Lady, making her thousandth revolution at the hands of the Devil. Chloe diverts her eyes away from the scene back to the penciled reptile.  

“A turtle?” Chloe asks, ignoring the giggles of the nearby doe-eyed brunette.

“Not just any turtle, Chloe. Bob. What do you think?”

“It’s…not bad, Ella.”

Ella preens as she snatches back the drawing and clutches it to her chest. She sways slightly, smiling with watery eyes and a faraway look that signals her retreat into happier memories of her hard-shelled friend.

“So, are you taking an art class or something?”

“Huh?” Ella stares blankly at the befuddled detective.

“Yeah, you know, to draw this?” Chloe motions to the now wrinkled drawing in Ella’s embrace.

“Oh! Well. Kind of, I guess.”

Chloe waits for more information from her friend. Ella’s face morphs into a shy expression, eyes glued to her Converse-clad feet.

“I, um, I’m getting a tattoo,” Ella mumbles.

Chloe continues to piece together the new information while idly tapping a pen on her desk. A smile creeps onto her face and her eyes brighten. “Ella, that’s great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Wow, uh, Decker, no offense, but I didn’t expect to hear that coming from you.”

“What do you mean?”

Ella fidgets in place. “No offense! It’s just that you’re so straightlaced. I would’ve never guessed you would be okay with a tattoo.”

“You’d be surprised,” Chloe mumbles, failing to notice that the squeaking of Dan’s chair comes to a grinding halt.

“Whoa, what’s this I hear? You’re okay with tattoos?” Ella inquires.

“Well, I mean, if it’s something important to you, then sure. Just make sure it’s really what you want. And that it’ll continue to mean something to you…” Chloe squirms minutely in her seat, rubbing a hand against her left upper chest. “…for a very long time.”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done with the Detective?” Lucifer mocks as he guides his girlfriend over to her desk. His dark eyes sparkle with intrigue as he fixes his gaze solely on the Detective.

Chloe narrows her eyes at the approaching couple and chooses to straighten a stack of documents on her desk instead of replying. She clears her throat and becomes wholly interested in the information on her computer screen. Her lack of acknowledgement of Lucifer’s taunt frustrates him further.

“Miss Lopez, may I see the drawing?”

Ella hands over the sketch to Lucifer as Eve peers over his shoulder. She coos over the drawing as Lucifer contemplates the intricate details of the shell.

“Excellent angle, Miss Lopez. I’ve always considered shots from behind to be the best,” Lucifer declares with a salacious smirk.

“Gross,” Chloe groans, swallowing the bile in her throat as she notices the sly grin on Eve’s face.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Dan inquires as he joins the congregation at Chloe’s desk. He idly stirs his cup of pudding, noticing the turtle drawing. “Oh wow, is that Bob?”

“Yes!”

“Bob?” Lucifer blurts out.

“Yes, Bob. He was my turtle.”

“Rest in peace, Bob,” Eve contributes.

“Oh no, he’s not dead. He’s just in a better place.”

“Certainly not Heaven, then,” Lucifer adds. Eve nods furiously.

“Bob is with a family in Arizona now. Eating carrots and crickets to his heart’s desire.”

“Well, that’s great, Ella. I think the design is great and it will look great. And it’s great that Bob is doing well,” Chloe interjects in hope that the crowd at her desk will disperse. It’s the middle of the workday, after all.

“That’s high praise coming from you, Detective,” Lucifer wheedles as he steps closer to her desk and unconsciously shrugs Eve off his shoulder. “Color me surprised that you would approve of such a permanent choice. Something that not all people approve of.”

He is challenging her with his eyes, she can tell. Constantly testing her since the truth came out. His anger and frustration with her are thinly veiled. Luckily, the rest of the group is rather obtuse to what it all means. Chloe juts out her chin and meets his gaze with as much fervor as she can manage under the circumstances.

“Yes. I am not condemning the unconventional, Lucifer. I believe in choice. And however we choose to express that choice. For Ella, it’s a tattoo of her turtle, Bob.”

“Oh certainly, Detective. You’re okay with however we choose to express ourselves, is that right?”

“Sure,” comes her tight-lipped response. She turns to Ella. “Ella, I think a tattoo is a great idea.” Chloe swallows before the next words escape her, “I know that mine means a lot to me.”

Lucifer and Ella’s eyebrows skyrocket and his mouth opens with a question. Chloe immediately regrets opening her mouth.

“Agreed,” Dan interrupts. “I’ve haven’t regretted mine for a second.” He pushes back the sleeve of his shirt with a whispered “bam” to reveal a simple hibiscus flower with the name Trixie underneath. Both Eve and Ella take note of both the tattoo and the tanned skin of Dan’s forearm.   

“Is Dan trying to arm wrestle again?” Maze asks as she glides into the bullpen towards the group by Chloe’s desk. “I guess he’s pretty pissed since I beat him last time. Three times actually.” Dan rolls his eyes and hurriedly pulls his sleeve back down his forearm. Maze pushes through the crowd to sit on the edge of Chloe’s desk. “What are you guys talking about?”

“My tattoo!” Ella proclaims, proudly. Maze’s eyes slide over to the forensic scientist with a once-over before an indelicate grin plasters itself on her face.

“Where?”

“Oh well, I mean, it hasn’t happened yet, but I was thinking…my calf.”

“How boring,” Lucifer and Maze conclude together.

“Now come on. There’s nothing wrong with calf tattoos,” Dan interjects.

“Daniel, you are no expert on body parts. I’m surprised your arms aren’t riddled with pudding cups and barbed wire.”

“Hey man. I’m just saying where we choose to have our tattoos should mean something. For me, it’s on my arm so that I see it every time I’m paddling out,” Dan smiles softly as he glances down towards his arm. Chloe places a soft hand on his shoulder and nods at him.

Lucifer tracks the physical exchange and decidedly dislikes witnessing approval from the Detective towards anyone else. He doesn’t understand what this means, but it serves to fuel his restlessness in the situation. He opens his mouth to speak-

“I mean, at least get your tattoo somewhere cool on your body. Like this,” Maze interrupts, lifting up her tight leather bodice to reveal a clean outline of Africa inked into her left side. “Or maybe do what Chloe did and get the tattoo over a-“

Chloe slams her hand down on her desk as she stands. “What Maze is trying to say is that you should choose whatever you like. Wherever you like.” Chloe pushes away from her desk and starts gathering the stack of documents into her bag. “I think I’m going to grab an early lunch.”

“Hold on chica! You said yours means a lot to you. Time to pony up, sister.” Ella starts glancing up and down the Detective’s body, searching for clues of her tattoo’s whereabouts.

“Oh, that’s right. Chloe’s tat is pretty cool. Probably the only cool thing about Granny Pants Decker,” Maze adds.

“Thanks, Maze.” With her bag packed, Chloe escapes towards the stairs without a further word.

Lucifer stands dumbfounded, mouth slightly ajar as he processes this new bit of information.

***

Ella finds the elusive detective outside at a park bench an hour later. Chloe has a laptop opened on the bench beside her as she scans through the paper documents in her hands. Nothing particularly interesting but enough to keep her distracted from the morning’s big reveal.

“Hey Chloe.”

“Hi Ella.”

“Sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

Chloe doesn’t respond. Her friend plops down beside her on the bench, perfectly content to keep her friend company. A few more idle moments pass by as Ella swings her feet. Chloe clears her throat and sets her documents down beside her.

“Go ahead and ask what you’re going to ask.”

“What are you talking about?” Ella feigns.

Chloe gives her an exasperated look.

“Okay. Okay. Can I…can I see it?” Ella pleads, inching closer to Chloe on the bench.

Chloe sighs, looks up at her friend, and says, “Not here.”

They find themselves moments later in the evidence room. Chloe sets her laptop and documents aside and turns around briskly to face her overly eager friend.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” Chloe leans forward, checks the exits, and pulls her blouse to the side, revealing her big secret.

***

Lucifer’s annoyance is growing exponentially as Maze idly spins one of her many blades in her hand, feet propped on Chloe’s desk. Eve has found her way over to the conference room for a nap since Chloe left, no longer interested in the goings-on of the bullpen.

“What?” Maze sneers.

“Nothing,” Lucifer harrumphs.

“Liar.”

Lucifer bristles before snatching the knife from Maze’s hands. “Don’t you have a bounty to catch?”

“Nope.” Maze pops the “p.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Maze grins.

Lucifer glances at Chloe’s desk and then back at his demon friend, contemplating his next move.

“Clearly you’ve seen it.”

“Seen what, Lucifer?”

“Oh, don’t play coy with me Mazikeen. The Detective’s tattoo!” He hisses.

“Maybe.”

Lucifer throws his hands up in the air and stomps to the vending machines, knowing that Cool Ranch Puffs will not fix this. He paces in front of the machines before noticing the Detective leaving the evidence room with Ella, who looks overly pleased. His restlessness grows.

***

Things come to a head when he watches Chloe preparing to leave the precinct, seemingly unburdened and unaware of his inner struggle. He fails to notice that his girlfriend left with Maze long ago for drinks.

“Detective, wait up! I’ll escort you to your vehicle,” he announces.

“Oh okay. That’s really not necessary.”

“Of course it is.”

By some stroke of genius Lucifer has found another umbrella and whips it open over Chloe’s head as they embark into the outside world of sunny Los Angeles.

“We certainly don’t want any of that pesky UV light damaging your ink, now do we?” Lucifer pries.

“My ink?”

“Yes, Detective, your tattoo,” he attempts again.

“Again, really not necessary. It’s plenty safe.”

“I’ll take your word for it, then, given that I’ve never seen it.”

Chloe ignores him as she shrugs her bag to her right shoulder. They come to a stop in front of her cruiser. The parking deck is mostly empty in the early evening. The umbrella droops to Lucifer’s side as she digs through her bag for her keys.

“I know what you’re doing, Lucifer.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“You want to see the tattoo so you can make fun of me some more.”

“Detective, I assure you, I would never do such a thing.”

“Uh huh, tell that to Dan.” Chloe activates the key fob and unlocks the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe you can do more than turn Dan’s chair into a merry-go-round.” She reaches to open her door. Lucifer chooses that moment to slam his hand against the car door, keeping it closed. He crowds her against the vehicle. He lifts his hand from the car and takes another step into Chloe’s personal space as he fiddles with his cufflinks.

“I find myself a bit desperate, you see. I don’t really understand it…Detective.” He clears his throat and finally meets her eyes. “May I…if it’s okay with you…may I see it?”

Chloe stares back, unmoving. She drops her bag to the ground and refocuses on the Devil before her. He watches dumbly as Chloe releases the top clasp of her silk blouse. Her hands shake as she fumbles with the following button. This is silly, she thinks. She has revealed much more skin than this, even when having the actual tattoo embedded into her flesh. A warm hand stills her own as Lucifer brushes her shirt away from her upper chest, gently undoing the second button. His thumb expertly and gently pulls her bra strap to the side as he peers at the tattoo. She hears his sharp inhale and waits.

“It’s…marvelous,” he chokes. He takes in the lines and patterns of an intricate serpent circling around her old bullet wound from Jimmy Barnes, mouth engulfing its own tail.

The skin around the bullet entry site is still pink, slightly puckered, and will likely never fully vanish from her shoulder. Lucifer brushes his thumb across the scar, allowing his left hand to creep up to her neck. “Really. Quite lovely,” he whispers.

Chloe’s eyes dart first to his thumb rubbing back and forth across her skin before peering up into Lucifer’s eyes, now blackened by some unspoken emotion. She clears her throat. “Thanks. It’s an…”

“Ouroboros. I am quite familiar, Detective,” he mumbles as he inspects the serpent more closely. “A symbol of life and death, destruction and rebirth.” His left hand inches further into her hair. “Renewal,” he husks. Lucifer then tilts her chin up as his thumb brushes her lower lip. “Fertility,” he finishes through whispered breath.

“It, um, after everything with…Pierce…and nearly dying a second time…”

“Third,” Lucifer blurts.

“Right. A third time. I wanted something to remind me that there is no real ending to things. That I am just a part of the cycle. In a weird way, that sense of insignificance…it gives me comfort.”

“Insignificance?”

“Yeah, sure. That my life is just a small blip, you know, in the scheme of things,” she shrugs.

“Detective…Chloe, you..” he huffs, “are anything but insignificant.” It feels like a confession. “I, uh, I apologize for my behavior earlier.”

He gives her a sad smile before he takes a step back. “I find that you are full of surprises.”

Chapter Text

Test di gravidanza?

Chloe learns that, as it turns out, asking for a pregnancy test in Italian is rather simple. With trembling voice and a handful of euros, she nods with a smile and a grazie to the store clerk as he hands her the small box. Equally grateful that Trixie is otherwise occupied by the conveniently located freezer box of gelato a few aisles over, Chloe pockets the test and gathers herself together before navigating her way over to her daughter.

“Ready to go, Monkey?”

***

The test is negative.

Chloe leans over the sink, breathless with relief. It’d been well over two months since she shared a bed with Pierce and longer still since her last period. She prays for the multiple blessings that could explain her amenorrhea, nausea, and headaches: stress from discovering the love of her life is the actual Devil, a diet of vending machine sandwiches devoid of nutrients, early menopause, or maybe even cancer. She splashes her face with water to stave off the nausea before exiting the library bathroom and returning to a desk replete with ancient texts full of religious speculation.   

She clutches her daughter tight against her side a week later at the airport as they prepare to board their flight home to the city of angels.

***

The nausea and headaches return stateside.

Attributing it to lack of sleep, over-caffeination on an empty stomach, and the giggles of a doe-eyed brunette, Chloe soldiers on throughout the days. She can no longer stomach coffee and notices the curious look on her partner’s face when she barely touches her tall non-fat almond milk latte with sugar-free caramel drizzle. It takes an act of God (maybe even for real, she thinks) when she doesn’t toss her cookies at a rather gruesome crime scene.

She leaves in the middle of a conversation with Lucifer about how no, he absolutely cannot get his own desk beside hers during the precinct’s budget season and annual call-out for new office supplies. Standing abruptly after her closing argument, Chloe beelines for the bathroom.  

She locks the door, as if that could keep the Devil out, and vomits in the third stall.

Standing with sallow face in front of the mirror, Chloe begins to question the legitimacy of the pregnancy test and decides it’s time for second opinion.

***

She leaves work early on a Wednesday for her appointment. She ignores the muddled look of concern on her partner’s face when she cuts the day short. She hasn’t left work early like ever and she wants as little fanfare as possible exiting the building.

She hears the characteristic Louboutin-ed footsteps of Lucifer behind her as she hastens her escape to her cruiser.

“Detective!”

She stops, contemplating turning around to face him. Thinking better of it, she remains where she stands as she pulls her blazer tighter across her torso. “What?” She huffs.

“It’s 2:30 in the afternoon. Where do you think you’re going?”

“It’s none of your business, Lucifer.” She’s being cruel, she knows it, but Chloe finds little grace to spare in this moment.

Lucifer’s despondency permeates the open air as they stand beneath the Los Angeles sun.

“Detective, I-”

“I have a doctor’s appointment, that’s all.”

It would be comical the way his head tilts to the side like a bird investigating something particularly interesting if it weren’t for the impending barrage of tests she is likely to experience in the next hour.

“Are you ill, Detective?”

“No, Lucifer, it’s just a routine visit,” she lies. “You know, something us mere mortals must do on occasion,” her joke fails, evolving into more of a jab against her partner’s otherworldliness.

“You haven’t been eating, Chloe.” The sweep of his eyes across her body sends a chilling heat down her spine. “You never touch your coffee anymore. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Shit.

She has been avoiding his looks and dark eyes since being back. It seems like he is constantly watching her at crime scenes, during interrogations, and at her desk, waiting for her to break. How can she possibly tell him that she may be gravely ill, or worse still, pregnant with the spawn of the world’s first murderer? A man she invited into her life, her bed, and into her daughter’s life. The greatest grift of all against a detective, to be bedded by a murderer, only to be one-upped by the fact that her partner is the literal Devil.

“I’m fine.” More lies.

 ***

Her primary care physician is a lovely elderly woman with graying hair and lines on her face born of long hours caring for other people. Chloe sees herself in this woman and has trusted her implicitly since before Trixie joined the world.

“Alright Miss Decker, let’s take a look here.”

What follows is a full head-to-toe physical assessment followed by a series of probing questions and an eventual blood draw and pelvic exam. The doctor listens closely to her concerns regarding the missed periods, nausea, and headaches. Chloe recounts the stress at work in a much vaguer sense to spare the good doctor from the truth.

“That does indeed sound like a great deal of stress,” the doctor says as she types away at her computer. “Just a few more additional questions,” she turns in her chair to face the fidgety detective. “Can you read that sign for me?”

Chloe gawks at the request. Of course she can read that sign, she thinks. Turning her head to the aforementioned sign on the wall, Chloe opens her mouth to speak.

“It says…” Well, shit. “It’s talking about getting your annual flu vaccine.” A guess.

“Hmmm. That’s a good guess, Miss Decker. I appreciate the effort,” she smiles kindly. “When was your last eye exam?”

The fact that she cannot instantly recall the date raises a flag.

“I guess…before the divorce?” Chloe sounds unsure.

“Your headaches and nausea may be explained by a change in your vision. Nearsightedness tends to increase as we age.” She adjusts her glasses on her face. “As for the lack of periods, well, we will likely get the results of these tests by Friday morning.”

Chloe nods, defeated by the prospects of old age and more waiting.

“But I would like to assuage your fears a bit. You are still a healthy, strong woman…” The doctor turns back to her computer screen. “But maybe a bit underweight, my dear. That may explain the lack of a menstrual cycle.”

If only her mother could hear the good doctor now, Chloe laughs to herself, remembering the years of watching a scale between auditions.

“My advice? Go see an optometrist. Glasses may help the headaches and the nausea. Then maybe you’ll feel like eating. How does that sound?”

Chloe nods with a watery smile. Great. She leaves the office that afternoon feeling ancient, possibly still pregnant, and nowhere closer to relief.

***

It feels like a year before Friday morning arrives. Her phone screen lights up on her desk with the caller ID of her physician’s office. This time Eve has occupied the stray chair by her desk, idly spinning in place as she eats one of Dan’s puddings. Lucifer is MIA, as usual, having disappeared earlier to harass Dan about his amethyst bracelet. The first woman notices the phone screen and her brows shoot up in obvious interest. Chloe takes note of her large doe eyes, probably capable of perfect vision, and stands with phone in hand to lock herself away in the supposedly vacated evidence room. She doesn’t hear the shuffle of a cardboard box sliding against one of the shelves as she enters.

“This is Chloe Decker.”

“Miss Decker! Good morning, dear. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” she says softly as she slumps against a shelving unit in the far corner of the room.

“Well then, I’ll cut right to it. Your hormone levels are back, indicating that you are indeed not in early menopause.”

Okay, that’s good.

“Pap smear is normal, chemistry and liver labs are normal. Your blood counts look great, though perhaps a bit anemic. Are you eating enough iron-rich foods?”

“Probably not.” Definitely not.

“Try to do better with your intake, my dear. Have you been to the eye doctor yet?”

“Oh, um. No. That’s next Tuesday.”

“Fantastic.” She hears the doctor shuffle some papers. “HIV and hepatitis B are both negative.”

Chloe’s relief with that last statement is palpable. Sleeping with a previously immortal man has made her question everything. The silence on the other end of the line indicates that the doctor is waiting for a response.

“That’s, um, that’s good to hear.” Chloe chokes on the next question, “The, um, the pregnancy test. Did that come back?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Miss Decker, you are not pregnant.”

Chloe slumps further down the shelving unit until she is sitting on the ground with her face in her hands as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Okay. Thank you,” she whispers into the receiver.

“No worries, my dear. Now, if your headaches and nausea are not better after you address your vision, I would like to see you back pronto in my office. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good.”

“Excellent. Do let me know if there is anything further I can do to assist.”

Chloe mumbles words of gratitude before ending the call. The relief floods her small frame as tears spring to her eyes.

***

Lucifer knows the latest confiscation of goods from one of the local drug enthusiasts has made its way onto the lovely shelves of the evidence room. He had grown bored making fun of Dan’s bracelet and had moved onto his weekly raid of the precinct fridge. Finding nothing worthy of his palate, he deposits a cup of pudding in his girlfriend’s hands before spiriting away to the evidence room unseen.

He makes his way to the corner of the evidence room notorious for mind-altering discoveries and begins to sift through boxes and sealed evidence baggies. Cacuzza is otherwise distracted by a boxful of gourmet donuts deposited at her station by a very charismatic civilian consultant.

He pauses in his drug quest when he hears the hurried steps of sensible brown shoes entering the evidence room, closely followed by “This is Chloe Decker.”

He hears his partner lean against the shelves as a quiet exchange begins between her and the other person on the line. Trying not to hear the conversation that is likely boring, he sifts further through one of the cardboard boxes before he hears the detective say something about next Tuesday. Lucifer pauses in his search to listen out for what might be happening next week.

“The, um, the pregnancy test. Did that come back?”

Lucifer straightens at the question, trying to recall if their current case involves questionable motherhood. It doesn’t. His ears prick further when he hears the detective thank the caller before hanging up. He slinks down the aisle to peer through the boxes to the other corner of the evidence room as he witnesses Chloe sink to the floor with her head in her hands.

He can hear his partner crying, albeit quietly. Choked sobs reach his ears as he contemplates the meaning behind the tears. This was a personal call.

Full of personal news.

Chapter Text

Chloe wakes in her daughter’s empty bed to the subtle sounds of the television in the living room. The low frequency electric hum of the modern device causes her to sit up quickly in bed. The space beside her is still warm, indicating that Trixie has vacated only recently. With Maze having completely moved out long ago, Chloe suspects that her preteen daughter has snuck out to watch some late-night show otherwise banned from broadcasting during waking, child-friendly hours.

Since finding out that the world is, in fact, just a blip between heaven eternal and eternal damnation, Chloe has implored Trixie on multiple occasions to switch bedrooms and be off the ground level and further away from the threats that lead to nightmarish, fiery ends. Trixie had rolled her eyes at her mother, having learned from the best, and flipped a braided pigtail behind her shoulder as she skipped to her room. When offered Maze’s old room, Trixie quickly declined, stating that her leather-clad and prickly friend would eventually be back. It seems that Chloe ends up in Trixie’s bed most nights since their return from Rome, unsure if it’s due to her daughter’s request or the insomnia-inducing fear that heaven and hell exist and the man she loves is most definitely the lord of one of those realms.

Chloe forgoes the standard issue firearm in her closet safe upstairs as she glides from the bed in tired pajamas. Her feet make noiseless impressions in the carpeted bedroom as she eases herself across the threshold, careful to avoid the especially squeaky wooden plank. Her eyes adjust to the flicker of the television screen against the walls of the room. The sound on the device is muted but the high-pitch electric hum continues to crescendo in her ear.  

The silhouette of a broad-shouldered man on the couch reveals itself during the bright flashes of the screen, hair color indiscernible in the dark room. Chloe takes a wavering step forward on a mission to uncover the identity of the stranger on the couch. The absence of the lingering scents of smoke and whiskey indicates to her that this is not her partner. That realization leaves her surprisingly bereft of comfort and safety. The shadow remains still as she reaches out a hand to place on its left shoulder. The shadow turns to acknowledge her presence, not fully facing her. He lifts his right arm above his head, and it is at this moment that Chloe simultaneously notices the circular scar on his large bicep and the karambit poised overhead, intentionally aimed at the small sleeping form by his side. She looks down to the cushions of the couch to see the blanketed and softly breathing body of her daughter…

Chloe jolts awake in Trixie’s bed, quickly rolling over to confirm that the safe, sleeping form of her daughter is still beside her. She doesn’t go back to sleep that night.

***

Lucifer strolls across the bullpen without particular intention of contributing to work or progress or whatever mission the LAPD has adopted for the day. Having just sent off the detective to an eye appointment of all absurd human things, he sees no other reason for remaining at the precinct; however, he finds it odd that he is a bit hesitant to leave. Eve is waiting for him back at Lux for happy hour festivities that have already started hours before actual happy hour. He should’ve left then to join in the guaranteed debauchery his girlfriend has planned, yet the prospect of doing so has left him completely uninterested. In an attempt to fill the void in the absence of the detective, he finds himself walking towards her empty desk to stir up some trouble. Convinced that the detective’s eyes are perfect and surely without need for the poking and prodding of optometrists, he ruminates on the ridiculous upkeep that humans require.

“Hi Lucifer!” A small human chirps from Dan’s desk chair newly situated beneath the stairs of the precinct. Lucifer halts his journey, peering down at the pig-tailed girl.

“Oh, hello urchin,” he utters, unsure if it is wise to speak with the detective’s spawn sans detective since their return from Europe. Their partnership, while a newly re-instated thing since a bullet to the gut, is precarious at best. He finds that he is unsure of many things now when it comes to the detective, including whether she trusts him to be around her daughter in her absence.

Trixie’s stares back up at him with an expectant grin. Adult teeth have filled the gaps in her smile and he finds her altogether less sticky and more tolerable than when they first met outside the principal’s office.

“Where is your father, child?” He hesitates, not altogether surprised at the douche’s ineptitude in the responsible supervision of a small human in one of the country’s busiest police departments. He takes note of her crude drawing of sea monsters taking form in front of her on a scrap piece of paper.

“Ella’s watching me while dad went to grab something,” Trixie offers, nodding towards the open blinds of the lab where a petite, yet fierce Latina squints her eyes menacingly at Lucifer while cleaning pipettes. Ella follows up her display of pseudo-overprotectiveness with a wink and a grin before returning to scrubbing.

Lucifer adjusts his cufflinks and makes to leave when he feels Trixie tug on the back of his jacket. Stopping abruptly, he lets out an exasperated sigh and mumbled complaints about Armani and grabby parasites before looking down at the person in question.

“Are you and mom fighting?” She asks quietly, struggling to make eye contact as fresh tears anoint her face. He feels a slight pang of sadness, both at her question and the realization that Beatrice is growing up and no longer refers to the detective as mommy.

Quickly realizing that the tears of Decker women are still his kryptonite, he pauses to come up with what would constitute an accurate reply. “Whatever do you mean, child?” He inquires instead, stooping down a bit and softening his voice.

Trixie looks down at her current doodle and fidgets with the colored pencil. Lucifer can see her swallowing and losing a swift battle with the tears. She slumps in her seat and rests her chin on her folded hands on the desk, colored pencil forgotten as it rolls onto the floor.

“You never visit us anymore,” she mutters into her shirt sleeve as she rubs it against her tear-stained cheek. “Mom seems sad all the time.” Trixie rests her forehead further on her folded arms, averting her gaze.

“Come now, child. None of that.” Lucifer nudges her elbow softly as he sinks into a chair opposite her. He sits ramrod straight as he contemplates the next course of action.

“Mom’s not sleeping well. I hear her at night. The nightmares. She can’t sleep,” Trixie mumbles into her sleeve. “I can’t sleep.”

Lucifer leans closer, placing a large, tentative hand flat on Daniel’s desk. At no sign of distress from the small human, he leans closer and folds his other hand on top it. Trixie’s sniffling begins to subside as he lowers his head and eases his chin onto his folded hands, becoming eye-level with her. “Now now, gremlin,” he consoles softly across the desk.

Trixie lifts her face from her folded arms and peers at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Do you hate us now?” She asks between sniffles.

Lucifer sits back in the chair quickly, as if hit by a blunt force.

“Never,” he says.

“Then why won’t you come visit?”

Lucifer refolds his hands in his lap, finding them far more interesting than the sad face of the girl before him. “Beatrice, it’s not that easy,” he begs.

“Why?” She pleads softly.

Lucifer nudges her small chin up with his thumb before softly flicking her on the nose, eliciting a smile from her. “Because, urchin, we adults are altogether cumbersome and finicky,” he concludes. “We say mean things while hardly meaning what we say.”

“But you don’t. You keep it simple. And fun.” She scoots closer and pulls on his jacket sleeve to emphasize the last part. “Please come visit. Mom likes you. She could never stay mad at you.” Looking down at her drawing, she adds “Maybe you could keep the nightmares away.”

Lucifer gently pries her fingers off his jacket before giving her a barely there nod. Trixie’s smile grows into what he can only describe as heartwarming, even if irritatingly so. Fearing an unwelcomed and sticky hug on the horizon, he distracts the spawn with a question. “Whatever are you drawing, child?”

Successfully derailed from hugs and general weepiness, Trixie starts in on an explanation of sea monsters and ships, winding an intricate tale that sounds like an off-center and entirely inaccurate version of The Odyssey.

“Goodness, urchin. Is that Scylla and Charybdis?”

“Yes!” She squeals, basking in Lucifer’s recognition of her handiwork. “It’s about choosing between a rock and a hard place.”

“Or perhaps between the devil and the deep blue sea, my dear,” he says with a wink. Thinking further, he adds “You do know Homer never existed, right? And even if he did, what a bore he would’ve been. Choosing between a whirlpool and an angry lady with dogs girding her loins?”

Trixie giggles briefly before schooling her expression. “But maybe we don’t have to choose. Maybe there’s another way. Or,” she adds, “maybe the thing you think is evil isn’t so bad after all.”

Lucifer is momentarily distracted by the sageness of such a young human before being rudely interrupted by the clearing of a throat behind him.

“Hey monkey, you okay?” Dan asks as he pushes Lucifer to the side, giving him a threatening glare.

“Hey daddy!”  

“I grabbed some snacks from the vending machine. What do you think? Skittles or Cool Ranch Puffs?”

Trixie considers the bounty before her before looking up at Lucifer before she proudly answers her father.

“Cool Ranch Puffs.”

***

The headaches have stopped. The nausea has dissipated. Chloe reluctantly acknowledges that the block-framed and, per Ella, super sleek pair of eyeglasses may have something to do with it. Maze’s passing comment regarding her new hot nerd persona has her unsure of how to hide this newest addition to her face.

Chloe arrives to the precinct later than usual on a Friday, bare-faced and in wrinkled clothes, thick frames hardly hiding the dark circles under her eyes. She settles at her desk to find a piping hot cup of coffee before her

“Good morning, detective.” The aroma of the coffee and the deep tones of her partner soothe her nerves instantly.

“Good morning, Lucifer.” A soft moan escapes her as she takes a sip from the cup. “Thank you,” she murmurs, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“Can’t have a tired detective with all the miscreants shambling about.”

She looks up at him with an appreciative smile. Lucifer is wearing a dark blue suit today with a deep purple shirt underneath. His recent explorations of non-black suits have left Chloe nothing short of pleased and intrigued. Equally intriguing is the fact that her partner is at work so early, especially since no case has been assigned to them today.

“We, um, we don’t actually have a case today, so-“

“Your spectacles are quite lovely, have I told you that? I can see why you humans love your eye appointments.”

Chloe scoffs. “Well, we humans would actually just love to have the luxury of perfect vision.”

Lucifer ignores her jab and settles down in the chair across from her, tugging at his lapels and cufflinks. “Look no further, detective. Before you sits the perfect vision.” He motions to himself with a wink and lopsided grin.

Chloe snorts and shakes her head before shuffling the papers on her desk. “Um, so anyway, no case today. Likely just paperwork, a meeting or two, you know, the boring stuff.” She refuses to see his face when he makes the inevitable decision to flee the building.

“Oh, well, that’s quite alright, detective. We are more than deserving of a relaxing break from catching killers.”

“Hmm, at least one of us is,” she teases.

Lucifer chuckles in defeat and is quickly distracted by his phone buzzing in his pocket. Chloe ignores the sinking feeling of jealousy as she assumes the identity of the person on the other end is no other than Eve when he smiles down at his phone. She begins to log into her desktop to check emails and calendars when an unexpected shattering sound of glass erupts across the precinct. The surprise sends Chloe’s arm flailing across her desk and the scalding coffee onto her hand as she reaches for her weapon.

The party in question is a guilty-looking officer surrounded by the splinters of a coffee pot at his feet. The momentary shocked silence of the precinct quickly returns to its usual noisy normal, now interspersed with jokes and jabs at the clumsy employee.

Lucifer takes stock of Chloe’s desk, immediately noticing wasted caffeine and the angry red burn mark on his detective’s hand. She watches his eyes flash red as he looks back at the officer now cleaning up the mess.

“Lucifer, I’m fine.”

“No, you bloody well are not,” he hisses before corralling her from her desk and into the nearest bathroom.

He immediately pulls her hand under a sink faucet, allowing cool water to engulf her injured hand. A confused cadet enters the bathroom, wide-eyed and alarmed by the two at the sink.

“Shoo,” Lucifer orders. The cadet scurries away.

Lucifer continues to gently hold her hand under the flowing water, visibly rattled by the entire situation.

“I think it’s okay now,” Chloe whispers.

He reluctantly shuts off the water and reaches around her to grab a handful of paper towels. “I am so sorry, detective.” He dabs at her hand. “That coffee was too hot.” He continues to dab softly, refusing to meet her eyes.

“No, Lucifer, that coffee was wonderful. Thank you.”

“Still, it shouldn’t have burnt you like that. It’s my fault.”

“It was an accident. I’m fine,” she pleads in the small space between them. “Look. Good as new.” She offers her hand to him again to show that the redness has started to retreat.

“I-I-,” he stutters, before taking her small hand in both of his. “I am truly sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Later, when they have decided to leave the precinct for lunch, Chloe hears his phone buzz in his pocket again. He pulls out the offending object, and she watches as a soft smile blooms across his face. He responds in text to the person on the other end and she fights to ignore the sinking feeling from earlier.

***

A new Friday tradition in the Decker household is Pajama Friday. Trixie officially dubbed it so several weeks ago to encourage her mother to slow down at the end of the week and simply get comfortable. Dinner consumed and dirty dishes declared a Tomorrow Problem, Trixie snuggles into the couch in her pink axolotl pajamas, waiting for her mother to finish making the popcorn.

Chloe places the giant bowl in front of her daughter, returning to the kitchen for wine and hot cocoa. A knock on the door distracts her from her quest. Seeing the familiar silhouette of her partner through the intentionally murky glass by the front door, she opens it to reveal a silk-clad devil.

“Hello,” he says as eloquently as possible, shuffling back and forth in his fuzzy slippers.

“Lucifer. Hi.”

“Hi Lucifer!” Trixie squawks from the couch.

“Gremlin.”

Chloe remains frozen in her place at the threshold, taking in the red robe and sleeping pants of the man before her. His smooth, defined chest peeks through the top of his robe. Following upwards from his chest to his stubbled face, she realizes his hair is devoid of product and untamed with soft curls across his forehead.

“Nice jim-jams, detective,” he says, unashamedly appraising her sleep shorts and oversized Hootie & the Blowfish sweatshirt. “Love me some Hootie,” he adds, licking his lips as subtly as possible.

Chloe rolls her eyes and steps aside, allowing her partner into her home.

“Your spawn is quite persistent,” Lucifer offers, placing a bottle of expensive-looking red wine on the kitchen counter alongside an even more expensive-looking bottle of whiskey. “But I’m sure you know that.”

“I wonder who she gets it from,” Chloe chuckles, taking stock of the wine. “Would you like some hot cocoa?”

“Heavens no, detective.” He eyes a mug of the proffered drink and reconsiders. “Actually, yes. Thank you, darling. Always so thoughtful.” Uncapping the whiskey, he adds a generous helping into the mug. “I must say, when the urchin mentioned your love for pajama parties, I pictured a little more pillow fights and facials and a lot less nostalgic nineties jams and movies,” he says, noticing The Sandlot paused on the television screen.

“Gross.”

“All that to say, I would be honored to join you lovely ladies tonight. For nostalgia’s sake,” he adds. “If you’ll have me."

Chloe knows that he is asking permission, for her consent to allow him to join in on a quiet evening in with her daughter. She also knows that Trixie has undoubtedly coordinated this visit and it is highly likely that her conspiratorial texts with her partner were the reason behind his soft smiles today at the precinct.

“Of course.”

He grins at her before whisking himself away into the living room to join the urchin on the couch. Prying the popcorn bowl from her hands, he forfeits his personal space when she latches onto his side. She grins up at him and he playfully snarls back. Chloe pours herself a generous helping of wine and procures another hot mug of cocoa sans whiskey for her daughter. Settling on the other side of Trixie, she curls her feet under the large fluffy blanket that has been spread before them on the couch.

***

The DVD menu has been playing on repeat for over an hour now with hot cocoa, whiskey, and wine successfully consumed by the crew on the couch. Lucifer drifts pleasantly in and out of slumber as the small child beside him nuzzles deeper into his side, fast asleep. Equally squished against his shoulder is a quietly snoring detective in crooked black-framed glasses. He is strangely unbothered by the buttery fingerprints on his robe that the urchin inevitably left behind. Contemplating his next course of action, Lucifer feels a sense of peace in the moment and is hesitant for it to end. Not wanting to disturb the sleepy Decker pile beside him, he eases Chloe’s sleeping form against the cushions of the couch as he scoops her daughter gently into his arms.

He quietly carries Trixie to her bedroom, careful not to disturb the unruly mess of stuffed animals piled on her bed. Adding to the general snuggles of her surroundings, he lays her down and pulls the comforter to her chin. Before thinking better of it, he lightly presses his lips to her forehead, turns on the spaceship nightlight, and closes the door to her room behind him.

Chloe blinks up at him sleepily from the couch. “Hi,” she mutters.

“Hello, detective.”

“Sorry it wasn’t the wild and crazy night you had hoped for,” she offers.

“I find that it’s quite alright. I think this is exactly what you needed.” He looks down at his hands. “What I needed.” He makes to leave, stashing his whiskey away in one of her kitchen cabinets, mumbling something about next time.

“Um, Lucifer, do you mind if-,” Chloe hesitates. “If you stayed a little bit longer?” She looks down at the blanket before her, embarrassed at her request. “At least until I fall asleep?”

“Of course,” he blurts without hesitation. “But not here on the couch. You need a good night’s sleep in an actual bed, my dear.”

Chloe goes to argue but quickly gives in when Lucifer glides over to the couch and effortlessly lifts her into his arms. Too sleepy to put up much of a fuss, she snuggles into his chest as he carries her up the stairs to her bedroom.

He busies himself pulling down her sheets and comforter while she brushes her teeth and places her hair in a loose braid. She reenters the bedroom to see him sitting timidly in the chair by her bed. After crawling under the covers, she peers at him from her pillow. “Could you um-” She fails to finish, instead scooting to one side of the bed to allow room for a second occupant.

Because they are partners and can intuit the other’s needs without much fuss, he joins her in bed, remaining respectfully on top of the comforter. Chloe places her cheek on his shoulder and lets her eyes drift close.

Noticing one remaining task before allowing her to slumber, Lucifer expertly removes her eyeglasses and places them on the bedside table. Turning off the lamp, he hunkers down into the pillow beside his partner. A moment of silence amongst the rustling envelops the room.

“The nightmares, will you ever tell me about them?” He husks into the dark.

“Not tonight,” she says. “But soon.”

He places his arm around her shoulders and holds her tight to his chest.

“Goodnight, Chloe.”

Chapter Text

The detective is not pregnant.

Despite overhearing the mumbled phone conversation regarding that exact topic in the evidence room days prior while pilfering narcotics, Lucifer is reassured by her actions last night during Pajama Friday. Considering her to be delightfully boring and endearingly straightlaced at baseline when it comes to alcohol consumption, he knows that she would most certainly avoid the stuff altogether if she were knowingly with child.

His confidence grows, compounded by the fact that the detective believes in responsible, suburban sex, having himself learned years ago that Mirena is, in fact, not a rival sex club. He remembers the pretty blush and annoyed look on her face when he rummaged through her wallet during one of their earliest stakeouts, having unearthed her IUD device card along with many questions about annual membership dues.

He reconsiders his relief and what it means to him that his detective is not expecting another spawn, especially one with the shared genes of a certain ham-fisted brute.

May he rest in Hell.

Lucifer ponders the source of his relief and whether it springs from his general disdain for the men in her life or from some other harder-to-name vulnerability that he’d rather not unearth at the present moment. Lucifer has no claim over the detective, no biologic contract with her that would dissuade her from procreating with another.

She produced offspring with Daniel, for Dad’s sake.

And yet, he still struggles with the idea that she could enter in a physical relationship with someone else that may lead to the eventual creation of another small, sticky human.

He especially struggles with the fat-man-sitting-on-chest feeling when he entertains the notion that it wouldn’t be with him. Couldn’t be with him. Not after everything that has happened.

Another thought that chips away at his devilish resolve is the idea that any child born of Cain would, by relation, be cursed as well. Could the nascent and wholly uncoordinated babe be capable of evil and guilty of the original sin set forth by their ancestors? Surely any child that carries the blessed and truly good genes of one Chloe Decker would be forgiven and reinstated to sainthood upon conception.

But there would be that other part, the darker part born of greed, jealousy, and murder that could make the child altogether unworthy of any grace, no matter how small.

But what does that say about the devil? Despite falling and the evilness inherent to the world’s perception of him, surely Lucifer himself is capable of some small mercies.

Would he hate the child like he hates himself?

Is it possible to love the child of a monster?

Lucifer buries these thoughts as he sneaks out of the detective’s bed before first light. She snores softly and peacefully, resettling in her modest bed as he vacates his side. He’s shared a bed with her before over the course of their partnership, platonically, of course, and each time he has allowed her to claim a larger spot and therefore larger place in his heart.

He sets her coffee maker before he leaves so that she can wake to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. He smiles gently, imagining the happy sound she will make when she fixes her first cup.

He doesn’t think about what this gesture means.

He had given Eve full reign of Lux the night prior while he attended Pajama Friday, securing her alongside his newly reinstated trustworthy demon and giving the excuse of working on a case. He does not elaborate that the case is not an LAPD-issued one. Lucifer tries to ignore the hole in his chest, feeling torn in his decision to stay the night with the detective. He has shared his bed many times with many people as of late, but always with a doe-eyed brunette in tow. He will chalk co-sleeping with the detective up to partnership and nothing more. 

He will ignore the fact that it is the best night’s sleep he has had in eons.

***

Chloe wakes from a dreamless sleep, mildly aware that there is no longer a warm, solid body beside hers. She rolls over and stretches her legs onto Lucifer’s side, finding it cool and vacant. Scooting over and nuzzling deeper into his pillow, she is happy to find that the faint scent of sweet tobacco and vanilla remains, something that is so utterly him. Warmth spreads from her chest to her limbs and settles lower still in her belly. She inhales into the pillow as a pleasant restlessness continues to stir in her core. Rolling to her back, she exhales a shaky breath into the quiet room. The apartment is quiet with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifting upstairs from the kitchen.

Chloe smiles.

Her right hand plays with the hem of her sweatshirt as she recalls Lucifer’s soft chuckles and genuine smiles from the night before. She allows her left hand to slowly slide up her thigh. Kicking down the bulky comforter, she already feels overheated in this early morning build-up. She hesitates and listens to the stillness of the apartment, confident that her daughter slumbers on.

Her thread-bare sleep shorts join the comforter at the foot of the bed. She imagines what his hands would feel like as they slide her modest pajamas off her body. What sly remarks would he have about her cotton bikini briefs? Would she notice him pocket them before returning his attention to her bare legs? She imagines the scrape of his beard across her thighs and the nip of his teeth as he journeys to the place where she needs him the most.

Chloe chews her bottom lip and presses her thighs together, imagining the purrs and rumbles Lucifer would emit as he grazes his lips across her abdomen. Would he pause to bite at her hip? Would he take a moment to get an eyeful of her naked core before diving in?

Would he ask “Is this for me?” shyly as he takes in the glistening wetness against her inner thighs.

She should feel guiltier than she does. Lucifer is not hers.

She slides her left hand under her panties and rotates onto her front as she ruts against the contact. Her hips jerk as she quickens her fingers against the small bundle of nerves. She thinks about how he would want her in the early morning. Would the sex be sleepy and unrushed? Or sweat-slicked and animalistic? Would he find her wet and ready, sliding into her from behind without hesitation? Chloe pictures him fucking her into the mattress as he leans forward to whisper in her ear.

Mine.

Chloe stifles a long, drawn-out moan into her pillow, allowing her orgasm to wash over her in slow, warm waves. She flops onto her back, staring at the ceiling in a post-orgasmic haze.

She hears the curtains flutter by the window but is simply too blissed out to register the movement.

She waits for the guilt to wash over her as well and is surprised to find nothing but solace in the pleasant numbness.

Later, in the shower, she senses the shower curtain shift beside her. Chalking it up to the heat vents in the apartment coming to life, she carries on in her morning routine, unaware of the winged silhouette of someone else in the room.

***

“I hope you know I would-” Lucifer chokes on the emotion that threatens to collapse his entire being, but continues anyway. “I would do anything to protect that little urchin.”

“I know,” Chloe replies solemnly. “And I also know what you’re thinking of doing to Teirnan, especially now.”

“And you, Detective? Don’t you want to punish him? He almost killed your child,” he grits out.

“Yes. I do, yeah. But I’m gonna do it by following the rules, because I believe in right and wrong and,” she pauses, “and deep down, I think that…you do, too. You’re the devil, but you’re also an angel.”

“I’m not sure that I am an angel anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“After I killed Pierce when my devil face returned, I never checked to see if my wings were still there. I still haven’t. I’m afraid that they’re gone. For good reason.”

“Well, you know, I think you should look. Maybe you’ll be surprised at what you find.”

He doesn’t look.

***

A week later finds Chloe witnessing the new couple saunter toward her at their latest crime scene. Having Eve accompany Lucifer to work should not be a surprise, not after everything that has transpired since his assless pants, the death of Rookie Joan, and the breaking of Julian’s back. She should feel grateful that her eyeglasses have been retired and replaced with fresh contacts lenses. She is now blessed with the visual acuity to spot Lucifer and his girlfriend, Eve.

He has been downright nasty to her and continues to grow distant since the near-murder of her daughter in his penthouse. He remains dismissive of her concerns for his mental wellbeing and scoffs at her recommendations to talk to someone.

When it becomes too much to watch the couple approach, Chloe turns back to the carnage before her. Two brothers have been found dead at a warehouse by the docks in what looks to be a murder-suicide situation. Gun found in the hand of one with matching bullets in the bodies of both. No real signs of physical altercation before the firing of the terminal shots. Footage shows the two entering the warehouse in the early hours of the morning.  

“Another warehouse, Detective? Such uninspired nonsense. How many warehouses does that make for us this year? At least a dozen?” Lucifer scoffs as he arrives with Eve under his arm, sipping from his spiked coffee. “I do wish our killers would be a bit more creative, don’t you?”

“Creative? Lucifer, you can’t be serious.” Chloe shifts her gaze to Eve. “A murder has occurred. More than one, actually. And this is a crime scene, no guests allowed this time. Sorry, Eve.” Refocusing on her partner, she continues. “Two people are dead, and you are more worried about how boring the crime scene is?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes, a new thing he must’ve picked up from her, and crumples the empty coffee cup in his hand before discarding it on the ground. He wraps his arm around Eve and offers her a swig from his flask.

“Darling, shall we abscond?” Lucifer leans down to whisper loudly into Eve’s ear. “I have a special package due to be delivered at the penthouse later this afternoon for us to enjoy. Perhaps we should go back to warm up and stretch a bit first before it arrives.”

Chloe bites her cheek to the point of blood as she keeps her back to the couple, using any other sensation to distract her from the feeling of lead in her stomach.  

“Oh Luce, you are quite the devil,” Eve purrs against his chest, “but there is a very bad wrongdoer that must be brought to justice.”

Chloe hates that she agrees.

“Very well, Sugarplum. Detective, what do we have?”

Stifling the urge to either vomit or scream, Chloe opens her mouth as an overly cheery forensic scientist chimes in.

“Zachary Doyle and brother, Keith Doyle, were both found dead here at six this morning by the day crew coming in for work. Gunshot wounds to the chest were found on Zachary. One bullet wound found on Keith’s neck.” Ella smiles before correcting her facial expression. “Bullets belonging to the gun found in Keith’s hand.”

“Oh wow! Do you think it was staged?” Eve asks gleefully, hopeful for more scandal than the scene before her currently provides.

“Actually, the angles are being double-checked by ballistics as we speak. Initial findings indicate that Keith took out his brother before aiming that hatred back in on himself,” Ella answers wistfully.

Chloe places a hand on Ella’s shoulder and begins to ask about her bizarrely inappropriate behavior at the prospects of a murder-suicide, only to be interrupted by her partner.

“Well Miss Lopez, that is most certainly as tediously uninspiring as I had feared,” Lucifer grouses. “While blood is thicker than water, it is also much deadlier, don’t you agree?”

“I…guess.” Ella answers.

“Well surely there’s more to it than that,” Eve adds, suddenly uncomfortable by Lucifer’s statement. She bends down to root around in one of the victim’s pockets before Chloe slaps her hand away. Lucifer yawns as he retrieves a case of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“You know what?” Chloe snaps as she swipes a lighter out of his hands. “Lucifer, Eve, while it has been great for you to join us today, I think this boring crime scene no longer requires your assistance.” She pulls the lapels of her blazer tightly across her chest and crosses her arms.

“Oh please, Detective. This is hardly what I would call a crime scene.” He returns the cigarettes to his suit and takes a step towards his partner, towering over her despite the dead bodies between them.

“Then maybe you should leave, Lucifer,” Chloe growls as she tilts her chin towards him in defiance.

“Luce, I really want to stay,” Eve whines softly as she stomps her heeled foot.

“Then you can stay, dear.” Lucifer adjusts his cufflinks, eyes never leaving Chloe's. “Call me when you are ready for some real fun.”

Eve hides her smirk as her boyfriend pivots and lets his large stride free him of the boring crime scene in the boring warehouse.

***

Lucifer sits barside at Lux in the late afternoon, fuming quietly against the flashing lights of the club, his usual impeccable posture absent as he hunches over the bar. He has repeatedly refused to play ESPN on the large television screens above the bar, and he only now regrets that continued decision as he stares idly at his hands wrapped around a glass of whisky. Patrick eyes him cautiously as he wipes down the furthest corner of the counter. Lucifer would appreciate anything to take his mind off the events that transpired in the shoddy warehouse earlier that day. His desire is quickly doused as a shadowed figure joins him at the bar, equally hunched, but not in weariness. His recognition of the figure blooms instantly.

“What do you want?” Lucifer voice grates against the din of the club.

“Oh, nothing in particular, Sam.” Michael tilts a glass of gin towards his brother. “Don’t worry that pretty face of ours.”

“Do not call me that,” Lucifer hisses, slamming his glass on the bar. “I am not really in the mood tonight, brother. Why are you really here, Michael? Heaven too boring? Ran out of souls to bore with your incessant sermonizing?”

“Hardly. Between monitoring Dad’s misguided favorite son and his half-wit whore of a brother, there is little time to be bored.”

“It’s amazing how little I trust you,” Lucifer huffs, shifting on the barstool and adjusting his cufflinks.

“Good. You shouldn’t.” Michael laughs and everything suddenly feels wrong. Lucifer’s chest fills with ice.

Lucifer pauses in his anger to consider his brother’s words and what they could possibly be hiding this time. “What does that mean?”

Ignoring his twin, Michael continues, “Your humans are all quite fascinating, especially that pet detective of yours. Chloe, is it?” He pauses, sips his gin as if considering some truth he is not quite comfortable with. “Very beautiful if I’m being quite honest. Wouldn’t you agree, brother? What a spectacular gift Dad has given you!” Michael exalts as his smirk melts the coldness in Lucifer’s chest, igniting flames instead.

“Don’t speak her name,” he growls. “Don’t even think it.”

“You know, she did this amazing thing to herself with just her fingers the other morning,” Michael insinuates with a lecherous grin as he waggles his own fingers in front of Lucifer’s face. “Really quite fascinating. What a sight to behold, Chloe Decker the miracle, in rapture,” he finishes as Lucifer lurches from his seat at the bar, sending the stool flying backwards and wrapping his right hand around his twin’s throat. The glass in his left hand shatters from the pressure of his grip. The few afternoon stragglers in Lux seem subdued by some unseen fog of fear and submission, taking no notice of the violence at the bar.  

“You will stay away from her, her family, and anywhere she may go. Do you hear me, brother?” The grip on Michael’s neck tightens. “Showing mercy is not really my thing as you know.”

“Oh, it seems I’ve struck a nerve, have I? You’ve all but discarded this gift Father has given you.” His crooked smirk stokes the fire in Lucifer’s eyes. “What claim do you even have?” Michael prods through a choked gasp.

“She is mine,“ Lucifer pauses, corrects. “She is my partner.”

“Worry not, brother, my intentions are mostly pure this time.” Michael sets his glass quietly on the countertop as he makes to leave.

“I am merely here to shake things up a bit.”

***

Two hours later after Lucifer’s dramatic exit from responsibility, Chloe bids farewell to Ella and the coroner as they whisk away the bodies for further examination. She has grown accustomed to the small shadow that follows her between the tall shelving units of the large room.

“Eve, I realize this may be a difficult situation for you,” Chloe says softly across an empty shelf to the petite brunette on the other side.

Eve pauses and schools her expression. “What do you mean, Detective?”

“Well, you know, Zachary and Keith.” Chloe clears her throat. “They were brothers.”

“And?”

“And, well, it is quite possible that Keith killed his own brother.”

She is met with silence amongst the shelves as Eve comes to a stop. The final click of her heel echoes throughout the warehouse, now almost completely clear of the investigative crew. Chloe is not sure what she is looking for amongst the messy shelves that tower overhead, not quite sure of the easy comradery she is finding with the first woman.

“Cain was…well…a bad man,” Eve whispers. “As you know,” she adds.

Chloe definitely wants to vomit now as the truth fully sinks in. This is the mother of Cain. Her breathing grows restrictive, almost as if her body is rejecting air. Her skin begins to crawl and a low buzz drowns out all other sounds in her ears.

“I am sorry, Detective.” She peers up at her with doe eyes. “For what he did to you.”

The staticky hiss in her ears makes Eve sound so very far away and Chloe is unable to hear what she says. Chloe feels as if she is fighting for air. The flickering of a dark shadow in the far corner of the warehouse distracts her from the crescendo of terror in her veins. She turns to fully investigate the shadow when the buzzing stops and the fear dissolves.

“I-I’m sorry, Eve. What did you say?” She croaks against the eerie stillness of the warehouse.

Eve opens her mouth to speak but stops abruptly as a rumbling sound takes over the quiet. The shelving units begin to sway precariously overhead as the ground wobbles beneath their feet. Chloe has lived in California long enough to know what this is. She lurches across the empty shelf to the other side, grabbing Eve and hauling her small frame across. Shelves and their contents begin to fall as the warehouse becomes a deadly game of dominos.

Chloe keeps her arm around Eve and pulls her down the narrow aisle and into the open warehouse, dodging several large structural beams as they release from the ceiling above. Finding a large and sturdy wooden desk at the end of the shelving units, Chloe shoves Eve underneath and into the small space of protection it provides. Finding that it harbors no room for both women, Chloe turns to find another haven as more beams pierce the concrete around her.

She sees the dark shadow from earlier amongst the falling debris. It bends and crouches low to the ground, surrounded by an indescribable darkness, before rocketing upwards and out of the building through a newly collapsed part of the ceiling.

With little time to contemplate the origins of what she saw, Chloe sprints towards another wooden desk at the end of the next aisle. A large rumble threatens to collapse the entire building and her legs lose a battle against the unsteady ground. She falls to her knees with her palms striking the ground painfully to catch herself. An awful screech of metal tears through the chaos, giving her only a moment’s notice before a mangled shelving unit descends upon her. 

She remembers nothing after that.

Chapter Text

“Detective, for once I agree with this imbecile. Step aside.”

They are in the sister’s loft. Chloe looks down at her soft, gray jacket and the gun on her hip, calculating the time it will take to unsheathe her weapon and remove Cain from the equation.

She opens her mouth to declare war but finds that she is unable to speak. Frustrated with her unwelcomed muteness, she tries to scream as a new scene begins to unfold before her.

Cain’s lips are moving but it sounds as if they are underwater. Chloe watches helplessly as Cain lifts his gun and fires. One, two, three, too many bullets to count. They ripple through the air slowly towards her. She closes her eyes, bracing for impact. Has she lived a good life?

The impact never comes. The bullets slowly pass through her without pause or pain. Chloe breathes a sigh of relief.

A sound behind her topples that relief. She turns, again slowly against the resistance of time and space, to see the red spots blossoming on his crisp, white shirt.

It matches his pocket square.

Lucifer collapses. Her heart rips.

The nightmare resets.

***

No amount of top-shelf booze manages to soothe Lucifer as he leans against the bar in his penthouse, having decided to move upstairs after the less-than-welcome visit from his twin brother. Residual agitation still surges through his tremoring hands as he downs another glass. He glances up at the mirrored wall across the bar, taking in a reflection marred with confusion, thinly veiled rage, and red glowing eyes. He shakes his head and tries to clear his mind. The thought of Michael coming to earth, slithering around Los Angeles near his Detective and invading her privacy has him choking down glass after glass of whatever he can find.

The chime from the elevator saves him from crushing another tumbler in his hand. Heavy boots echo throughout the penthouse as Maze steps into the room.

They forego their usual grunts of hello as Lucifer’s disdainful glance causes Maze to bristle.

“What’s your problem?”

Lucifer barely acknowledges his friend’s question and attempts to blink the fire from his eyes.

“I received an ill-timed and wholly unwelcomed visit from my brother.”

“Amenadiel, back already? Heaven too boring?” Maze teases. She leans her back against the bar and begins to pick at her nails with a small, lethal blade.

“No, not that brother. Michael, the arsehole.”

Maze hesitates, realizing the importance of treading lightly around the subject of Lucifer’s twin brother—someone who Lucifer most definitely hates, but in a less vocal and visible manner than his usual exuberant descriptions of things he despises—only speaking of their contentious history in low, clipped words when asked.

“What did he want?”

Lucifer opens his mouth to speak but pauses and chooses to refill his glass instead. He leans forward against the bar, facing away from Maze again before continuing, “How am I supposed to know his intentions? He works in more mysterious ways than Dad, it seems. And by mysterious, I mean obnoxious. Sordid. Detestable. It can’t be good.”

Lucifer sips from his drink and finally registers the unknown meaning of his demon friend’s arrival to the penthouse. Their friendship, tenuous on the best of days recently, is a newly reinstated thing.

“And what do you want, Mazikeen?”

“Nothing.” She dodges the question and pours her own drink, taking a seat as she kicks her heels up on the adjacent barstool. “Just thought I’d stop by.”

“Right.”

An uneasy silence settles between them with many things left unsaid since Lucifer’s return from Hell.

“So, where’s Eve?”

And there it is, Lucifer thinks as he flashes a knowing grin into his drink.

“Actually, she’s with the detective at one of those shoddy warehouses off the river, if you must know, investigating a rather boring case of fratricide.”

“Fratricide? And why aren’t you there? That seems like a topic you know something about.”

“Careful, Maze.”

“So, you’re back to following Decker around like a puppy. Did she finally crate you?”

“That’s an interesting observation, Maze. Tell me, how was your evening with the first woman last night?” He decides not to comment further on the increasingly obvious amount of time Eve and Maze have been spending together recently. He should be suspicious, mad, jealous even, but he feels oddly content and reassured by the budding relationship.

Maze doesn’t answer and instead lets her heavy feet fall back to the floor. She pours another drink. “Whatever,” she mumbles.

Lucifer moves to sit beside her, nudging his glass against hers quietly in commiserate solidarity.

“Quite the predicament we find ourselves in, eh?” He doesn’t need to say what that predicament is.

Maze scoffs but doesn’t dispute his unspoken truce. They continue enjoying their drinks in companiable silence for several long moments. Lucifer opens his mouth to speak when the rumbling starts.

“What the fuck is that?” Maze hollers over the maelstrom of shattering glass and thundering walls. She watches in confusion as the large windows of the penthouse warp and ripple from seismic forces.

Lucifer pushes away from the bar, saying nothing as his eyes widen with realization.

“We have to go, Maze.”

“What?!” She hollers back. “Go where?”

“The detective. Eve. We need to go. Now.” He chokes against the noise and drags Maze by the arm to the balcony.

“Wha-what are you doing?” Maze jerks her arm free, sizing her opponent up as the world continues to shake.

Her question is answered when Lucifer shrugs his broad shoulders, releasing large, leathery wings that span the width of the balcony. She is used to monstrous things but has never witnessed his wings in this state. She gasps and freezes.

“Maze, there’s no time.”

***

Lucifer descends quickly at a steep angle through the gaping hole in the roof of the warehouse, executing a landing on the concrete floor that is both rough and hurried. Certainly not his best work.

“You’re a terrible fucking pilot,” Maze growls, shoving her friend away now that her booted feet are planted safely on the earth again.

“And you are more than welcome to Uber here next time, Mazikeen.” Lucifer huffs as he straightens his jacket and adjust his cufflinks. The stillness of the destroyed warehouse surrounding the pair brings an abrupt end to their scuffle.

“Chloe!”

“Eve!”

A soft cough is heard from within a large pile of debris to their left. Lucifer and Maze zero in on the sound and approach a large wooden desk. Lucifer wastes no time wrenching a warped piece of metal scaffolding from the desk. A petite brunette, covered in dust but otherwise unharmed, emerges from beneath the safety of the furniture. Maze grasps her shoulders to check her over quickly. Seeing no overt signs of injury, the demon releases a long sigh of relief.  

“Eve, where’s Chloe?” Lucifer implores, starting to lose his composure.

“I-she was here. She pushed me under this desk before…before…” Eve stops as she fully registers the shambles of the warehouse. Another rumble tears through the building, likely an aftershock, and Eve braces herself against her demon friend.

“Okay, out. Everyone out!” Lucifer bellows as the ground re-settles beneath their feet. He begins to shove Maze and Eve to the exit.

“What about you?” Maze asks over her shoulder as she shuffles Eve to the door.

“Just go,” Lucifer growls. Maze knows a command when she hears one.

He turns back and continues his search deeper into the warehouse, listening carefully for any signs of life. His worst fears manifest before him as he continues to come up detective-less. He stumbles through the debris of an aisle of toppled shelving units, calling Chloe’s name until his voice is raw, when he stops abruptly at what he finds.

A delicate hand juts out from beneath a piece of sheet metal. He wastes no time as he lurches the ruins from who he hopes is his alive partner.

The scene before him would make him vomit if celestials were capable of such a human inconvenience. The detective lies before him, covered in dust with tear tracks staining her cheeks. A bloody gash adorns her forehead and blood streaks across her lips. He is relieved to see her chest rise with breath but chokes in horror as he sees her shoulder sitting at a weird, unnatural angle.

Dad, please…

Chloe groans in pain, ripping Lucifer from his pathetic attempt at prayer. He kneels beside her body, contemplating the best way to carry her to safety, when another aftershock hits.

“Oh, bloody hell…”

Another swift shrug and his wings return to the earthly plane, still gnarled and hellish. He shields his body carefully across Chloe’s smaller one and wraps his wings around them both. More and fortunately lighter debris fall from the ceiling, causing him to flinch in discomfort as some lucky pieces knock into his shoulder. He hears a soft sigh beneath him. Chloe opens her eyes, evidenced by the slivers of ocean blue in the otherwise dark warehouse.

“Lucifer?” She inquires, weakly.

“Detective, hello,” he grunts.

“Did I…did I die?” His heart bursts inwardly at her question.

“No, Chloe. No, darling. You’re alive.”

He can tell that she registers this piece of information by the way she exhales shakily. Her face then contorts into one of pain and agony.

“It…it hurts so much…”

“It’s okay, darling. I’ve got you. We’ll get you to the hospital in two flaps of an angel’s wings.”

Chloe nods before closing her eyes again.

Lucifer hugs her gently to his chest, careful to avoid further agitation of the dislocated shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Chloe mutters into his chest. He stands with his partner cradled against him and places a dusty kiss against her temple. He lifts them from the ground in two substantial flaps of his wings, finding the upstroke needed to reach the gap in the ceiling easier with his bat-like wings.  

***

Lucifer lands roughly in the shadows of the medical center’s ambulance bay and traverses the concrete to the entrance in a matter of seconds. Nurses, paramedics, and technicians of all kinds look up at the intrusion through the normally locked sliding doors.

He must look quite the sight with dust and blood stains adorning both himself and his partner held tightly to his chest. His speed of celestial flight means that he has arrived before the first wave of injured citizens.

“Sir. SIR!” A brave nurse approaches, holding her hands up in submission. She continues to stand her ground in front of the frantic devil. “Let us help her. Please.”

Lucifer gives curt, stuttering nods before relinquishing his partner to the group of nursing staff that guides Chloe’s small body onto a stretcher. He follows on their heels as the detective is wheeled into a large trauma bay. The overhead lights flicker as another small aftershock rolls through the emergency department.

“Adult red trauma, bay two. Adult red trauma, bay two,” screeches the intercom in the mayhem.

Lucifer watches helplessly as a team of scrub-clad clinicians swarm and triage Chloe’s injuries. He surges forward when one of the clinicians brandishes a pair of trauma shears to aid in the removal of her clothing. The same brave nurse from earlier reappears, pushing back against his chest.

“Sir, what is her name?”

He looks down with wild eyes at the perceived nuisance.

“Chloe. It’s Chloe Jane Decker.”

“And what is your relationship to the patient?”

“I’m her…I’m her partner.”

“Okay. Does Chloe have any medical conditions or allergies we should know about?”

“No. She’s strong as an ox.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Lucifer. Lucifer Morningstar.”

The nurse pauses. “Ohhh-kay, thank you. We’ll unpack that name later. Last question for now, sir. Is Chloe pregnant?”

“Pregnant?” He looks over to his partner as she continues to be hooked up to intravenous lines and beeping devices. He catches a glimpse of the ouroboros tattoo on her chest. “No. No, she's not.”

More chaos ensues as bedside ultrasounds and x-ray devices wheel into the room to take stock of her injuries. Lucifer overhears encouraging phrases like intact airway, bilateral breath sounds, and pupils equal and reactive. He declines the request to sit and pushes away prodding arms that offer to assess his non-existent injuries.

When the team starts to roll his partner’s stretcher out of the room, he panics.

“Where are you taking her?!” Lucifer bellows as he rushes closer to the bedside.

“Mr. Morningstar, it’s okay, we are taking Chloe to a CT scan,” the nurse replies.

The reassurance does very little to subdue his fears. He grips the railing on the stretcher.

“Sir, we need to move Chloe. Right now.”

He feels a firm hand land on his shoulder, pulling him back slightly.

“Hey man, hey. It’s okay,” a familiar voice chimes, announcing Daniel’s arrival.

Lucifer turns to the man with whom his friendship is rocky at best.

“Daniel, I don’t know…Chloe, she’s…” he chokes.

“They’ll take care of her. She’s in good hands,” Dan offers in reassurance.

Lucifer blinks, swallows, and turns toward him. “The urchin, is she…”

“She’s safe. She’s at home with the babysitter. Chloe’s apartment complex held up. Thank God for modern infrastructure.”

***

The detective’s left shoulder is dislocated, and her body is marred with the black and blue reminders of her mortality. Bruised ribs limit her breathing and require her to wear a large oxygen mask that gives her that which is vital to human life. Lucifer watches, again helpless, as his partner is sedated with ketamine and manhandled while her shoulder is being reduced by one of the orthopedic surgeons. Dan’s grip remains on his arm, albeit somewhat looser than before, as he watches on in silent support.

Stabilized with shoulder braced snugly against her in a sling, Chloe’s stretcher is wheeled out of the trauma bay and into a smaller, quieter curtained area while the emergency medical staff prepare for the next wave of injuries from the earthquake. Lucifer makes to follow the procession before being stopped by the familiar voice of his friend.

“Lucifer!” Maze calls from the waiting area.

He turns with Dan in tow to see Maze and Eve limp into the emergency department.

“Mazikeen,” he acknowledges with an empty voice.

“Is Chloe okay?” Eve asks quietly with arm propped over her friend’s shoulder.

“The detective, um, Chloe, she’s stable,” Lucifer clears his throat. “She’s okay.”

***

There is a broad-shouldered and very handsome doctor sitting beside Chloe’s hospital bed once they wheel her back to one of the curtained rooms. At least, that’s what one of her nurses whispers to her while trying to wake her up from ketamine dreams. Chloe opens her eyes to the green blob sitting next to her. She giggles as the green blob begins to talk again.

“Hi Miss Decker, my name is Dr. Holder. I’m the plastic surgery attending on call tonight.”

“Uhn,” Chloe replies and closes her eyes, finally understanding why Lucifer loves ketamine so much. She is filled with warmth and good vibrations. It feels like she is laying on soft, green grass in a sunny meadow. She watches as a small bluebird lands on her uninjured shoulder.

“You’ll feel a little prick on your forehead, but that’s just the lidocaine that will help the pain while I stitch you up.

“Uhn-kay,” Chloe groans before dissolving into giggles at the word ‘prick.’ 

The green blob that is beginning to look suspiciously like a doctor tilts its head. “Just relax, Miss Decker, we’ll be done in a jiffy.”

She laughs again at the green blob. She hears shuffling and metallic sounds beside her as Dr. Holder prepares his field. The clinking of the surgical instruments is so loud. Finally, the noises stop. Silence follows.

“Ow! Hey!” Chloe hollers. Her cry is quickly followed by a commotion down the hall as the sound of quick footsteps grows louder. Her imaginary bird friend flies away.

“Detective?!” Lucifer calls from the other side of the curtain, panicked.

“Oh look! There he is!” Chloe calls loudly to the entire emergency department, unaware of her volume as she squishes the face of Dr. Holder to turn his head toward Lucifer’s tall silhouette. “Those are his Louie Boot-Ons,” she chuckles deliriously.

“Detective, is that you?” Her partner calls through the fabric barrier and shuffles the curtains to the side.

“Lucifahhh,” Chloe singsongs. She wiggles the fingers of her right hand at him, beckoning him to the bedside. He follows. “That’s my partner!”

Lucifer smiles in relief and softly places his hand in her proffered one.

“Hi muffin,” she coos softly.

He chuckles at the strange term of endearment, reveling in the playfulness of Chloe’s voice. He knows a ketamine trip when he sees one. He then turns to the regrettably handsome and broad-shouldered doctor currently poised over his partner’s face with sutures in hand. Lucifer internally questions the medical education of this undoubtedly ill-mannered troglodyte, but Dan enters through the curtains before Lucifer acts upon his academic inquisition.

“Shouldn’t you let a superior physician do this? Perhaps someone with a bit more experience when it comes to working with such a heavenly face?” He asks instead.

Dr. Holder turns toward Lucifer, remaining seated. “Well, I am the attending so it doesn’t get much higher than that. Don’t worry, Miss Decker, I have many years of experience keeping celebrity faces intact,” He finishes with a wink to his patient.

Chloe’s glassy eyes widen at this conspiratorial wink from the surgeon before her lips form into an O-shaped realization.

Her fingers of her good arm squeeze around her partner’s hand. “Lucifer, I think he’s seen my boobies too,” Chloe whispers noisily.

Dr. Holder blushes, barely hiding a boyish grin while Lucifer finds himself increasingly irritated at the scene before him. He moves to intercept the conversation and put space between the doctor and his partner when a nurse flutters back to the bedside.

“I hate to break it to you, honey, but we all just saw your boobies about an hour ago in the scanner,” the primary nurse deadpans as she brushes through the curtains and presents an unopened pack of sutures to the surgeon.

Chloe giggles and snorts and Dr. Holder gets back to work on her laceration. He makes quick work of the sutures, dabs the site to remove any remaining blood, and places a pristine white bandage on the injury. He scoots away from the beside in his rolling chair and begins to clean up from the procedure.

Chloe leans back against her pillow, sighing softly at the ceiling. Her face begins to scrunch into one of contemplation as her eyes squint against the bright overhead lights.

Her head cocks to the side.

“It’s so hot in here. Is it hot in here to you?” Chloe directs the question to her audience of devil, ex-husband, and surgeon.

“Detective…” 

“Chlo…”

“Miss Decker…”

She groans and becomes restless in her hospital bed. Struggling as if trapped by the bedding, she emits little whimpers and squeaks while kicking the single digit thread-count sheets to the footboard. Recognizing a ramp up he has been privy to before, if only once years ago, Lucifer tries to placate his partner with a soft hand on her uninjured shoulder.

“It’s okay darling, maybe I can get you some ice water to help you cool down?”

Chloe grunts, unhappily…

“Ice chips? Doesn’t that sound lovely, Detective? Oh! Maybe even a popsicle!”

…and proceeds to tear off her hospital-issued gripper socks.

“It’s too hot in this five-star hospital,” she finishes as she drops the socks to the floor.

“Oh no. No, you don’t.” Oh, for the love of Dad. “Daniel, if you know what’s good for you, and everyone in this emergency department for that matter, you’ll find something to cool this woman down immediately or else she’ll be on the front page of the Hollywood Inquirer for mooning and berating the entire staff at Cedars Sinai Medical Center.”

Chloe slaps Lucifer’s hands away and finally escapes from the bed without a shred of grace. Still wobbly on her feet from drugs and injury, Chloe attempts to fend off her visitors in some semblance of martial arts.

“Detective! Just a moment, could you…” Slap. Lucifer’s hand retreats.

“Chlo, listen…” Smack. “Okay, Chloe, you need to calm down.” Dan finishes while nursing his now reddened palm.

“Ms. Decker, if you please…” Dr. Holder moves to block her path.

“Spin move!” Chloe whispers as she twirls to escape the doctor’s grasp. The back of her gown flies free of its loose tie and she flashes her bum to the shocked onlookers.

“Uh, Detective, okay, that’s enough.” Lucifer launches at her with a warm blanket and hauls her to his chest. “Shhh, darling. That’s enough exhibition for one night, wouldn’t you agree?” He wraps her tighter against him.

“Okay, muffin. I’m finished,” Chloe purrs sleepily against his jacket as her eyes slide shut, surrounded by the scent of his cologne. Lucifer feels her body go slack in his arms. Gently settling her back in bed, he slides the sheets back up to her chin and brushes some loose strands of hair out of her face. His partner smiles dopily and smacks her lips, falling back asleep

Dr. Holder clears his through and surveys the room, placing hands on his hips as he contemplates his next move. “Well, that was special,” he begins. “Okay friends and family, who’s taking Miss Decker home tonight?”

Chapter Text

“I beg your pardon. I believe you just said that the detective is to go home this very evening?”

The air in the room thickens with unease. Dan shifts away from Lucifer’s brooding form as the lights overhead, once clinical in their brightness and precision, dim in the curtained area. The bedside nurse chooses that opportune moment to flurry out of the room to tend to the injured that have begun to pour through the doors of the emergency department.

The room grows darker.

Dr. Holder hesitates and clears his throat before speaking, “Yes. With the amount of people that are coming in, we must insist that anyone who can be discharged safely be sent home to make more beds available.”

“And you think the detective here is well enough to be dismissed? Your patient with the bruised ribs, dislocated shoulder, and lacerated forehead?” Lucifer takes a step forward to emphasize his point, stooping over to peer into the doctor’s eyes. “Tell me, is that truly what you desire?”

“I…I…no. What I really want…is for her to stay…”

“Ah ha, there you go, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Lucifer chuckles lowly.

“…and I want her to have a coffee with me.”

“Oops,” Dan blurts.

“You bloody what?” Lucifer sputters.

Chloe giggles awake in her post-ketamine haze and glances around the room with unfocused curiosity. Her re-engagement in the situation seems to lighten the mood, if only briefly, as she tangles her fingers with Lucifer’s, ultimately distracting the devil.  

Dr. Holder takes that opportunity to shake his head and clear the fog with a blush. “Well, of course she should not go home alone,” he hedges, hoping the room missed his truthful assertion about romancing his patient. “She will need close supervision.”

“And what if something should happen to her? What then, hmm?” Lucifer leans in once again, gripping Chloe’s fingers tighter.

“Then you can bring her back here. I’ll include specific, straight-forward instructions.” Dr. Holder stands, having finished clearing his workstation. He eyes their entangled fingers before nodding. “I think she’ll be in good hands,” he finishes before attempting his escape from the bedside.

His exit is thwarted as Maze and Eve brush hurriedly through the curtains, essentially blocking his path. Eve gives an appreciative once-over of the broad-shouldered physician before zeroing in on Chloe’s hand in Lucifer’s grasp.

“Decker. You’ve caused quite the stir. I heard you showed everyone your ass. Hate that I missed it,” Maze leers. “Respect.” A pleased, drunk smile spreads across Chloe’s face as she disentangles her uninjured hand from Lucifer’s to share a fist-bump with her demon friend.

Lucifer grumbles with displeasure, bumping Maze out of the way to get back to Chloe’s side.

“Alright, Detective, you heard the doctor. You’re being evicted,” he sighs.

Chloe snorts and launches her blanket to the floor. She struggles to sit up on the stretcher, gripping Lucifer’s jacket sleeve in the process. He looks her over and realizes she is clad in a baggy hospital gown and without her usual smart blazer and jeans that now lay in shreds on the trauma bay floor.

“Right. Detective, we should reconsider your wardrobe, and not for the usual reasons.” Lucifer looks helplessly around the room before catching Dr. Holder by the arm before he brushes by towards his escape. “Excuse me, doctor, perhaps you know where we can find a pair of trousers for the detective?”

“Oh, um.” He glances at Chloe’s blissfully oblivious grin before shrugging. “Um, best I can do is a pair of scrub pants?”

Chloe dissolves into more giggles, muttering the word trousers in a whispered British accent while she allows Lucifer to help her to her feet.

Lucifer sighs again and nods curtly to the doctor, allowing the doctor to leave the room in search of scrub pants.

***

A wobbly Chloe, clad in a hospital gown now tied securely behind her, scrub pants, and an Armani jacket courtesy of the devil, leans heavily against her partner.

“Detective, I’d rather prefer you take a seat,” Lucifer implores, trying to direct her attention to a nice shiny wheelchair Maze insists was procured fairly from an elderly-looking gentleman in the waiting room.

Chloe grumbles stubbornly while nodding and attempts to settle in the unsecured contraption. She flails momentarily and sucks in a gasp of pain as the chair rolls back, causing her to put weight on her injured side. 

“Mazikeen, you must lock the wheels first,” Lucifer seethes as he grasps the handles of the wheelchair to provide some semblance of stability for the drugged detective.

“What? Oh, were you in charge of a hell loop that I don’t know about? One that specializes in durable medical equipment?”

“It’s a matter of physics, you incompetent old bat.” Lucifer shoulders her out of the way. “And I was in charge of all hell loops, thank you very much.”

Dan’s exasperated sigh dissolves the feud as he sizes up the group and awkward situation before him.

“Alright everyone. How are we getting Chloe home?”

“By vehicular transport, obviously. Daniel, are you sure you’re a detective?”

“Okay, dick, so in my squad car or your Corvette?”

“Oh, I don’t have my Corvette.”

“Don’t have your Corvette? How did you get here? Which car did you bring then?”

“I flew here.”

“What, like in a private jet?”

Lucifer’s blank stare gives no confirmation, leaving everything to the imagination. Dan concedes the point. “You know what, I don’t even want to know. It wouldn’t surprise me if you had a jet.”

The devil nods, pleased with himself. Satisfaction quickly evolves to annoyance when Dan attempts to commandeer the handles of the wheelchair to whisk Chloe out of the waiting room and to her freedom. Lucifer tuts at Dan’s endeavor to be her rescuer and regains control of the her chariot, once again shouldering her ex-husband out of the way.

***

The next challenge arises for the chaotic group of celestials and humans once Dan’s squad car comes into view in the hospital parking deck.

“How are we all going to fit in this tiny clown car?” Lucifer asks, wheeling his partner along.

“Oh, Eve and I came here on my bike,” Maze states, unphased by Lucifer’s question

“Lovely, then. Mazikeen, if you would be so kind as to take Eve back to the penthouse?”

Before Maze can nod along in happy agreement, her proposed passenger stumbles forward between the group and the squad car.

“Lucifer, are you coming back to the penthouse, too?”

Maze and Lucifer both frown, for different reasons that will remain unspoken for now.

“Sugarplum, the detective needs close supervision tonight. This responsibility can’t be left to Detective Douche. I once saw him use duct tape as a Band-Aid.”

“Hey! That was one time. And it worked!”

“I also watched him then use a Band-Aid to seal an envelope.”

“C’mon, man,” Dan pleads.

“Oh, okay, then maybe we can all go back to Chloe’s house,” Eve rushes to compromise. “To supervise.”

“Um, I don’t know if my squad car can fit everyone.”

“That may not be a good idea, Eve.”

“Let’s do it,” Maze interjects. “Eve and I can take my bike. Right Eve?”

Eve’s doe eyes meet Maze’s steely countenance. A genuine smile is shared between them.

“Sure! That sounds like a great idea!” Eve bounces on her heels and excitedly accepts the proffered helmet from Maze.

Maze slings a lazy arm around her, steering them both towards the black, shiny motorcycle. “See you at the house, losers,” she mutters over her shoulder.

“Lovely. Well then Daniel, shall we?” Lucifer motions for Dan to unlock the car while securing Chloe’s wheelchair by the back doors of the sedan.

“Did you want to ride in front? There’s more leg room,” Dan says, eyeing Lucifer waiting impatiently with his ex-wife in tow.

“Oh, Dad no, absolutely not. Aside from the pile of empty pudding cups that are undoubtedly littering the seat, the Detective will need my assistance.”

“I’m pretty sure Chloe can handle herself,” Dan argues.

As if on cue to prove Dan very, very wrong, Chloe snorts with more laughter and waves at her reflection in the car window.

“Alright darling, up you go,” Lucifer mumbles gently in her ear and gives her his arm to lift her from the chair. Her injured shoulder is jostled in the transaction and a displeased grimace flashes across her face.

“Owie,” she speaks softly between them.

“Apologies, Detective.”

Once settled against Lucifer’s chest after the mishap, he glances down to see her unhappy expression. He fights the urge to kiss the pout off her face. She looks so small in his large jacket, and he hardly notices that she has crumpled up the right sleeve and is now rubbing her nose with it. He feels her softly tap his arm.

“You’re tall,” Chloe whispers.

“So I’ve been told, Detective,” Lucifer answers warmly.

“You are a tall noodle. Tall noodle boy.” More giggles escape as Chloe holds tightly to his shirt. She nuzzles against his chest and sighs. “I’m sleepy.”

“Well then, darling, we have one last leg of the journey before we will get you to your warm, soft, albeit mediocre, bed.”

“Okay.”

Lucifer guides her into the backseat and settles her against his shoulder as he joins her. He then leans forward to tap the back of Dan’s headrest.

“Alright, onward to the Detective’s residence.”

“I’m not a chauffeur, Lucifer.”

Lucifer settles back against the seat and allows the detective to snuggle closer into his side.

***

Traffic is chaotic given the recent earthquake, and Lucifer is grateful that the detective is snoring softly at his side. An errant driver cuts them off at a turn, causing Dan to swerve to avoid a collision. Chloe jolts awake in a cry of pain.

“Shit. Sorry, Chlo.”

“Wankers,” Lucifer murmurs as he helps the detective re-settle against his side.

She looks up to his face to reveal watery eyes and a frown pulling at her lips.

“Darling, are you alright?”

Tears threaten to spill, and she shakes her head.

“What can I do, Detective? Is it the pain?”

She shakes her head again.

“Is it Daniel’s atrocious driving? If so, we will be home soon.”

“I feel sad,” she blurts.

“Sad? Okay, darling, there is nothing to be sad about. We will be home soon and I’m sure your sticky offspring will be over the moon to see you.”

“It feels sad in this car.”

“In this car?”

“Hey Chlo,” Dan interrupts, “would you like to listen to some music?”

Chloe nods gingerly.

“On it,” Dan states as he scrambles for his phone at a stoplight. A few taps here and swipes there and a soft melody fills the car.

“Radiohead, Daniel? While I cannot disagree with their well-earned accolades, I must insist we find something a bit more…cheerful.” Lucifer then grabs his phone and tees up a different song.

Chloe perks up at the new song’s intro and starts to quietly hum along.

“Hanson? Really, man? I don’t know if I can take that.”

“You will keep your comments to yourself, Daniel. I’ll have you know this is a hell loop favorite.”

“They’re gone so fast, yeeeahhhh,” Chloe sings off-key.

“Come on, Lucifer, can you please change it?”

Lucifer contemplates the continued torture of his adversary and is quickly convinced to stay the course when he sees his detective smile. He decides his next move when the chorus approaches, joining in with Chloe and ultimately sealing their chauffeur’s fate for the remainder of the drive.

***

They arrive to Chloe’s residence the worse for wear, but luckily intact. After no small amount of cursing and scrambling, Lucifer manages to deliver his partner safely inside.

“Mom! Lucifer!” Trixie squeals, launching from her seat beside Maze and Eve. The quick maneuverability of a motorcycle allowed the duo to make much faster progress to the apartment. Lucifer momentarily wonders about the exchange that must've taken place between Maze and the poor babysitter that is now nowhere to be found.

“Heel!” Lucifer orders, but his command falls on deaf ears as Trixie makes a mad dash for the newcomers.

“Hey Monkey!” Chloe beams, unaware of the impact that is about to befall her.

“Nope, no you don’t,” Dan intervenes, scooping up his daughter in a last-minute save. “Hey Monkey, your mom is hurt so you gotta go easy on her, okay?”

“Okay!” Trixie slows her speed and carefully approaches her mother.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“Yeah, baby, just a bit shaken up.”

Trixie eyes her mother’s sling, skeptical. “Did you break your arm?”

“No, baby, my shoulder decided to pop out of its place. But it’s all better now.”

“It is not all better, Detective,” Lucifer interrupts.

“It sounds scary. I’m glad you’re okay,” Trixie adds before gently wrapping herself around her mother’s uninjured side. “Did you have to get stitches?”

“I did. Wanna see?” Chloe bends over clumsily and lifts the bandage from her forehead for her daughter to see. Lucifer hovers with arms open in case the detective loses the battle with gravity and takes a tumble forward.

“Cool! Can I touch it?”

Lucifer steps between them and pries the girl’s hands away from her mother. “Nope, you will do no such thing, Urchin. Now go wash your hands.”

He steers a smiling Trixie towards the sink in the kitchen before turning back to Chloe. “Ok, Detective. Shall I escort you upstairs?”

“But I’m not sleepy.”

“What? You just said you were sleepy before we got here.”

“I took a nap in the car.”

“That doesn’t count, Detective.”

Tension grows between the pair as the onlookers wait in anticipation of a two-sided melt-down. Dan’s phone chimes, breaking the stalemate.

“Hey guys, I gotta head back to the station. They need all hands on deck.”

It’s the first time in a while that anyone has acknowledged the fulminant destruction that likely exists throughout Los Angeles. Lucifer’s jaw tightens at the reminder that he nearly lost Chloe to some natural disaster undoubtedly set forth by his arse of a twin.

“I’ll go with you,” Chloe says.

“Like hell you will! Detective, need I remind you that you only have one good arm right now and a possible head injury?”

“Lucifer, you can’t say H-E double hockey sticks,” Trixie declares, grabbing the swear jar as she returns from the kitchen. She holds it up to his face expectantly. Without preamble, Lucifer reaches into his pants pocket, presenting a fifty-dollar bill that he then crams unceremoniously into the jar.

“Consider this an advance for the night then, child.”

Chloe gives him an unfocused glare as she wavers on her feet.

“We’re about to start Marley and Me, little human.”

“Um, no. My daughter is not going to watch that movie tonight, Maze.”

“Why not? It’s hilarious.”

***

After thirty minutes of bickering and a small pillow thrown, Chloe retires to her bedroom while the watch party downstairs continues. Lucifer returns to the kitchen to find Trixie standing precariously on a footstool while raiding the cabinets.

“I think Mom would like some hot cocoa.”

“Whatever makes you think that, Urchin? What is so enticing about hot milk and imitation cocoa powder?”

“It always helps me feel better. Can you help me make some?” Trixie pulls at his shirt sleeve with sticky fingers.

“If you insist.” The sticky fingers go unnoticed as Lucifer fills his flask with whatever he can find in the opened cabinet. He takes in the scene before him in the living room: a petite, doe-eyed brunette tucked under the leather-clad arm of a softly snoring demon. He should feel the specter of jealousy creep through his bloodstream, but instead feels content with the situation.

Trixie drags him back to the situation at hand and out of earshot of the fellow slumbering movie watchers.

“Lucifer, you should show your wings to Mom.”

“I beg your pardon, child. My wings?” Lucifer asks incredulously, taking a swig from his flask.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I can see them.” Trixie rolls her eyes as she prepares a fresh mug. “Most of the time, anyway,” she amends and returns to stirring her cocoa.

Lucifer screws the lid onto his flask. “Beatrice, when you, um, when you see my…my wings, what do they look like?”

“Like wings, dummy.”

“Yes, you menace, but what kind of wings do you see?”

“Oh, you know, sometimes when you’re cranky they look more like a bat’s wings.”

“When I’m cranky?” Lucifer chokes, exasperated.

“You’ve been cranky a lot lately.”

Lucifer drums his fingers on the countertop, considering his next question. “And other times? What do they look like?”

“Like a fluffy bird,” Trixie giggles into her cocoa.

“Like a what?!”

***

Lucifer and Trixie creep quietly upstairs, cocoa and flask in respective hands. The top stair creaks under Lucifer’s feet.

“Shhhh,” Trixie hisses.

“Shhhhhhh,” he counters, bringing his finger to his lips to emphasize his point.

The detective’s offspring shoves him along the hallway to her mother’s bedroom, gently opening the door and pausing at the threshold. Lucifer peers over the child’s shoulder to the slumbering detective, snuggled deeply under a pile of blankets. She looks small, vulnerable.

“Trix, it doesn’t look like your mother will be up for cocoa,” Lucifer whispers.

“She can drink it when she wakes up.”

“Then it wouldn’t be hot cocoa.”

“Mom always says it’s the thought that counts.”

“That’s a lie parents use when they think the gift is subpar.”

Trixie glares and sticks her tongue out at her tall friend in the doorway. Lucifer can’t help but admire the audacity and stubbornness of the urchin who knowingly stands toe to toe with a creature as ancient and powerful as the devil.

The standoff is disrupted by the soft whimpers and cries of Chloe growing restless in her bed.

“Lucifer, she’s having another nightmare.”

***

Chloe steps off the elevator in her modest outfit and loafers, hair with a leftover wave from being up in a tight ponytail all day. Her partner stands before her, always the handsome and charming man that he is. Heaven-sent.

“Hi Lucifer.”

“Detective, you look…beautiful.” He doesn’t lie so he must really mean it, and isn’t it funny? That he finds her boring outfits and plain hair awe-inspiring?

“Thank you.” She notices the setup. White candles, a single rose. “No white tablecloth this time?”

“No, well, that went down like a pork chop at a kosher wedding, so…” He chuckles, motioning at the layout before him. “I made some adjustments.”

“Of course, you did.” Is this the master of manipulation Father Kinley warned her about? The monster that concerns himself with dinnerware etiquette?

“Mm?”

“Well, it’s very thoughtful.”

“Please, sit.” Lucifer adjusts his jacket, looking nervous. He never looks nervous. “Please,” he almost pleads. “I made you…grilled cheese. Your favorite. And not the smelly fancy stuff. Just the yummy orange kind that you like.”

  He brings the simples sandwiches to the coffee table. Where is his kitchen, she thinks, distracting herself from her true purpose tonight.

“Detective, there is something I’d like to say to you.” He pours the wine. This is it.

“Hmm?”

“Whilst I realize that knowing the truth about me may not be easy for you, I am glad that there are no secrets between us now.”

She is choking, drowning alive by candlelight. She watches the swirling dark liquid in his glass.  

“And if you every have any more questions, I shall be happy to answer any and all of them,” he finishes with a soft chuckle. “I’ve always been honest with you, Detective. And I always will be.”  

She is falling and turning inside out at the same time. This is not a monster before her. Not the dark shadow of creation. He made her a grilled cheese.

“Oh!” He laughs. “Sorry, silly me, I forgot the music. I made a playlist full of bad ‘90s jams for you.”

And the devil made her a playlist, one that she is sure he grumbled over for hours. What a silly, thoughtful man. He leaves her to locate the remote for his undoubtedly expensive sound system.

A burning sensation creeps up her arm. The pain flashes bright in her mind before a debilitating numbness takes over. She sees more than feels the small, ornate vial in her hand as her arm involuntarily lifts across the table towards Lucifer’s wine glass. Her left arm is paralyzed, unmoving against the arm that rotates, dribbling poison into the dark liquid. Her mind is screaming, lips unmoving.

Lucifer returns in his usual jovial manner.

“Let’s make a toast, Detective.” He lifts the glass in the air.

A moment of clarity, strength, and movement allows Chloe to knock the wine from his hand, sending it to shatter on the floor. She looks to see the dark liquid absorbing into the rug and safely away from her partner.

“Let’s make a toast, Detective.” He lifts another glass in the air, refilled with wine.

She knocks the second glass out of his hand, only to find a third taking its place.

The glass refills. Again, and again, and again.

***

“Do something, Lucifer,” Trixie pleads.

“I-I don’t…”

“Here, I’ll snuggle her. That usually helps.” She hands off her mug to her friend.

“You do that, Urchin.” Lucifer places the mug on the dresser by the door and wipes his hand on his pant leg.

He watches as she scrambles under the covers by her mom’s uninjured side. She comes dangerously close to knocking the wounded shoulder.

“Uh child, do be careful! You are quite a bony and knobby little thing,” Lucifer whispers in a panic, approaching the bedside.

Chloe opens her eyes to the chaos surrounding her and groggily surveys the room.

“Wha…what’s going on?”

“Mommy, you were having a nightmare.”

Chloe lays her right hand on her daughter’s cheek and gives her a sad smile.

“I’m okay now that you’re here, Monkey.”

“I think Lucifer should stay, too.”

Chloe’s head sleepily lolls to the doorway to find her partner standing aloof and altogether uncomfortable.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Detective.”

“Would you…would you like to join us?”

“I…are you sure?”

Chloe nods and scoots toward her daughter to make more room in her mediocre bed. Lucifer hesitates before approaching the pair. He then toes his shoes off before swinging his large frame onto the bed by the detective’s injured side.

“Was it quite terrible?” Lucifer asks, desperate to uncover and eliminate the fears that plague his partner.

“Was what quite terrible?”

“The nightmare.”

“Was it about the earthquake, Mommy?” Trixie adds.

“Yes,” Chloe lies. The contents of her dreams are ill-suited for the captive imagination of a preteen. Lucifer can tell that she is lying but understands her motivation and leaves the discussion for another time.

Trixie burrows further under the covers and against her mother’s side. The trio remains comfortably at peace for many minutes before the child’s snoring emerges.

“She gets that from you, you know,” Lucifer chuckles.

Had Chloe the strength, she would’ve punched his shoulder for his declaration, but instead finds herself comfortably pleased with his sense of humor. She tilts her head, staring at an insignificant spot on the ceiling as she considers her next words.

“You know, it’s strange, I could’ve sworn I saw you in that warehouse right before the quake.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. Doing that broody thing you sometimes do. Thought I saw wings, too.”

Lucifer doesn’t reply. He clenches his fist and closes his eyes, lest his bedmate should see his fiery eyes. Chloe reaches out to this hand, causing him to release the tension.

“I can assure you I was far away from that warehouse at the time of the quake. Unfortunately.”

“You saved me, Lucifer,” Chloe softly reminds him.

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t be so sure.”

***

It’s late. Chloe and her daughter slumber quietly beside Lucifer as he stares at the ceiling.

Doing his broody thing.

Chloe whimpers beside him and he feels tremors rippling through her small frame. He watches as her brow furrows in what he determines can only be fear. She shudders and her face scrunches in pain.

“Lucifer, help her,” the urchin pleads in a raspy voice from the other side of the bed, having been woken up by her mother’s unrest.

“How?” He is desperate. “I can wake her up.”

“No, they’ll just come back. They always come back.” Tears begin to fall down the child’s face.

He shifts to the side of the bed and stands, turning to give the urchin a doubtful look before he shrugs his shoulders. He is almost as amazed as Trixie when large white wings erupt from his back. A soft and warm glow fills the room. He kneels gently on the bed before coming to rest beside Chloe again. Careful to avoid her shoulder, he cradles her against his chest as he lays his right wing underneath her. He returns her sleeping head to her pillow and allows his left wing to rest protectively over her. His large primaries nudge the urchin underneath his feathery umbrella as they settle back on the bed. A small feather floats down to land by Chloe’s ear. He brushes it away and tucks her hair behind her ear before placing a kiss to her forehead. Chloe snuffles, only once, before her breathing evens outs and her face relaxes against Lucifer’s chest.

“There. Happy, Urchin?”

“See? Told you. Fluffy.” Trixie mumbles contentedly against her mother’s uninjured shoulder.

“Imp.”

Chapter Text

Lucifer startles awake. His upheaval from sleep luckily fails to rouse his bedmates who continue to softly snore on a bed of feathers. His feathers. Having enjoyed the benefits of being an archangel and apex predator the entirety of his existence, he has never been one to need to wake so abruptly to defend his well-being. Having these two humans under his wing has changed that.

He hears a buzz, one of too low frequency to be captured by human ears, like the hum of a wasp during a rainstorm.

He stares down at his sleeping partner. Her face revealing more peace than he has seen on her in months, perhaps since he met her, as her small urchin sleeps soundly by her side. He reconsiders changing Trixie's term of endearment from urchin to barnacle as he watches her cling so tightly to her mother.

The buzz resurfaces and is reminiscent of some long-buried annoyance he cannot readily place. His skin begins to crawl, feathers involuntarily fluffing against the sheets. 

The devil needs a cigarette. And possibly some scotch.

The next order of business is to find a way to gently extract himself from the Decker pile without waking either one. Lucifer stares at the ceiling, contemplating his options.

If he were Amenadiel, he could keep Chloe and Trixie asleep with one of his long, droning sermons. He chuckles to himself, quietly. His humor fades as he considers his current situation. The detective, his detective, has finally found peace in sleep. She hasn’t slept well in months. He can tell by the way she guzzles coffee, rubs her eyes, and yawns at crime scenes.

Lucifer recalls his ancient skillset, long dormant, that could solve this situation. Should he rekindle his ability in biokinesis and keep the two bedmates slumbering through lowered body temperatures and REM sleep? Even that feels like a violation.

He shifts the wing that covers the detective and her daughter, furling it towards his back. The detective stirs, emitting a soft whimper at the loss of warmth as she tries to seek out the solace again. He pauses.

The urchin shifts against her mother’s side and burrows deeper into the bedding.

He collects the two in his arms, holding both tightly against his chest, careful of Chloe’s injured side. Eyes closed and breath held, Lucifer summons some long-forgotten warmth from his core. While angry that his father forced abilities upon him that he never asked for, Lucifer is suddenly grateful for this particular skill of shifting light and heat. A soft glow fills the room. Chloe snuffles against his chest and resettles. His wing slowly retracts from under them. He places mother and child back against the mattress, readjusts the blankets to cocoon around them, and concentrates all that he is on one thought.

Be at peace.  

***

Lucifer quietly descends the stairs into the living area. Eve continues to sleep soundly under Maze’s arm. Her usual resting demon face has morphed into one of complete and unmistakable tranquility. While the sight of his girlfriend in the arms of another should trouble him and cause that fat-man-sitting-on-chest feeling, Lucifer finds that he is unbothered and possibly even comforted by the peace they seem to have found together.

He’ll need to unpack that later. But first, cigarette. Scotch.

He goes outside and lights a cigarette, holding it in his teeth as he unscrews his flask.

The night is unnaturally quiet, despite an earthquake striking the city only hours prior. The buzz is still there, wheedling at Lucifer’s ears just below the surface. He pauses briefly, imperceptibly, before taking a swig from his flask.

He steps to the corner of the patio where the porchlight doesn’t reach and screws the lid back on his flask. He takes a long drag from his cigarette before dropping it to his feet and snuffing it out prematurely with a slow and tortuous twist of his boot.

In a move quicker than the speed of light, another dormant skill brought back to life, Lucifer reaches a long arm into the darkness to snatch the collar of the observer in the shadows. The buzzing sound comes to a screeching halt.

“Michael. Can’t say that I am pleased to see you again,” Lucifer seethes as he draws his identical twin close enough to show him the red glint in his eyes and his snarling teeth.

“Hello, Sam,” Michael answers, unbothered by the devil before him.

Lucifer jerks him by the collar and slams him up against the brick wall beside him.

“What are you still doing here? Haven’t you done enough? Tell me, how many people died tonight because of you?”

“Oh, come off it, Lucifer. Everyone is fine. Just a bit shaken up, I presume. Speaking of, how is Chloe?”

Lucifer releases the collar of Michael’s sweater and forces his elbow up against his neck instead.

“Do not say her name.”

“Or what, brother? You’ll smite me? What difference does it make to you if I say her name or not?” A leering smile slides onto Michael’s face. “It seems you’re saying someone else’s name these days, correct? Eve.” He shoves Lucifer back several feet. “What is that silly saying the humans have? You can’t have your cake and eat it, too? Perhaps I’d like to have a bite.”

Lucifer rears back with fist ready, left hand already gripped tightly around his twin’s neck.

A large crash distracts the two of them as a winged shadow lands too closely to the patio furniture, sending a chair and table flying off into the grass.

“Stop it, you two!”

“It’s about bloody time you showed up,” Lucifer grizzles as he considers Amenadiel, freshly returned from delivering Charlotte to the Silver City. “Nice wings, brother.”

“Michael, what are you doing here?”

“Yes, Michael, do tell our brother why you are here and the trouble you’ve caused already.”

Michael huffs as he adjusts his lapels. The patio door opens. 

“Hey, can you keep it down out here-,” Maze hisses as she steps onto the patio, taking in what appears to be duplicate Lucifers and a rather peeved Amenadiel. “What is this?”

“Mazikeen, great timing. Please escort this nuisance off the premises.” Lucifer jostles his hold on Michael’s collar before shoving him back against the wall.

“I don’t work for you anymore,” comes Maze’s swift reply as she turns to evaluate the smirking mirror-image of her hellish ex-boss. “Who are you?”

“It’s me. Lucifer.” Michael insists in a British accent.

“Oh, for Dad’s sake, Maze. He’s lying.”

“Maybe he’s the one who is lying,” Michael points back at his twin.

“I could just stab you both. I don’t really care. It’s a win-win for me.”

“Ha ha, very funny, Maze. Brother, feel free to step in anytime.” Lucifer shoots an irritated glare at Amenadiel who seems to have taken a neutral stance in the exchange.

“Anyway, I’m not stupid. It’s pretty obvious which one of you is Lucifer,” Maze croons as she swings Stabby around in her hand. “Lucifer wouldn’t be caught dead in a turtleneck.” She points her blade at Michael’s chest, emphasizing her point.

Lucifer laughs heartily as he claps his hands together, releasing his hold on his twin. “That’s my Maze.”

“Shut up, Lucifer.”

Michael brushes off his brother’s irritating laugh and takes a step towards Mazikeen, hand extended.

“I’m Michael,” he offers with a sickly-sweet grin.

“And I still don’t care.”

Heads turn as the door opens again. Chloe, Trixie, and Eve file out onto the patio. It seems the scuffle and resulting conversation led to the awakening of the entire apartment.

“What’s going on?” Chloe asks, only seeing Lucifer as she clumsily steps outside with injured shoulder still in a sling. “Amenadiel, you’re back?”

“Hello, Chloe,” Michael purrs from the shadows as he steps towards the detective.

“Don’t,” Lucifer interrupts, grabbing the lapels of his twin’s jacket and yanking him back.

Chloe takes in Michael’s form, scrutinizing his face and slouched shoulder. She takes a calculated step forward as she cocks her head to the side. Lucifer becomes startingly aware that her presence seems to make his twin uncomfortable, if only by a barely perceivable amount.

“It was you. I saw you at the warehouse,” Chloe declares in a whisper. “You did this, didn’t you? You caused the earthquake. Who are you?”

“Oh brother, she really is a clever detective.” Michael leers and slinks towards her. “Quite the miracle.”

“You’re a bad man,” Trixie adds, stepping in front of her mother, effectively halting the archangel’s progress.

“From the mouth of babes, brother!” Lucifer guffaws, hiding his heightened awareness and readiness to pounce at the slightest sign of Michael’s intent to harm.

Michael turns his gaze upon the child and crouches down to her level. The atmosphere pulls tight with his approach. Chloe’s hackles raise as a Lucifer emits a low growl, eyes red in the darkness. Michael bends forward.

“Tell me, Beatrice, you must’ve been really scared when your mommy got hurt, yeah?” He asks in a soft voice. “How many more times do you think you’ll come so close to losing her? How many more lives does she have left, hmm?”

Chloe’s uninjured arm goes around her daughter, shoving her behind her. With little regard for her own safety, she steps forward and shoves a finger against Michael’s chest.

“Do not talk to my daughter.” She shoves him back an inch. “If you go near her again, I’ll kill you myself.”

It’s Michael’s turn to laugh. “Oh, isn’t that rich? I have to say, Samael, this miracle truly is something else.” He turns to acknowledge his twin in the shadows.  

“Maze, Eve, can you take Trixie inside please?” Chloe pleads, ignoring the use of the word miracle and the fact that she threatened to kill an angel in front of her child. She realizes that she trusts the first woman and a demon more than ever in this moment, granting them the ability to protect her daughter from the celestial craziness going down on her patio.

“I…yes, of course, Detective,” Eve responds softly as Maze grunts in affirmation. Usually one ready for a fight, Maze is overwhelmed by the need to protect the small human.

“But Mom…”

Chloe delivers a look to her daughter signaling that no argument is to be had. Michael continues to chuckle to himself as Eve guides Trixie back inside the apartment with Maze in tow.

***

Maze guides Trixie to her bedroom as Eve mumbles something about the kitchen and hot cocoa. The demon makes a mental note to remove that awful drink from the house at her next opportunity. She scoops Trixie up and drops her on the bed as the young girl giggles. Fully prepared to discuss angels and celestial nonsense with an ever-curious child, Maze is surprised by her first question.

“Maze, do you like like Eve?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Trixie asks in a wheedling voice.

“Why are you asking this?”

The preteen wraps her arms behind her head, settling further into the pillow, “You know, I used to want Mom and Dad to get back together. But then I saw how happy Dad was with Charlotte. And I saw how happy Mom was when she was with Lucifer.”

“But your mom isn’t with Lucifer.”

“And you’re not with Eve. But I see how happy you are when you are with her. You don’t think I see how happy you are when you look at her, but I see it.” Neither Maze nor Trixie hear Eve’s approach as she pauses in the doorway, remaining unnoticed.

“And you’re…you’re okay with that?” Maze asks.

“Yeah, duh. You want the people you love to be happy, and I love you, so I want you to be happy.”

“You…you love me?”

“Of course, I do, dummy,” Trixie finishes as she snuggles against Maze’s side. Eve makes her presence known as she enters the room with the hot cocoa.

“Your mom will always be my skank,” Maze declares proudly.

“What’s a skank?” Trixie asks Maze, turning to Eve who shares in her confusion.

“Ask your mother.”

***

“What kind of a monster talks to a child like that?” Chloe inquires, unkindly.

“Perhaps you should teach her better manners,” Michael snipes back as he adjusts his turtleneck.

“Says the angel who just wreaked havoc across an entire city,” Lucifer scoffs, stepping closer to the detective and serving as a boundary between her and his twin.

“Michael, why are you here?” Amenadiel finally asks.

“I don’t need a reason to visit Earth, brother.”

“You’re the archangel Michael,” Chloe confirms, unimpressed.

“In the flesh.” He bows slightly to her, unnerving Lucifer further. “You and I have a lot in common, Chloe…”

“Hardly,” Lucifer interrupts.

“…both champions of justice, protectors of the people…”

“You caused an earthquake. You could’ve killed thousands.”

“Aha, Chloe, but I didn’t. I could, yet I chose not to. Isn’t choice a marvelous thing?”

“Wow, some hero you are,” Chloe deadpans as she rubs her forehead, headache on the horizon. Michael seems displeased with her dismissal of his angelic mercy.

“Hero? Like Lucifer? I can promise you he has killed more humans than I. More angels, too. Isn’t that right, brother?”

“Michael, I think it’s best if you leave.”

“Ah, Amenadiel, nearly forgot you were there,” Michael sneers. “Tell me, brother, I’m pretty sure your errant machinations in your quest to send my twin back to Hell have led to quite a bit of collateral damage as well, correct?”

“You’re deflecting,” Chloe jabs, laughing at the discomfort on Michael’s face. Lucifer finds himself monumentally proud of his detective in this moment, if not also a little turned on.

“Your opinion of me matters not,” Michael disparages. “You are nothing more than a vessel. Sent here as a gift, a plaything, for my brother. Tell me, has he played with you yet? Or is he already tired of you?”

“You sound like a petulant child.” Chloe continues to ignore the larger message that Michael must be hiding behind words like gift and miracle. She needs to focus on getting rid of him. 

“A child?! Lucifer doesn’t get his way, stomps his feet, and is given an entire kingdom…”

“You call being forced to torture souls for hundreds of thousands of years an ‘attaboy?” Lucifer advances on his twin. Chloe lifts a gentle hand to his arm to placate his growing rage.

“Luci, don’t listen to him. He is only trying to get a rise out of you.”

“…and now he’s lured an innocent soul, the First Woman, out of the Silver City to live of life of sin, excess, debauchery…”

Chloe’s eyes fall to the ground, fighting to acknowledge the meaning of Eve’s grand gesture to leave an eternity of peace and happiness to be with Lucifer. What grand gesture had she shown him? Poison in a vial meant to send him back to Hell?

“…while he ignores a gift from Dad, an actual miracle, in favor of instant gratification?”

“Enough!” Chloe shouts. A dog barks in the distance. “It’s time for you to leave.”

“Yes, brother. You’ve quite outstayed your welcome,” Lucifer adds, trying to avert the detective’s attention from the miracle-sized reveal that continues to pour from Michael’s lips.

“Wait…he hasn’t told you, has he?” Michael feigns innocence in his question as he focuses in on Chloe, taking another step closer. Lucifer shoves against his chest.

“Michael,” Amenadiel warns.

“Quiet, Amenadiel. You’ve had a hand in this as well. Laid a blessing was a euphemism, right?”

Chloe’s confused face adds fuel to Michael’s purpose.

“Chloe Decker,” he hums, “…you are a miracle sent from God…”

“DON’T,” Lucifer snarls.

“…as a gift to Lucifer. Your sole purpose being to please him…obey him…”

Lucifer surges forward and grabs Michael by the lapels.

“Careful, brother. You may be the sword of God, but I am the wrath,” Lucifer spits as he shakes his twin to emphasize his point.

Michael tears away from his grasp as dark gray wings emerge from his back. Amenadiel follows suit with his wings, knocking over the final remaining piece of patio furniture.

Michael continues his advance on Chloe.

“Get out.” Chloe rasps, unaware of the tears that stream down her face. She feels her body trembling from fear or devastation, she cannot tell. Michael, enthralled by her emotional state, takes another step forward. He takes a deep inhale and shudders with glee.

“Detective,” he mocks in a British accent. “You smell delicious—”

Lucifer lurches forward, slamming against his twin, as large bat-like wings burst forth from his back. The porchlight flickers once before shattering into darkness. Chloe feels the spray of glass against her back but doesn’t flinch.

Michael howls with laughter at the scene before him. He takes one last leering look at Chloe before crouching down and launching into the night sky. Amenadiel, torn between the horrific sight of his brother in distress and the pursuit of Michael, takes off after him.

Lucifer remains with his back to Chloe, leathery wings still on full display. His chest heaves from rage and disgust, self-hatred evident in the way his shoulders stoop forward.

Chloe takes a small step toward her partner and places a hand on his shoulder. Lucifer jerks away, refusing to make eye contact. She hears his ragged breathing.

“Lucifer, it’s okay…”

“No, Chloe. It really isn’t.”

He then crouches low and launches into the air. She hears the flap of wings as he recedes into the darkness.

Chapter Text

The Los Angeles smog clears as Amenadiel rockets above the clouds and further into the rapidly cooling troposphere. Catching shimmers of his gray-winged brother in the starlit night, Amenadiel reaches a long arm to wrap his hand around Michael’s leg and gives it a tug.

Michael cackles against the unsuccessful attempt and kicks free from Amenadiel’s grasp.

“Come now, brother,” he guffaws as he slows down mid-air with a great flap of his wings. “You know those petty little attempts don’t work.”

“I’ll ask you again. What are you doing here on Earth, Michael?”

“Can’t I visit two of my dearest brothers?” Michael propels further ahead. The twins were gifted with speed of flight, being lithe of form and sure of strength, especially when airborne.

“Right,” Amenadiel deadpans as the air whips around him. While he has the skills of God’s greatest warrior, those legends tend to refer to his ability to fight with feet planted firmly on the ground.

Taking a page from Michael’s book on exploiting weakness, he wills a short burst of speed to catch back up to him. Knowing the right wing harbors a sore spot in an otherwise ironclad defense, Amenadiel sinks his fingers unkindly into the meat of the wing and wrenches the limb at an awkward angle.

Michael howls in pain, instinctually retracting the injured wing against his body before falling several yards towards the earth. Taking advantage of his brother’s shock and debility, Amenadiel wraps an arm around his neck and forces them both into freefall. It only takes moments for them to drop dangerously close to the ground before Amenadiel’s wings spread wide and carry them to a softer landing. Once on firm feet, he shoves Michael forward and onto the sand of the beach where they’ve landed.

“I asked you a question, Michael.” He stalks closer and grabs his brother by the collar. “You don’t belong here.”

“And you do?!” Michael spits. “None of us belong here. Our errant brother most of all.” He grips Amenadiel’s arm and uses it as leverage to pull himself back to his feet. “He has been making a mockery of Dad’s creation for millennia. I’ve heard that his latest exploits have re-involved the first woman. If that’s not a middle finger to Dad then I don’t know what is.”

“Brother, you just caused a major earthquake. What would Father think of that?”

“Calm down. Nobody died.” He readjusts his ill-fitting jacket and runs a hand through his hair. The two trudge through the sand and back to the nearby street. “Lucifer’s little pet is fine. I made sure of that.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Michael.”

“Yeah, well, you know who else shouldn’t be here? A Nephilim. Inside that little doctor of yours, right?” Michael scoffs.

“How did you—you know what, it doesn’t matter. That Nephilim you speak of is an innocent child.” Amenadiel stands taller, straighter. “If you go near Linda, I will end you—”

“Come now, brother. I have no intention of causing anyone harm.” Michael pauses, reconsidering. “At least not that human.”

A pit opens in Amenadiel’s stomach, unsure of the inuendo and who it could possibly involve. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.” Michael rolls his shoulders and stretches his injured wing. A nearby transfer truck approaches. He steps into the street without care. “But don’t worry,” he whispers as the truck whizzes past with horn blaring, effectively blocking Amenadiel’s view of his escape.

“It’s gonna be epic.”

***

Once it becomes clear that Lucifer has no intention of returning to her apartment that night, Chloe fires off a text to his phone before retreating into her home. She ignores her trembling fingers and blindly wipes the tear drops from her screen before locking it. Her injuries, lack of sleep, and ketamine haze are catching up with her faculties. 

I’m here when you’re ready, her text reads.

She tiptoes through the apartment and peaks in on Trixie. Her heart is in a vice-like grip, recalling the trauma she has both unknowingly and knowingly exposed her daughter to. Kidnappings, gun violence, archangels, to name a few. What kind of a mother is she?

Trixie is tucked in between a demon and a back-from-the-dead human from biblical times, so essentially a zombie, right? She is unsure how to categorize Eve. She knows that this woman cares for her partner. Does she make Lucifer feel safe and accepted? Does she give him things that Chloe could never give him?

She leaves for the kitchen and begins to heat a kettle on the stove. Her injured shoulder slows her down as she navigates the kitchen. Staring into space, Chloe fails to hear the creak of Trixie’s door and the footsteps of a small brunette approaching.

Chloe intercepts the near-boiling kettle before it squeals throughout the quiet abode. Her hands continue to shake as she pours steaming water into a mug occupied by a sad tea sachet.

“Hi, Chloe,” Eve’s soft voice reaches her in the silence of the kitchen.

Chloe startles and recalibrates, “Hi.”

“Is everything okay? Did Lucifer leave?”

Is everything okay? Chloe stares blankly ahead, unsure of the answer. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I think—I think this was too much for him.”

You are nothing more than a vessel. Michael’s words begin to flood back.

“I should probably go find him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea right now, Eve.” Chloe reaches for a second mug and tea sachet, raising an eyebrow to her new friend in question. Eve nods, agreeing to her advice and the proffered mug of tea. She settles on the stool at the counter and idly dips the sachet in the steaming water.

“I’m sorry this is happening,” Eve offers quietly.

“Me, too.” Chloe turns away from the stove to meet Eve’s eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. For everything.”

Eve gives a small smile and nods again. “You know, he’s different when he’s with you.”

“How so?”

“He listens to you.”

Chloe laughs before catching herself. “That’s because he has to listen to me. I’m a police officer.”

Eve smiles again and shakes her head. “We both know that’s not why.”

Both women laugh softly, finding the notion silly that the devil would ever abide by human law.

A few quiet moments pass in what has become a companionable silence.

“I’ve never met Michael before,” Eve mutters, making a sour face as she sips her tea. “I don’t like him.”

“That makes two of us.”

…you are a miracle sent from God…

Chloe blinks the words away and clears her throat. “I, uh—I thought Michael guarded Eden? With the flaming sword and all that.” She flaps her good hand in the air to emphasize her point and her weak grasp of the Bible. “You really haven’t met him before?”

“That was one of the cherubim,” Eve giggles into her tea.

“Oh,” Chloe coughs. “Cherubim. Right. Duh.”

***

Nearly a month passes without word from Lucifer. Despite multiple methods of contact from Chloe, it is as if he has spirited away, perhaps back to Las Vegas again (she thinks this, bitterly). If it weren’t for the casual mentions from Linda of his continued attendance at therapy sessions, Chloe would be sick with worry. She is still sick with worry, especially when she sees Linda’s sad smile when asked about her patient, but she refrains from ill-advised intrusions into what is likely a private and dark void that Lucifer has created for himself. Patrick turns her away from the penthouse twice, and if she had less respect for the bartender, she would bowl him over to get to the elevator. The only thing that holds her back from finding other means to enter the penthouse is the image of Lucifer in the throes of passion with Eve. That thought also makes her sick.

One solid sign that her partner is still up to some of his devilish tricks is the constant supervision she receives from both Amenadiel and Maze. When they aren’t physically hanging around her, either at the apartment or the precinct, they are undoubtedly lurking outside her home, standing sentinel against any unwelcomed visits from the devil’s twin.

Amenadiel coughs into his beer one night at her apartment when she confronts him about his brother’s orders to provide 24-hour protection of the detective.

“I-uh. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Amenadiel clears his throat.

“You’re bad at lying,” Chloe prods. “You think I don’t notice Maze on school property when I pick up Trixie? Leather pants tend to stick out.” She’s laughing, not unkindly. “You are both super bad at this. Did Lucifer put you both on babysitting duties?”

“Chloe, I—” Amenadiel looks down at his beer, playing with the label on the bottle. “You must understand, Lucifer is going through something…and Michael, he’s—”

“You’re about to be a father, Amenadiel. You should be with Linda, not babysitting me,” Chloe interrupts. “And I don’t care about Michael. I’ll send out the bat-signal if anything happens. Or the devil-signal, I guess.” She leans her uninjured hip against the kitchen counter, feigning as much nonchalance as possible despite her left arm still being in a sling.

Amenadiel smiles at her poor attempt at a joke and downs the rest of his beer. He takes Chloe’s suggestion into consideration, knowing that Maze’s shift will begin shortly after his departure anyway. He nods to her and makes his way to the patio where he had landed earlier in the night at the beginning of his visit.

“We really did a number on your patio furniture,” he adds.

Chloe shakes her head and laughs. “Are you—um…is it okay to drink and fly? Lucifer told me you hit a bridge once.”

He looks skyward with an exasperated eyeroll as he unfurls his wings.

“That happened one time, Chloe,” she hears him say when he takes off, disappearing into the night sky.

She continues to chuckle as she shakes her head again and turns to reenter the apartment. A creeping fear crawls down her spine as she reaches for the doorhandle. She whips around at the sound of wings flapping closely behind her and feet touching down.

“Amenadiel, did you forget your—”   

“Hello, Detective.”

“Lucifer?” Chloe gasps at the tall shadow before her.

The figure steps into the light, furling dull gray wings behind him.

“Not quite,” he snarls.

Chloe puts as much space between her and the unwelcomed archangel, stepping behind the aluminum bistro set that is still mangled from the last meeting of angels on her patio.

“No. You get the hell out of here,” she hisses.

“Relax, Chloe. You are safe.” Michael comes closer, cornering Chloe against the garden wall.

Her gun is inside, locked away in a safe under her bed. Not that any manmade weapon could hurt this angel.

“Why are you here?” Options flip through her mind’s eye like a Rolodex. Her phone is also inside. Could she pray? To whom would she pray? Her eyes flit around the patio, landing on the planter by the door. A recent memory flashes across her mind.

“I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” She scoffs, edging closer to the ceramic planter full of soil, sad-looking tomatoes, and the karambit Maze left buried with a wink last week.

“Our first meeting was a bit rocky, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wonder whose fault that is.”

Michael laughs softly, looking almost bashful, as if he is both proud and embarrassed of the things he has done and the things he has said.

“I came to make amends.” He lifts the arm of his non-sloped shoulder in an offering of peace. Chloe steps further away, now within a foot of Maze’s hidden weapon.

“I realize that I may have been a little forward,” he continues.

“With what?” She is trying to buy herself time, hardly listening to the visitor on her patio.

“The truth.” He has her attention now, karambit forgotten. “About who you are.”

…an actual miracle…

“Look, I’ve had about enough celestial craziness for the year. I don’t really want to hear what you have to say.” She wishes her arm wasn’t still in a sling. She would like to punch this angel.

“Oh, but you should.” He steps closer. “Father has only created a handful of miracles in the history of existence, and he has only ever made one of them as a gift.”

There’s that word again. The one that echoes in her mind at night when she tries to sleep.

“I think you have the wrong person,” Chloe hedges as her eyes flit back to the sad tomato plant.

“Penelope and John Decker had difficulty conceiving. They had almost given up. That is, until Father sent his greatest warrior, which is debatable by the way, on a silly little errand…and then poof! Unto us a child is born.” He singsongs, now close enough to be peering down at her under the dim light coming through the door from the living area. “That child is you.” The sordid shadows on his face curve into a grin.

“So what? That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Chloe,” he gasps theatrically. “It means everything.” Michael whispers sharply before reaching up, gripping her jaw. Her good arm swings up in retaliation but is caught by his other hand.

He laughs.

“Tell me, Chloe. How has Lucifer treated his gift, hm?”

“Get out,” she croaks against the fingers that dig into her flesh.

“How does it feel to know that you only exist in order to please someone else?”

Chloe considers his question, swallowing down bile. “You tell me,” She rasps. “Or does daddy even know you exist?”

She takes advantage of the angry shock on his face and knees the archangel in the groin. Knowing that will do little to remedy her situation, she breaks her left arm free of its sling and digs the karambit out of the planter. Pain shoots through her left side, causing her to shout in pain. Surely the neighbors will hear her and surely someone will call for help. She hopes.

Michael advances again. The gust of wind from his wings unfurling nearly blind her as she slices at his face in an uppercut motion. His howl of pain assures her that she has hit her target.

He blindly reaches for her as blood streams down his face. She dodges his first attempt and plants her feet in anticipation of the next attack. She knows she stands no chance against a celestial warrior, but she refuses to go down without a fight. She can make this angel bleed, too.

This is it, she thinks. This is how I die.

A shadow falls to her right. She hears her bistro set take another hit as Maze lands carelessly on the small table, having jumped the garden fence against the building.

“Chloe, get back!” She commands, aiming two demon blades at the angel aggressor.

Michael takes stock of his situation, seeing his odds for the night dwindling through his blurry vision. He blinks away blood, growls, and flashes his teeth at the advancing demon. He flaps his wings in a wide arch in an attempt to send both women stumbling back. It works.

He crouches low before rocketing into the air and out of sight.

Maze turns to Chloe, short of breath and looking the worse for wear. She cringes as she sees Chloe cradling her injured side.

“Decker, are you okay?”

Chloe pants from the pain as she sinks to her knees, curling in on herself. “I can’t—” gasp “—believe you put one of your blades in my fucking tomato plant, Maze.” Chloe forces a laugh against the ache.

“You’re welcome.” Maze digs in her pocket and brings out her phone. She gives her friend a once-over, her look changing to one of concern.  “Chloe, I have to call this in.”

“To the police?” Chloe scoffs. “You can’t be serious.”

“No.” Maze grimaces as her thumb hovers above the lock screen. “To Lucifer.”

***

Lucifer strides off the penthouse elevator in search of his girlfriend who will likely not be his girlfriend for very much longer. After a few weeks of intentional bad behavior on his behalf, his hope is that he has finally developed the stones to end things, amicably if he’s lucky. His self-hatred has boiled over since the earthquake, and his quest for self-sabotage has proven to be lucrative in destroying relationships.

He has avoided all contact with the detective, convinced that any further exposure to him will only end poorly for her. He has kept an eye on her, of course, through the help of his brother and demon. That has not provided much of a balm for his nerves, and he finds that it is simply because he misses his partner.  

“Eve?” He spots her on the balcony. “We need to talk.” He starts. “I’ve been thinking—”

“Actually, I have something I want to say first,” Eve turns to face him. “Tonight, a friend helped me realize that I’m great. No. You know what? I’m awesome. And I deserve to be treated well.”

“You’re right.,” He concedes. “And you are so much more than awesome, Eve. You have a light inside of you that brightens the world and a smile so infectious that it captures the heart of anyone lucky enough to see it. And…I’m sorry for the way that I’ve treated you lately. You don’t deserve that.”

She smiles. That’s unexpected, he thinks. “That’s all I wanted to hear—”

“Which is why I should have just said this straight away,” Lucifer holds up his hands in placation. “I want to break up with you.”

Eve’s brown eyes go wide and her brow furrows in confusion. “I don’t understand. I’ve been trying so hard to…please you. I’ve made friends with all your friends.”

“You see, that’s just it. You shouldn’t have to change for anyone. And neither should I.” He thinks of all the mess he has left lately in his wake. “Eve, I have been trying so hard to make you happy, too, trying to be someone I’m not. Or at least someone I don’t want to be anymore. And you deserve to be with someone that wants what you want.”

“I want to be with you—" she urges.

“And I don’t like who I am with you!”

Silence falls between the two of them, both shocked by the devil telling the truth.

“I don’t. Sorry,” he finishes.

The chiming of Lucifer’s phone interrupts the fracturing moment. He looks down at the screen, eyes widening.

“I have to take this. It’s an SOS from Maze.”

***

Lucifer calls her a week after the attack.

She’s already been back to the doctor for x-rays to check her shoulder and ribs. There are new bruises on her jaw, and Chloe ignores the suspicious looks and questions from the medical staff; the final verdict is that she is otherwise still on the appropriate road to recovery. Her patio furniture did not fare as well and remains forgotten in a crumpled heap where it fell.

When she sees her partner’s name flash across the screen on her phone, she hesitates.

“Hi,” she answers, listening carefully. She hears the shuffling of clothing in the background and pictures Lucifer’s attempt to adjust his cufflinks while holding the phone.

“Detective.” He breathes out, sounding as relieved as she is to hear his voice. “Hello.”

“How are y—”

“Are you alright?” He blurts.

She pauses before speaking, continuing to listen to the background noise over the line. Hearing an absence of club music and the usual giggling of Eve, she is struck by the heaviness of his question.

“Y—yes. I’m fine.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No. No, I hurt him.”

“That’s what I hear. Good job, Detective. Only you could permanently scar an archangel” He huffs. “But you have to understand how dangerous he is, and you should—”

“Are you okay, Lucifer?” She interrupts.

He pauses and she hears him continue to shuffle the phone in his hand. “I’m getting there.”

***

Two weeks later…

“Chloe, come on! It could be so much fun.” Ella continues to bounce up and down. “I haven’t been to one of these since university.”

The event in question is a stoplight party, one in which partygoers wear green, yellow, or red to indicate relationship status and the willingness to go to bed together. Probably something that would be more appealing if Chloe were on the more optimistic side of thirty and with less bullet scars.

“Exactly, Ella. It’s a party for college kids who just want to hook up.”

“It could do you some good, chica,” Ella pleads as she wraps an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “You deserve a night to forget everything.”

Right. Everything. Perhaps not all the things Ella has in mind, like the dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, or dead fiancé. The forensic scientist entered the lab that morning overly exuberant with news that Eve had convinced Lucifer to host the tawdry affair. His words, apparently.

“I think it was Eve’s idea.” Ella sips her coffee. “It’s weird though, right? She and Lucifer broke up, and now he’s letting her host a party. I guess things ended amicably.” She shrugs.

Sure, Chloe thinks, hiding her surprise at the news that Lucifer is no longer with Eve. She doesn’t want to acknowledge the guilt-laced satisfaction she feels that they are no longer together. She also doesn’t want to acknowledge the fact that while Lucifer and Eve seem to have remained friends after the break-up, he has yet to indicate that he extends any friendship towards Chloe after what they’ve been through. He has continued to avoid her aside from that one panicked phone call making sure she is okay.

“So anyway, what time should I come over? We can Uber there together,” Ella finishes.

***

Chloe isn’t fully confident she’s invited to the stoplight party at Lux, and she is even less sure of what color she should wear. Yellow, proceed with caution. Red, taken or not interested.

 Green…open and ready to get down?

She’s most definitely no longer married, no longer engaged to a mass murderer, and no longer on speaking terms with the man who holds her heart. She can only think of Eve when she considers wearing a red dress, blinking away memories of the first woman dancing and frolicking around in the devil’s favorite color. Did Eve even like that color?

After much debate and multiple texts from Ella, she chooses her outfit.

She lets the tastefully sequined dress drift down over her head, feeling the hem fall dangerously high above her knees. The straps are thin, deceptively strong, and allow the dress to dip both low in the back and front, leaving very little to the imagination.

She leaves her hair natural and tousled, applies a smokey eye, and leaves her lips nude. She debates adding jewelry, having forgone all of it since removing both her bullet necklace and engagement ring over the months prior. She grabs her Louboutin heels from her actress days, having kept them hidden from Lucifer deep in her closet from the very start, knowing that he would never let her live it down that she owns a pair.  

She sits on her couch in the living room, heels gripped tightly in hand, and waits for Ella to arrive.

***

Chloe feels like a baby deer as she descends the steps in Lux with her peppy friend grasping her good arm. Being only recently free of wearing her sling, her balance is still off. The six-inch heels are certainly not helping. Having arrived fashionably late, they find the party is already in full swing as a sea of greens, yellows, and reds undulate with the music. She swallows down her nerves and commits herself to this decision. If anything, she will be here to make sure Ella has a good time and has safe passage to whatever unfolds later that night.

The lights flash with the beat of the music, making it difficult to discern the features of the people dancing in the crowd. A sustained strobe of light allows her to see the tall shadow in a black three-piece suit standing at the balcony, surveying the barely clothed mayhem below him. Ella carries forward to the bar with a wave as Chloe comes to a stop at the bottom of the steps. She looks up at him again as the next song rolls in like thunder. From this angle, she thinks Lucifer looks like a king. She struggles with the idea that he is actually a king, just not in this domain. A thrill washes over her with a shudder. She blinks a few times to clear her vision before zeroing in on his pocket square.

It’s red.

He must be back with Eve after all, she thinks. Of course, they’re back together. And what better opportunity to find multiple willing participants to join in on the debauchery than a stoplight party. 

She is about to turn around, find Ella, and leave for the night, having had her fill of this idea already, when she feels a soft tap on her shoulder.

“Hi. Miss Decker?”

“Dr. Holder!”

The doctor from the emergency department looks different when not in surgical scrubs and a long lab coat. “Wow! Crazy seeing you here,” he laughs, adjusting the sleeves of his dress shirt, pushing them higher to reveal toned forearms.

“Yeah, wow, I guess it’s weird running into a patient, right?” Chloe’s recollection of their interaction in the emergency department that night remains cloudy, but she is most certain that this person was one of her many victims during her opioid-induced hospital gown exhibition.

Her eyes dart between Lucifer on the balcony and Ella barking orders at the bar. She is suddenly aware and overly conscious of her choice of clothing as the doctor’s eyes drop to her legs. “And it’s Chloe, by the way,” she adds.

“Of course, Chloe. Sorry. You can call me Liam.” He rubs the back of his head in a shy, boyish manner. Luckily, he does not witness Ella’s reaction when she sees the doctor standing by Chloe. He does not see her lewd grin directed at Chloe. “Wanna grab a drink?”

Ella, colorful drink now in hand, nods to Chloe with a suggestive wink and spirits away into the crowd.

Chloe glances up to the balcony again at the same time that Lucifer scans her area of the club. She can tell that he notices her by the flash of recognition that ignites his eyes before his face returns to an unreadable look. Chloe shifts awkwardly in front of the doctor as a beam of light glides across the club with the next beat of the song. The beam catches all the tiny reflective disks on her dress, sending patterns of light and color through the air. The bursts of color must reach Lucifer’s eyes, because he turns forward to see her more clearly.

The sparkles of her dress, like raindrops of iridescent green in the smokey haze of the club, are a stark contrast to the red of the devil’s eyes that shine from the balcony.

“Sure,” she says to her new friend, ignoring the confused emotions of guilt and anger that she feels at Lucifer’s display from the balcony. “Let’s grab a drink.”

***

Chloe and Liam stand at one of the high-top tables near the bar, nursing their drinks with idle conversation. Her IPA has already warmed in her hands, giving it a tart and unpleasant aftertaste. She can feel Lucifer’s gaze on her periodically, and it only serves to irritate her further. She shouldn’t have come here tonight. It is wildly unclear where they stand, and the nonverbal signals he is sending now indicate that her presence must not be desired.

One of the waitstaff interrupts her dark thoughts when they place a tray with two drinks on the table.

“Here you go, Detective,” the server says, placing an ice-cold IPA in her hands. “Courtesy of the boss.”

Chloe frowns at the gesture but is not entirely unappreciative of its meaning. She is grateful it’s not prosecco and fights to hide the small smile that lingers on her lips.

“And for you, doctor.” The server continues, turning to set a tumbler of liquid in front of Liam. “The boss is trying out some original cocktail recipes tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” Liam asks, initially impressed, trying to admire the silly umbrella and sickly green liquid placed before him. “What’s this one called?”

The server’s eyes flit to his boss who has descended the stairs to the club’s main floor. He clears his throat awkwardly.

“The Pillock,” he finally answers.

Chloe nearly chokes on her beer, fighting the urge to turn around and glare at Lucifer across the sea of partiers. She wants to admonish him for this obvious and childish attempt at a power play.

Liam laughs it off, but he remains uncomfortable. The server departs.

“Liam, I—”

“You know, he made a very generous donation in your name to the emergency department at Cedars-Sinai,” Liam says as he sips his new drink. He makes a face at the taste. Chloe continues to nurse her IPA.

“Lucifer did?”

“Yes, well, it was an anonymous donation. Pretty obvious to me who it was.”

Chloe finds herself intrigued against her better judgment. “How so?”

“Well, for starters, it came with stipulations.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow, unsure if she wants to know the specifics. Lucifer is well known for his deals. Deals that are often layered with stipulations. She asks anyway. “What are they?”

Liam smirks down at his glass. “One of the conditions is that we pay our nurses higher wages.” Chloe nods in agreement, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Another one is that ‘The good Doctor Holder attends and graduates from an etiquette class.’” He finishes in a terrible British accent. “He even sent a list of recommended programs.”

Chloe laughs into her beer. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

He joins her with a low chuckle. “Yes, that was a first for me.”

“Well, are you going to do it? The etiquette class?”

The good doctor considers her question as he sips his drink. “Hell yeah. That’s a lot of money for the department.”

Chloe smiles and he blushes. They continue with their drinks quietly for a few moments.

“Did he really make the donation in my name?”

“Well, that’s the other thing that was mysterious to our departmental board.”

“What do you mean?”

“'To my Plain Jane.'”

“To my what?”

“That’s what the message in his donation said. That’s gotta be you, right?”

Chloe squints her eyes across the dancefloor, unsure if she should be offended by Liam’s assumption or Lucifer’s new moniker for her. She catches Lucifer’s watchful eye as he brushes off the scantily clad clubgoers that hang on him. Liam turns to catch the club owner’s disapproving look that is very clearly directed at him.

“Whoa, he’s a bit protective, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” she huffs. “He is.”

Annoyed by Lucifer’s lack of discretion and the obvious scare tactics he is employing to shoo away her new friend, Chloe decides to confront her partner head on. Now two beers into the night, she is feeling confident enough to call him out on his bullshit.

As she fully turns to stomp her way across the dance floor, Liam lays a soft hand on her shoulder.

“Hey Choe. It’s not a big deal.”  He smiles somewhat sadly. “I get it.” He downs the rest of his drink, grimaces again at the taste, and makes to leave. “I think I should go.”

Chloe stands with mouth agape as Liam waves to her from the last step before exiting the club.

***

It takes no time for Chloe to weave through the crowd to get to Lucifer. He has now seated himself at a booth, arms sprawled across the back and looking very pleased with himself. A man and a woman have joined him, both wearing green and looking overly eager for the potential company with the club owner.

“We need to talk,” she huffs as she approaches him.

Lucifer reaches forward for his tumbler of scotch and takes a slow drink before lifting his eyes to her face.

“Then talk,” he murmurs against the glass.

“Not here.”

“Lucifer, who is this?” The man at the booth interrupts, giving Chloe an appreciative glance.

“Out of your league,” comes Lucifer’s swift reply. Realizing he no longer desires an audience to this conversation, he rises from his seat and gestures for Chloe to lead them somewhere else.

She pulls him into a dark hallway amongst couples locked in romantic embraces, further away from the din of club music.

“What was that?”

“What was what, Detective?”

“Your behavior back there. The Pillock? You can’t be serious.”

Lucifer doesn’t respond, choosing instead to adjust his cufflinks and straighten the lapels of his jacket. Her attention is drawn again to the red pocket square.

“Where’s Eve?” She asks.

“How should I know?”

“Well, wasn’t this whole tawdry affair her idea?”

“Yes, well, I am sure wherever she is, she is enjoying herself,” Lucifer adds, confused.

“Shouldn’t you be with her?”

“No. Why? I am not here to chaperone the company she keeps.”

“You sure do like to police whatever company I keep.”

“That’s because the company you keep is not beyond reproach, Detective.”

“I beg your pardon?” She feels the jab on a deeply personal level and fights to ignore it. Who is he referencing?

“You mean Liam?”

“Oh, I see we are on a first name basis now with the doctor.”

“You can’t chase away the men in my life.”

“Oh, so he’s a man in your life?” He mocks, looking down at her green dress.

“Yes. Wait. No.” She fights to stomp her foot, fearful of the consequences in six-inch heels. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have come here tonight. This was a bad idea.” She turns to leave but is caught by Lucifer’s warm hand on her elbow.

“Chloe, wait.”

She turns back at the sound of her real name. Lucifer stands before her, looking helpless in the dark hallway.

“Listen, Detective, I meant no harm—” he begins.

“Really? You practically scared him away. Sent him a threat in the form of a shitty cocktail.”

“Yes, well, there are some very dangerous people in your life right now. You must be careful,” he pleads, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. He steps closer and runs his thumb along her jaw. She can tell when he notices the yellowing bruises from Michael that she did her best to cover with concealer earlier that evening. His face turns dark. “Did Michael do this to you?” He asks in a dangerously low voice.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.” She wants to ask him about everything that Michael said to her. All the miracle talk and gift implications. “One of your babysitters arrived just in time.”

Guilt flashes across Lucifer’s face, realizing that she has discovered his ruse of sending Maze and Amenadiel as her personalized celestial security system. “I need you to be careful. I need you to stay away from Michael.”

“Okay, fine, but you need to understand that not everyone is dangerous. The doctor isn’t dangerous. You’re acting like a neanderthal”

“Have you even met a neanderthal, darling?” He scoffs and then evades her comment. “Do you like him?”

“Who? Liam?” She is shocked by his question. “No, but that’s not important.”

Lucifer looks pleased. “Then you are welcome, Detective. I am glad I sent him away to lick his own wounds while you enjoy your questionable taste in beer.”

“Where was this overprotectiveness when Pierce entered my life?” She regrets her accusatory words immediately. The pleased look on Lucifer’s face dissolves into an unreadable expression. She doesn’t need to see the look on his face to know that it was the wrong thing to say.

“You refused to believe me, Detective. As usual,” he growls, stepping into her space. “I only tell the truth.”

“No…no. You only tell me your version of the truth.” Chloe fights to hide the tremor in her voice.

“Well, you know the truth now, right darling?” His tone is mocking. “It only took a transatlantic trip and a vial of poison to get to the bottom of it, hm?”

“That’s—that’s not fair, Lucifer.”

“Welcome to existence, Chloe. Nothing is bloody fair.”

This comment is the one that finally tips her. She grabs him by the jacket sleeve and drags him back out into the club and towards the bar. She knows before she begins that there will be no winners tonight.

“Patrick,” she beckons, snapping her head around to face the wide-eyed and appropriately bewildered bartender. He pauses mid-pour.

“Yes, Miss Decker?” He says cautiously, approaching her side of the bar while eyeing his distraught employer.

Chloe climbs to her knees on the barstool, balanced precariously over the counter with dress skimming higher over the back of her legs. “Pour me two drinks, please. Make it whiskey. Under the bar where I can’t see you pour.” She leans further over, rummaging behind the bar with a determined look. Her mission is seemingly accomplished when she produces a container of Bar Keepers Friend in her hand. Nearby heads turn as the curious eyes of strangers land on the exposed skin of her thighs. Lucifer’s breathing grows more ragged and frantic by the picture unfolding before him. “Pour some of this into one of them, Patrick. A generous amount. Stir it, add some ice. You can even add a fucking umbrella if you’d like but do whatever you need to make sure I can’t tell which one is poison,” she finishes as she slams the container down. The cursing is uncharacteristic of her, she knows that. Chloe swivels on the barstool and slides back to the grand, landing on wobbly legs. She stumbles forward, bumping against Lucifer’s hard chest. He reaches out to stabilize her by the shoulders.

“Detect—”

“No! No. You only get to watch,” Chloe hisses at Lucifer, jabbing her finger into his chest, backing herself up against the bar. “Like you did with Pierce.”

He doesn’t respond as realization starts to mark his features.

“Boss, I’m not really sure what’s going on here...” Patrick turns to him, trailing off and torn between fulfilling Chloe’s request and reading the concern on Lucifer’s face. Early in his partnership with the detective, Lucifer had given explicit instructions to all his Lux employees that they are to fulfill her every desire. Lucifer’s lips seal in a grim line of reluctance as he gives Patrick a curt nod anyway. Patrick crouches behind the bar to fulfill the detective’s particular wish.

Chloe keeps Lucifer’s eyes on her as she takes several steps towards him. She reaches a shaking hand and runs her fingers down the lapel of his jacket before tearing her hand away with a faraway look. “Do you know what’s in that cleaner?”

“I beg your pardon, Detective?”
“The chemicals that Patrick is currently pouring into one of those drinks.”

“I-I imagine something poisonous. Something rotten.”

“Would you say that drinking chemicals from under the sink is generally a dangerous practice?” She goes to lean back against the bar before giving her partner a once-over. “For us humans at least?”

“Y-yes. Of course, it is,” he whispers between them. “Where are you going with this?”

Chloe nods several times before straightening her posture, ignoring Lucifer’s question. Patrick softly places the two tumblers on the counter, both identical in appearance. 

“No umbrella?” Chloe asks dryly.

“No, Miss Decker.”

She places both hands on the counter, tapping her fingers casually as she considers the drinks before her.

“Chloe,” Lucifer pleads. Patrick steps away, relieved to be able to busy himself with customers on the opposite side of the bar.

“Which one should I pick?” She asks with a curious lilt to her voice.

“Neither, Detective!”

“One of them may be just fine,” she considers as she wraps her hand around the cool glass of the tumbler on her right.

“But one of them isn’t. Chloe, please,” Lucifer begs softly behind her.

She turns around with chosen tumbler in hand and swirls the contents of the glass.

“Do you know which one it is? Which one is bad for me? Which one could kill me?”

“If I were my arse of a father I could tell you that.”

“But you’re not.”

“Correct.”

“Does informed choice limit free will?”

He ignores her question. “I told you that Pierce couldn’t be trusted.”

“You mean Cain, right?”

“His bloody name doesn’t matter.”

“To you it didn’t matter. Because you knew who he really was, right?”

“Yes, well, you wouldn’t believe me no matter what I said. No matter how much I informed your choice,” Lucifer snipes, darkly.

“You could’ve shown me. Really showed me the truth.”

“What? That Pierce was really Cain from the Bible? It went spectacularly well when I told you I was the devil, if you’ll recall.” A low blow. Lucifer takes an opportunity to slowly pry the tumbler from her hands and chucks it into a nearby trash bin.

“I am a detective, Lucifer." She jabs a thumb to her chest. "Everything I do…everything I believe in…is governed and proven by evidence,” she pauses as she chokes back tears. “Why didn’t you show me?” She ends in a whisper.

“My face…my devil face, you must believe me when I say that it was gone. I couldn’t conjure up the truth of who I am to give you the evidence you need.”

Chloe steps back and considers. She chews her bottom lip nervously and crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly aware of what little it does to cover her body.

“Linda tells me you revealed your wings to Charlotte.”

“My wings aren’t really who I am.”

“But why did you show them to her and not me?” She pleads.

“It was a means to an end with Charlotte. Not knowing the truth about me had her one step away from the loony bin. She was spiraling, Detective, surely you must understand that?”

Chloe grabs the sleeve of his jacket and pulls Lucifer further back into a dark corner of the club. The strobing lights continue to flash against the walls, causing her eyes to appear incandescent with anger or sorrow, he cannot tell. “Spiraling?” She asks through a sob. “I invited a murderer into my home…my bed…” She looks pale and entirely too sick to continue the conversation. “Lucifer, I let him into Trixie’s life. What kind…what kind of mother am I?”

“You—You, Detective, are the very best.”

The compliment falls on deaf ears. “No. No, that’s just it. I am a shitty detective, an even worse mother—” Chloe grows smaller against the wall, as if she is trying to dissolve into the shadows of the club. “—and a terrible friend to you,” she finishes.  

She lets go of his sleeve and hangs her head. Sliding past Lucifer on six-inch heels, Chloe leaves the club without looking back.

***

Later that night…

William Kinley nods off against the cinderblock wall of a Los Angeles jail facility, rosary gripped tightly in hand.

“Father Kinley,” A voice mutters. “It appears you have an anonymous benefactor.” The officer reluctantly digs into his pocket to produce a set of keys. “We’ve got some paperwork for you to complete and then you’re free to go.”

In less than an hour, he is out of the facility and back onto the free and littered streets of the city. Smiling up at the sky in thanks for his good fortune, or perhaps for the loose morals of the American justice system, the priest fails to notice the shadow standing against the wall of the building until it steps in his path.

“Hello, Father.”

Kinley startles, dropping the rosary to the ground. “Who—who are you?”

“Worry not,” the shadow soothes, stepping into the beams of the streetlight that continue to blind the priest. It stoops to the ground to pick up the ornate beads. “I come in peace.”

The shadow has a face, one that Kinley has seen before—a face that he has committed to memory for most of his adult life. A face that he has devoted years of prayer and preparation to see return to hell.

“I am the archangel, Michael,” the shadow speaks.