Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's not worth it, Pierce keeps saying on repeat inside her head.

He says it as Chloe tidies up the kitchen, movements mechanical, and barely paying attention to what she’s doing. She almost throws his beer and the chocolate cake for Trixie into the trash, but changes her mind at the last moment; she’s practical and not one to waste food.

He says it as she sends a message to Landa’s mom, telling her something’s come up and would she mind keeping Trixie overnight? The girls are still close friends, so it shouldn’t be a problem. The mom replies almost right away. It’s not a problem.

He says it as she holds a board game in her hands; it's a new one, she wanted to teach him to play it. What a joke.

What a colossal fucking joke.

Chloe Decker, wrong side of 30, can't learn her lesson.

A tiny, bitter part of her is angry. It's furious. She knows she's not perfect, but she's not that bad either. She's attractive. She's smart. She's even occasionally funny. She's pretty open when it comes to the bedroom. Yes, she has a child, but if someone can’t accept that, then it’s their problem; Trixie is the most important person in Chloe’s life, she's one of the few things Chloe is not willing to compromise on.

And she also tries to accept people for who they are, with all their imperfections and flaws, because she's well aware that no one is truly perfect. So why does everyone want her to be and leave her when she can't live up to that impossible standard?

Angry tears well up and Chloe brushes them away. Her hair gets in her face; a quick, messy ponytail takes care of that inconvenience. Who does she have to look pretty for anyway? Only her daughter accepts her as she is.

Resentment grows like a dark stormy cloud. Cold air meeting hot air. She feels the charge building up inside her.

It's not worth it, Pierce says in her head. You're not worth it, is what he really meant to say.

He didn't even have the decency to look her in the eye.

All of them are the same. All of them. Jed, who liked her as a rising movie star, and couldn't find a shred of support for her when she quit acting. Dan, who loved his job far more than he loved his family; his job didn't talk back, Chloe supposes. He's her good friend now, but he wasn't there when she needed him the most. Pierce, well, she doesn't really know exactly what his deal is. Come to think of it, she barely knows him at all. He's as normal as a good ole American man is supposed to be. Every point carefully crossed off the list. The only thing he isn't, she knows, is christian. And then there's Lucifer...

She shoves the game back into the drawer with far more force than necessary. The sound is loud in her quiet house.

Somehow her thoughts always lead to Lucifer. Another thing to be angry about.

A part of her wishes he would just go. Leave to find greener pastures because that's their endgame anyway. It'll happen sooner or later because that's what always happens to her. So why prolong the wait? The torture. The painful anticipation. The thinking of maybe this time it'll be different.

It won't be different because he'd left her before. Friends, yes, that's exactly what we are. Just friends. Same plot, different character. And all the cliches.

Huffing, she looks around, the living room is spotless.

She'd let herself be vulnerable with him, she'd let down her guard. She'd put her trust in him, and he broke her heart anyway.

And sure, she is reasonable, she understands how her brush with death must have scared him. I've been through Hell recently. Both figuratively and literally. True torment, my greatest fears realized. And sure, she understands being scared; she was scared too. But when things are worth it, people do it anyway.

People stay and people fight for each other and their chance at a happy ending.

Because they're worth it.

She brushes off another wave of angry tears as she makes her decision. She can’t stay here in the empty house. There’s a reason she asked for Trixie to stay over at Landa’s; she just can’t put on a brave face for anyone right now.

It's not worth it, Pierce says when she starts the car.

She forgot her jacket. After a second, Chloe rolls down the window and shivers. Good. It's better than the chill of hopelessness gripping her heart.

Some things are coincidences, but so many coincidences are clearly a pattern. She's a detective, and a damn good one, it's easy to connect the dots when the evidence stares her right in the face.

It's her. She's the problem. Her.

Gritting her teeth, Chloe drives. The thoughts in her head become a disjointed noise. The sounds of the road all around her ebb and flow. She pays attention just enough to keep her and other people safe, everything else just... shuts down. She tugs on the hair tie, letting the wind play with her hair. Like this, she can almost pretend she's someone else. Someone who loves and is loved back. 

And for a moment, it's almost peaceful.

When she finds herself parked in the familiar underground garage, she blinks. The sight of the Corvette next to her car shatters the fragile sense of tranquility she’s managed to build up on her drive here.

It's not worth it, Pierce says in her head.

You hate that I'm with him, she tells Lucifer and he. dares. to. deny. it. What I want to know is why it bothers you so much.

Well, that's not the question she's interested in. Not anymore. Her jaw hurts. Chloe slams the door of her cruiser shut. No, she knows that answer. She's known it all along, and maybe that's why they were doomed from the start.

When the elevator doors open, she gets a two second warning that he doesn't. Disheveled, shirt partly unbuttoned, a certified picture of Hot Mess, Lucifer doesn't notice her as she steps out, her palms slamming into his chest.

It's a testament to his state that he startles and takes a step back. His eyes are bloodshot and manic and surprised. Wherever he was heading in this condition, it's a good thing she’s here to stop him. No, Chloe shoves that thought aside, she doesn't care.

"Tell me," she demands, not slowing down. She moves forward, he moves backwards, away from her, like a frightened animal. "Tell me how do you deal with it?" Around the piano, right into the wall next to the stairs to his bedroom, and then there's nowhere else for him to go.

"With what?" His voice is hollow, tired. A spark of pity, of compassion, they're friends at least, aren't they, lights up inside her before she ruthlessly puts it out. She isn’t kind, not tonight.

"With knowing that you're not worth it?"

All at once, the rest of the world disappears. There's only their harsh breathing and her frantically beating heart.

Lucifer stares at her, unblinking, and as much as she wants to, Chloe can't look away, and oh, how she wants to. Despite her anger and pain, shame flares hot in the pit of her stomach. Memories swirl unpleasantly in her mind.

You deserve someone worthy of that grace, and that isn't me. I'm not worth it.

Yeah, you're probably right.

You're probably right.

You're right.

Maybe she deserves everything that's happened to her. What goes around comes around.

"I don't," he hisses through gritted teeth, startling her. Eyes wide and a little insane. He tries to move away from the wall, but against her better judgment, Chloe pushes again, keeping him pinned, and surprisingly, he doesn't resist. "Haven't you figured it out by now?"

Every word strikes something deep down. She bites the insides of her cheeks. Has she? Hasn't she?

"You need the eggs, Detective, and I'm happy to provide, but other than that-" back against the wall, suit all askew, Lucifer spreads his arms wide "-all I'm good for is, well, a good long shag. Everything that is completely meaningless. That's why you're with Pierce, isn't it?" he all but spits out his name.

Grabbing his wrists, Chloe pins them near his head and surges forward to claim his mouth with hers.

Dozens of little voices scream at her in her head. How this is a bad idea, how she's being reckless and despicable and mean, and is this the person she wants to be? How he's in a terrible state and she's taking advantage. How hurting him isn't going to make her feel any better. 

She tells them all to shut up.

He's frozen under her touch, but she doesn't care, she kisses him anyway. His lips are soft, she runs her tongue along the seam and a sound escapes him, a whimper or a sob, and she slips inside. He tastes like whiskey and smoke and something else. It's nothing like their first and only kiss at the beach. She kisses him like she wants to crawl under his skin and hide there. She kisses him like he has all the answers she's looking for. 

Tightening her grip around his wrists, Chloe slides one leg in between his; it earns her a sharp hiss, and she almost smiles. When she bites his lip, tugging on it, Lucifer makes another sound deep in his chest, something like a whine, something like a cry, and hidden by the fog of her hurt and anger and self pity, it suddenly hits her square in the chest.

Why isn't he responding? Why isn’t he kissing her back?

He's looking at her, wide eyed, unreadable, when she opens her eyes. His wrists still held in her tight grip, but he makes no move to free himself. As if...

What has she done?

Sharply, Chloe pulls back; the piano is behind her, just two steps away, she stumbles, barely keeping herself from falling. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

He doesn't move, just sags a little against the wall, almost like she was the only thing keeping him upright. Still, he doesn't say anything, doesn't hurry to reassure her or to make a joke or to accuse her. He does nohing. A chill runs down her back, and Chloe turns away in shame. She can't stay here, she has to leave, she has to flee.

"Wait," his voice, barely a whisper, stops her short on the other side of the piano as if she’s a puppet and he’s pulling on her strings. Acknowledged and pinned, she can't move now, can't pretend to ignore what just happened and run. She closes her eyes.

Steps so soft, she barely hears him, Lucifer stops behind her. Almost too close.

His breath ruffles the hair at the back of her head. "Is this really what you want?" There's something dark in his voice, void of joy, of life. Of light.

She squeezes her eyelids tighter.

His hands rise, they hover just above the exposed skin of her neck, not touching but it's enough to raise goosebumps on her skin. "Detective," he says again, almost too quiet. "I asked you a question. Is meaningless really what you desire?"

It’s not worth it, Pierce says in her head.

There's a lump in her throat. She tries to swallow it and when she does, she hears an awful choking sound that feels like it's coming from the depth of her very soul. Despite the efforts to contain them, tears roll down her cheeks. And then the shaking starts.

"Detective?" Concern. Concern is the only note she latches on in his voice, and somehow it makes everything feel so much worse. She doesn't deserve his compassion. A sob breaks free, and Chloe presses her lips together, to keep it in, but it's too late.

It's too late.

Hands on her shoulders, Lucifer turns her around easily, pulling her close. She wraps her arms around his middle, hiding her face in his jacket, and tries to hold on to the last shreds of her sanity.

"Chloe," he whispers into her hair, and just like that, the dam breaks.

She tightens her arms, melting into him, feeling selfish, oh, so selfish, for using him like this. But maybe he'll be the better person and forgive her this one moment of weakness. One moment of darkness. One moment of unkindness.

Lucifer holds her, whispering words into her hair that she doesn't catch. The gasping sobs tear at something soft in her chest, the sound is too harsh for her to focus on anything else but the way his body is solid and warm against hers. The way his hands rub up and down her back, catching the ends of her hair. The way he keeps whispering.

But everything ends and, after a while, her sobs begin to weaken and the numbness begins to set in. She feels how puffy her eyes are; they're matching now, both are utter wrecks. Still, she can't quite bring herself to pull away.

"Detective," Lucifer says quietly, "did he do something? Did he hurt you? DId he touch a hair on your head?"

Somehow, her original grievance doesn't seem all that important now. She doesn't even know what Pierce’s favorite color is. Why should she care at all? Why can’t she stop caring? Shaking her head, Chloe sniffs and pulls back a little.

His hands slide up, cup her shoulders for a moment before letting go. She doesn't want to lose his warmth, but she follows his lead anyway, taking a small step back. The distance between them feels like a chasm again.

"I'm sorry," she says instead. She does care about this man at least. A lot more than she’s supposed to. "For what I did and… and said. I was upset. I know it's not an excuse, but I didn't mean what I said."

"What did he tell you?" The intensity in his voice takes her by surprise, as is his insistence. Usually, he lets it go.

Usually, he lets her go.

"He said it wasn't worth it," she blurts out. It feels like cutting off ballasts from a hot air balloon. "That I wasn't worth it," she adds, much quieter. 

His expression hardens. He looks like he can barely stay on his feet, and yet there's that steely determination she can’t miss. Like he will keep himself going if only by sheer willpower.

“I will kill him,” he says, and there’s no fury or anger there, just a cold, hard fact. Like it’s a done deal. Like the punishment does fit the crime.

Taken aback, she swallows. “Lucifer, no, you can’t. Period. I can’t let you kill him. Also, you’d be in a lot of trouble, and it’s not going to do anyone any good.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re mistaken, Detective. Not only does he deserve it, he also wants it. He asked me to find a way to kill him. Finally, after a few millennia of walking the Earth. It’s what he desperately desires, a way to remove his curse, so he could die.”

With tears still drying on her cheeks, Chloe fights a sigh. He’s at it again. Why? Why? What’s the fucking point? Why can't he just let it go? Why can't they just have a normal conversation, without his metaphors. Why can’t they just-

"No," she whispers. Maybe this is it. If he forgives her the kiss, then maybe this is when she pushes him too far and they'll either break it or make it. She knows she can't do it anymore. She's tired of the Devil talk. She’s tired of hoping.

Maybe she’s not good enough for him either, and right now sounds like the perfect time to find out for sure. Her day can’t get any worse.

His bloodshot eyes widen.

"No," Chloe repeats. "No more. I know it's meaningful to you, and I respect that, as much as I can. But I can't... I can't... I need the truth. I need facts, not metaphors. He's an asshole, maybe. But he's not immortal. And he doesn't deserve to die for breaking up with me for whatever reason."

Lucifer's head tilts, he's studying her closely, and suddenly she fights the urge to wrap her arms around her. The urge to curl into a ball, so small he won't even notice her. The urge to look away. It's like an itch. She barely wins.

"Is that so, Detective?" he says with a surprising gentleness in his voice. "I always tell you the truth."

She shakes her head. The truth as he believes it. The rational part of her supposes that that's the case with most, if not all people, but the rest of her is just tired. Emotionally exhausted because of today or the last two weeks or the last two years. Maybe her whole life. Maybe it’s chronic by now. "No, you tell me your truth. And I work around it because I respect you, and your issues, and your past. But you can't drag other people into your story and expect me to go along with it, Lucifer. So please, no more." For a second his mask disappears, showing the raw emotions underneath. The hurt. And she can see just how exhausted he is too. "He's not immortal, and you're not the Devil."

“Aren't I?” he roars. Startled, Chloe takes a step back. She's not afraid, no, but… unsettled. It's the second time he yells at her in as many days. She's never seen him like this before.

Except… she has. She just pushed it out of her mind because of what it means. What it meant. Lips dry, Chloe licks them, but it doesn't help in the slightest.

“Why exactly am I not worth it, Detective?” he presses, enunciating every word, wrapping his voice around them, all silk and sharp daggers. It’s her turn to move backwards until one of the bar tables hits her back, forcing her to stop. The glass digs into her flesh through the thin shirt she's wearing. “Do you really think I’m so messed up because of a childhood that lasted a pathetic 18 years until I grew up and could finally escape my Hell? Is that right, Detective? Do you really believe that?”

A chill raises the hairs on her arms, the back of her neck. Something inside her snaps like a dry twig. Does she think so? There's no way to quantify trauma. 18 weeks. 18 months. 18 years. 18 hundred years. The atmosphere changes, charges. His wild look, his wild hair. Her throat moves, it’s difficult to swallow.

Both hands resting on the table behind her, Lucifer cages her in. She doesn't feel trapped exactly, the alarm bells don't go in her head; whatever his state is, she knows he won’t hurt her. But the ease isn't there. It's like standing on eggshells, if she shifts her weight, she'll crack them, she'll startle the wounded man in front of her, and she doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

He doesn't press for her answer and he doesn't look away. His dark, bottomless eyes hold her gaze. She searches them, unwilling to be the first to blink. The noise in her ears grows stronger with every second. Her eyes start to itch, yet she refuses to blink.

Lucifer... doesn't seem to have a problem watching her. Tick. He doesn't move at all. Tock. He stands still like a statue, leaning slightly on his hands both sides of her but not touching her. Tick. Her eyes begin to water. Tock. She can't fight it anymore, she blinks.

A puff of air leaves him, the softest chuckle. 

He still doesn't blink.

Her heart skips a beat.

"You're a detective, Detective. Haven't you figured it out by now?" he says, calm and gentle. The dichotomy of how he sounds and how he looks only unsettles her further.

Hasn't? Or doesn't want to?

No, this is absurd. His 'truths' aren't actually true, they're elaborate concepts, because he is messed up. He's damaged and Chloe hopes she'll never meet the person who hurt him. She hopes she never meets his father. She won't be held responsible for her actions if she does. His 'truths' are what Lucifer needs to cope with what happened to him. But he deserves more than just coping, he deserves healing, which means eventually letting go of them.

"I have," she whispers. A memory flickers through her mind, loud and vivid. She remembers the scars on his back; her first real clue. His 'wing' scars. She remembers his confusion. He looks terrible right now; she has no idea how long he managed to stay awake, but it must be several days, otherwise he wouldn't be able to stay upright let along somewhat functional. Like on that night nearly 3 years ago, it awakens something primal inside her, this mix of compassion and kindness and care. He is her friend if he is her anything at all. And no matter how she feels, Chloe never wants to be unkind to him. How did she forget that?

Slowly, Chloe rests her hand on his forearm. His startle is visible, and her heart aches.

She doesn't quite know why she came here. There was anger and hurt, but maybe, ultimately, she's here for him. With how her day has turned out, helping him alone, in this small way, would be enough.

"I have," she repeats. He won't meet her eyes; he stands, blinking hard at her hand. "You may think you're the Devil because of whatever happened to you, and I understand it, I do. But I don't see you that way, Lucifer. You're not the Devil. Not to me."

He chuckles, his gaze boring into hers again. Slowly, he straightens, holding out his arms slightly to the sides. "Well done, Detective," he says, and it sends a chill down her back. Not a pleasant one because of the praise, but something more sinister. Something that reminds her of a dark cloud and the sun shining from the other side, sharpening everything it touches. The eerie yellow light of his bar behind her. The moment before the storm.

Her body screams at her to flee.

He takes a step back, still not releasing her from his gaze. "I hope you will remember what you just said, Detective," he says softly, a plea and a longing both.

Taking another step back, Lucifer turns. All at once the tension dissipates. She blinks hard, sagging a little against the table. What was she thinking? For a second she was actually entertaining the idea that he might be the actual Devil-

Huge white wings erupt from his back, filling her vision, bright and glowing.

Wings.

They’re moving. Stretching to their full span, before relaxing again.

Wings.

Everything else disappears. There’s a thin ringing sound in her ears. Her knees feel like jello; she has no idea what’s keeping her standing.

Wings.

It’s impossible.

“It’s all true,” she whispers, her mouth drier than a desert. It's not true. She should’ve known. She would’ve known. It’s not happening. It can’t be true. Everything he’s ever said...

Wings.

He’s still wearing his jacket, she can see it, but it doesn’t make sense. There should be holes for the limbs, because that’s what they are, limbs that he has.

That’s where I cut my wings off.

The crescent moon scars, huge and old, stand starkly in her memories. She'll never forget the horror she'd felt at the thought of how he must have got them, of what it meant.

She was wrong.

About everything.

His shoulders hunch, but he doesn’t turn, standing impossibly still.

It’s all true.

Lucifer is the Devil.

It hits her like a ton of bricks. More memories flash through her mind. His eccentricities, his whimsy, his attitude, and his irreverence. None of it was an act to uphold the persona he’d created to deal with… well, what exactly? What happened to him? He’s the Devil, and he's supposed to be invincible and immortal, so what’s his deal? Was he really cast out of Heaven?

Oh, God, her knees almost give way, Heaven is real and so is Hell. And Lucifer ruled Hell.  

Everything he told her earlier in the interrogation room is also true. His wings, a rogue angel flying around and saving people, Cain.

Fuck.

Heaven and Hell are real places. She's been friends with the Devil for 3 years. The Devil has been working with her for 3 years. By his own admission he’s deeply messed up. And Cain from the Bible just broke up with her because she’s not worth it.

That about sums it up.

A somewhat hysterical laugh breaks free from her throat.

The man who killed his brother at the beginning of time thinks she is not good enough for him.

“What the fuck?” Chloe says before she can think better of it. “Cain dumped me?”

Chapter Text

Lucifer freezes. Even his wings. It’s so quiet, Chloe can hear an old clock ticking somewhere in the penthouse. Which means her ears don’t ring anymore, but the silence is grating.

Slowly, he turns. “Detective?” He looks so scared it’s almost funny. But she’s not laughing. Her old world has just ended—it might be the end of everything—and the only thing she wants to do right now is scream.

It’s so much worse than she ever could’ve imagined.

Because at the end of the day it wasn’t just Cain.

“Did- did you two work out some kind of deal or something? To toy with me? With my feelings?” How could she have been so blind? Everything makes sense now. “Is that why he showed interest in me after spending months belittling me and my skills?” 

A chasm opens up inside her, wide and hungry. Monsters might be hiding there, the kind she is not aware of. 

Worse than the Devil standing in front of her?

“I’m not crazy. You didn’t like him at first, but then something changed. You found out who he really was? Lately, you’ve been all cozy-cozy with him. Pierce wanted to work with you, even though as a lieutenant he doesn’t really get to solve his own cases. And then this? Us dating, you acting jealous when you have no right to be. What was it? Did- did you two make a bet to see who gets the girl first? Is this how you, immortals, amuse themselves? By toying with insignificant humans like dolls? And if you break one, oh well, there’s billions of them, what’s one more? Is that right, Lucifer? Well, was the fun worth it?”

Lucifer blanches. Takes a step back. “No,” the word is loaded with emotions, but he doesn’t say anything else. It hangs in the air between them, heavy, yet it does not fall.

Chloe waits. And she waits. And she waits.

He stares at her. She stares at him. Behind him, his brilliant, white wings move with every breath he takes. She tries to look him in the eye, but the wings keep drawing her attention. For a second, distracted, Chloe wonders how it feels, how they feel. Is it similar to letting your arms hang down your sides? To sit on a bridge, somewhere high up, and swing your legs?

If he has wings, it means he can fly.

She shakes her head, she cannot think about flying right now.

Still, Lucifer says nothing.

“Is ‘no’ all you have to say to me?” She takes a step forward before her senses kick in. He's not human. He's the Devil, or an angel, or whatever, however it all works. He probably has unimaginable powers, and she is nothing but a bug standing in front of him, raising her puny voice. Does he look at her and see an insect? Bustling about her tiny life? Insignificant. Silly. Inconsequential.

Anger spikes. but it drags unease along with it. She's been working with him for years, she called him her friend, she thought she knew him, but does she really know him at all? The wings move infinitesimally, no words leave his mouth as he keeps staring. How could she not know?

Because he never told her.

Correction, he kept telling her the truth, knowing full well she didn’t believe him. Like a game. Was he laughing at her behind her back? If he wanted her to know, he could’ve shown her, could’ve given her the proof she needed, but he chose to keep her in the dark. Tears prickle at her eyes. She doesn't want to cry, not in front of him, this unfathomable being with wings, who can probably end her tiny life with just a snap of his fingers.

She’s seen him throw a man across the room with a flick of his wrist. 

She’s seen him lift a man with one hand like a toy.

The lump in her throat grows bigger, it's an effort to swallow it. He looks at her with such a strange expression on his face. She doesn’t know what it means.

She’s also seen him being strangled by a movie set nurse.

"Detective," he says, tentative, "are you okay?"

Chloe laughs.

And she keeps laughing.

Satan is standing in front of her, asking if she’s okay, and she's laughing because her tiny life is one giant joke.

Lucifer's face goes through a spectrum of emotions that Chloe just barely registers. Her life really is a joke. Confusion, surprise, a little bit of shock. Well, he can't be more confused, surprised, or shocked than she is, so at least there's some symmetry in that. He runs a hand through his unruly hair, messing it up even more, and her laughter ceases abruptly.

She kissed him. Just now. And he wouldn't kiss her back.

Cain dumped her. Satan doesn't want her.

If he’s supposed to be the worst, what does it mean that he doesn’t want her?

She hates how much it stings.

"Detective?" Lucifer tries again. He rolls his shoulders and, just like that, his magnificent white wings disappear into... nothingness, as if they were never here. But there’s no use pretending, there is no going back because now she knows. She sees it now.

Chloe sees it all now and she hurts.

None of it was real.

"Please say something," Lucifer says, his voice so small and hesitant it pokes right at the bruised pieces of her broken heart. He sounds just like her friend, like the man she used to call her friend, but he isn't. He's the Devil, he's not human, he toyed with her and delighted in it.

Does she even have the right to feel betrayed when they're operating on such different levels—like comparing supercomputers to sandcastles—when humans, and human feelings, and human laws, are so far beneath him? Can a bug feel affronted at being put in a box for funsies?

Her marriage falling apart, her husband putting his work before his family, excuse after excuse after excuse on his lips and no real regret in his eyes, all his gaslighting and betrayals, and it still doesn’t compare to how small and pointless she feels now.

You’re not worth it, Cain says in her head.

Another sharp lump forms in her throat and her vision blurs. She won't cry, not right now, not in front of him. No weakness will be tolerated. He asked her a question, didn't he? No words come. What can she possibly say? Beg for mercy? Beg to be let go? To be allowed to live her insignificant, mortal life in peace?

He looks at her like a deer caught in the headlights, and Chloe doesn't understand it. It doesn't make sense. Is it a ploy? Another way to toy with her? To convince her he’s harmless? He’s the Devil.

"Does this amuse you?" She startles as the quiet words pierce the tense silence between them.

His eyes widen a little more. He looks wrecked; why does he look wrecked? Because he hasn't slept in a week or more, a helpful voice inside supplies. It doesn't make sense. It's terrifying, humans don't function when they don't sleep for weeks, and here he is, almost fine.

Is he fine?

Can she even believe what she sees?

"No, of course it doesn’t."

Can she believe him?

He takes a step towards her, hands reaching out before he pulls them close to his body, stops, then takes a step back. Chloe watches. Suddenly, it’s as if everything is happening in slow motion. A continuous hum, like static, fills her head. And images. Memories.

"Are you going to kill me now that I know the truth?" she asks softly, her voice sounding like it belongs to someone else. The thought is distant as well, like she's in a movie theater, enjoying a captivating drama. Like she’s outside of her body. Outside of time itself. 

An inhuman noise rips from deep inside him, startling her out of this dreamlike state. He looks at her like she’s the hunter and he’s the prey. And it doesn’t make sense. 

"No! Detective, no!" Standing still, Lucifer breathes in deeply. Is it the light or do his eyes appear to shine? With tears? Why would the Devil cry? "I would never hurt you. You are free to leave at any point. I do not and will not ever stop you from doing what you want. Whatever you want."

Something unknots in the pit of her stomach before Chloe remembers that she doesn't know if she can trust him. What does his word mean when he kept the biggest truth from her, choosing to toy with her instead? "And if I asked you to leave me alone? If I asked you to never contact me again, to let me be… would you?"

His lips press together, but he nods. "Yes. Yes, I would."

Can she believe him?

The elevator is right behind her. She can leave. He said he’d let her leave. The images from horror movies attack her brain, where the doors would open on the same floor, to the same monster. Is he a monster?

Jimmy Barnes seemed to think so.

He said he watched twelve seasons of a TV show in a week. Immortals need different ways to entertain themselves too, don’t they?  

"I promise you, Detective, you are perfectly safe," Lucifer says slowly, clearly, as if every word is causing him pain. But why? Because she doesn't believe him? Because she thinks him capable? Because it hurts his pride?  

Or because she’s right?

He has hurt her before; the hurt simply left no physical scars to prove its existence.

The anger has gone, there's only numbness, and it's so much worse.

Her nonreaction must affect him somehow. "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have shown you the wings," he mumbles, both hands in his hair, tugging. Chloe watches, arms hanging loosely by her sides, hardly moving with each breath she takes. "I'm sorry, Detective, I'm so sorry." He spins on his heels, walks towards the balcony, reaching out for something outside. The energy crackles around his. The frenzy from the interrogation room. The same kind from when he tried to get shot dead by a sniper. His hands wind up in his hair again, she can see him gripping it tightly. It must hurt him. Can he feel it? She saw him bleed. Does he feel the pain?

"Was anything between us real?"

Turning, his eyes meet hers for a second. His hands lift up to his open mouth, but he doesn’t press them to his face, just balls them into fists. They’re shaking, she notes distractedly, why would his hands shake?

“You looked so worried when I almost died that time,” she whispers. A tear rolls down her cheek, and Chloe hates it. Weak, so weak, weak prey gets killed first. “Did you laugh at me when you kissed me and ghosted me? When you came back married to a stripper?”

His eyes, red rimmed, with dark circles underneath them, catch the light. “Why would you think that?”

Why, oh why does he sound so choked?

“Why wouldn't I?” Dan. Cain. Satan. “The evidence is right there.”

If he tugs any harder on his hair, he might just rip it clear off. “What evidence?”

Chloe shrugs, so done and so drained; everything seems so pointless. Her partner isn’t who she thought he was. Her world isn’t what she thought it was. The situation is spiraling completely out of her control. And she... “That I’m not worth bothering with.”

To play, not to stay. 

It sounds so matter-of-factly that even in her numb state Chloe feels impressed. But only for a second. Slowly, she moves to the right, until she can lower herself down on the steps leading up to his bedroom before her knees give out. The stone is cold. Inside, she is cold. Maybe it’s because the stone is leaching all the remaining warmth from her. What will happen when she has nothing left to give?

Not worth it. Because if she was, he would’ve told her. He wouldn’t have toyed with her. He wouldn’t have hurt her. He would’ve cared. Simple as that. 

Lucifer stays still in the middle of the room, in the middle of the mess.

Weakly, Chloe gestures around. “What’s, uh, what happened?” Does she even want to know?

After a moment, he lowers himself down to the floor, to sit against the couch. Far enough from her, but there’s a clear line of sight between them. She wonders if it’s on purpose. She wonders if she really cares. He said he wouldn’t hurt her, and maybe he meant it. That he wouldn’t hurt her again.  

“A crisis,” he replies. Which doesn’t make anything any clearer.

“Oh.”

Shouldn’t she leave? He told her she could, so why doesn't she? Why does she keep sitting on the cold stone stairs of his home, the Devil's home, instead of running away? Why isn't she leaving?

“Detective. why aren’t you leaving?”

Her heart rate spikes. Sharply, Chloe looks up at him? “Are you reading my thoughts?”

His eyebrows draw together. “No.”

“Oh,” she says again, dumbly. “I was just thinking that.”

“Well, then, care to enlighten us both?”

Does he want her to leave? Is this just another game? A tactic? He told her she’s free to go, he told her he’d leave her alone, but does she believe him? And even if he kept his word, she knows the truth now. She can’t unknow it. How can she live with something as big as this truth of Heaven and Hell and the Devil who worked with her and not go insane?

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” she answers his question with a question.

With his elbows on his knees, Lucifer cradles his head in his hands as if it aches. Does the Devil get headaches? Does the Devil have weaknesses?

Chloe wonders and a part of her hates herself for wondering.

He mumbles something, too quietly for her to hear. She hates him for making her ask again. “What?”

“Because you’re important,” he almost shouts, voice wobbling, startling her.

Important. What does it mean? Important to whom? Is she a chosen one? Is she supposed to kill him or trap him? Is that why he kept a close eye on her? Her palms sweat, and Chloe wipes them on her jeans, but the sticky feeling remains, and with it the urge to scrub them clean.

Neither of them move.

"What does it mean?" her voice sounds too small even to her own ears.

Lucifer looks up. Their gazes lock for a second across the room. Why isn't she leaving? She already knows too much, this is only making things worse. Can this get worse? She didn’t think it could. It chose to prove her wrong. 

"It means that you're important," he says simply.

"But to whom?"

"To me."

She looks away first.

What does it mean?

It means the Devil likes you, a tiny voice whispers inside. Which is a ridiculous idea. He doesn't, because he’s the Devil and she’s… He doesn’t, because if he did, he wouldn't be toying with her heart like she's not even a person.

Like she’s a bug in a box.

"Is that why you broke my heart after the poisoning?" she wants to sound nonchalant, but her voice shakes.

He lowers his head, grasping it harder in his hands. He looks exhausted. Could it be another ploy? Another game? Why does the Devil even need to sleep?

"Yes," Lucifer says.

Chloe freezes.

That's it then, the confirmation. Her brain reconstructs the logic chains. He broke her heart because she’s important somehow, so it was fun to break it, or it served some other purpose. Right? He did insist that he was evil that one time. Or was it twice? She can't remember, it's a salad of colors and memories in her mind, and she’s so tired.

Did he laugh at her when she insisted he wasn't evil? When Chloe insisted she knew him? She had no fucking idea what she was talking about.

Watching his hunched over form, the hair sticking out between his fingers, his rumpled clothes, she can't help thinking of him in that hospital.

Come on, mister shooter sir. I'm standing right here, it's like you're not even trying.

It doesn't make sense.

Can he even be killed?

I'm bleeding. I don't bleed. What's happening to me?

He seemed so surprised, genuinely shocked. And she felt so bad, so guilty for hurting him.

None of it makes sense.

How much of this is a lie? she thinks desperately. Some of it? All of it? Has it always been a lie?

And what would it mean if it wasn’t? Would it make more sense? Fit like puzzle pieces and right the wrongs?

"Did you find it delightful? To break my heart?"

He glances at her for a second before turning to stare at the floor again. "Is that really what you think of me?"

"I don't know what to think. I only know that you lied to me. Have lied to me for years."

"That's not true, Detective."

The way he says her title rolls through her body; an involuntary reaction. No one else says it like he does. But then to everyone else it's just her job description. He turned it into a nickname.

She hates that she doubts even the simple things now.

She hates that she doubts her judgment. Her mind has always been her greatest asset, and she can’t trust it now. 

It’s not worth it.

"Fine, you’d tell me that you're the Devil every day, but you had to know that I never believed you. So what does it make it then? A game? A mockery?" The truth about him seems too enormous to just... leave out.

The laugh that falls from his lips is dark and bitter, and Chloe’s eyes unexpectedly fill with tears. "Everything's coming up, Lucifer," he says, subdued.

For a moment, silence settles between them again.

"Is that all you have to say?"

He huffs, not looking up. "Are you going to believe anything I say at all, Detective? You seem to have made up your mind quite firmly already."

Has she really? Chloe turns her head, staring directly in front of her. The piano is askew. He can probably lift it with one hand. He'd be incredibly useful in a move, it suddenly occurs to her, and her lips twitch in an unexpected urge to smile. He could open up a business. When moving is Hell, leave it to the Devil. Not that he needs the money. And the club is at least eighty percent fun, not work; though if she was honest, it’s probably closer to ninety percent.

Their partnership, however, isn't fun. Well, they have fun, he makes it fun, but overall, it's an interesting—in a food for brain way—but gruesome job. Why would he do it with her?

You're important.

Did he seek her out? Does he know something about her that she doesn’t? She quit acting, is she about to find out that her entire life is an action adventure fantasy movie? A TV series? Chloe Decker, the chosen one, destined to do something that will change the world, but first she needs to go on a quest with the Devil himself! Or maybe she needs to get away from the Devil.

Is she supposed to hurt him? Chloe frowns at the thought. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Not even him.

"I haven't," she says. It almost tastes like the truth. "I want to. But I can't if you won't answer my questions."

She's talking to the Devil, it hits her like a ton of bricks. She's in his house and she has the gall to demand answers. Her palms keep sweating and she keeps wiping them on her jeans. It's too hot in here, oh, to get up and open the balcony doors. Why are they closed anyhow? He never closes them.

“Alright.” Lifting up his head, he locks his fingers together. A pleasant if empty smile stretches his lips. His eyes seem to be even redder than before. He looks truly exhausted. He can’t fake that. No one can fake that. Can they? “What is it that you would like to know?”

Chloe opens her mouth, then closes it. The urge to tell him to just get some sleep rises from deep within; she shoves it aside.

It’s not worth it, Cain says in her mind.

“I need a drink.”

From his spot in front of the couch, Lucifer laughs; it almost sounds like his genuine laugh. “By all means, Detective, help yourself. What’s mine is yours.”

Well, now she has to, Chloe supposes. It’d be strange if she continued sitting on the stairs. Shakily, she rises up. Yes, she definitely needs a drink.

Or she could just leave.

The orange glow of the elevator is soft and inviting. She can just go, like she did when Jana showed up. He told her he’d let her go. This can be over in the few seconds it takes the elevator to go all the way down.

She can walk out of this building, out of the Devil’s life.

Their partnership will be over. Everything will go back to the way it was before him.

What was her life before him?

Kinda sad.  

Her hand closes around a bottle with a hole in the middle. Unlike some, it doesn’t have any label. Gently she tilts it this way and that, watching the liquid flow around the hole. Who shapes a bottle like a donut? The image that comes to mind in answer makes her nose scrunch up in disgust. 

“That scotch is older than you are, Detective.”

Chloe huffs. “It’s not made to be looked at, is it?”

“Touche. You know, you can ferment your own wine and in a couple of hundred years, someone somewhere might be hunting it down.”

The hand holding the bottle freezes half-way to her mouth. He said it so casually, and it is a casual thought for him, isn’t it?

Lucifer will be alive in a hundred years. In two hundred. In five hundred. In a thousand years. Her bones will be nothing but dust by then.

Will he remember her?

Will she be just another person amongst millions, billions of people he’s met and forgotten during the course of his long life?

Oh, why does she want him to remember her when she’s dead and gone? 

Like a tidal wave coming back with a force, it brings along the feelings of insignificance again. She takes a gulp. Chloe Decker, so silly, so presumptuous, reaching so far above her station. You’re not worth it. Just a bug on his windshield.

Tears sting her eyes as the drink burns her throat. 

Giants in the playground, Chloe thinks, looking at the hunched over man in the middle of the living room. Otherworldly. Unreachable. Unfathomable.

And she’s nothing compared to him. If she ran, how far would she get? The only thing she has is his assurance, but if he was lying, it wouldn’t matter where she’d go, or what she’d do. There’s nowhere to hide. A gun wouldn’t help. Her colleagues wouldn’t want to help. 

Does it even matter what she does for a living? Heaven and Hell exist, so everyone’s going to get what they deserve eventually. She drinks some more. Is there a point to anything at all?

“Does-” the word catches in her throat, not helped by the alcohol, and Chloe coughs. “Uh, does anyone else know?”

From his place amongst the wreckage, Lucifer raises his head. He looks… defeated, lost. “Doctor Linda knows. Has known for about a year.”

Oh.

“Huh,“ is all she says before drinking again. The scotch is not what she’d go for, but it’s good. 

So Linda knows. She’s known for a year. Did she also know about Lucifer breaking up with her before they even started dating? Did she approve of him marrying a stripper only to immediately file for annulment? Did she laugh with him because it broke Chloe’s heart?

She shakes her head. Something else surfaces. “I guess when Maze mentioned the fires of Hell, she meant it literally.”

“She did,” Lucifer confirms.

Chloe frowns. Just minutes ago, or was it hours, he was full of frantic energy, and now he makes her think of a deflated balloon. He’s the Devil, she probably shouldn’t call him a balloon.

Rolling her eyes, Chloe drinks again.

“Would you mind sharing?” Lucifer asks.

Slowly, she makes her way back to her chosen seat. “I would actually.” His gaze is heavy on her, what is he possibly thinking about? “How’d Linda react?” Did she also question her life and the point of it all? 

"She, uh," Lucifer says quietly, "froze up. But to be fair to Doctor Linda, she didn't see my wings." The last word is nearly spat out, and Chloe frowns again. "She saw my Devil face. She saw who I truly am."

New information. So much new information. She did want it, didn't she? Keeping a gulp of scotch in her mouth for a moment, Chloe considers his words, then swallows it down. "What's that? Devil face?"

"I believe it's rather self-explanatory, Detective."

Self-explanatory, her ass. Even with the proverbial cat out of the proverbial bag, the Devil remains annoyingly oblique. Somehow it makes her feel a little better. Solving puzzles is what she does for a living, however pointless as it turns out, so she should be able to figure out if there is something real, something true about him. Anything at all. 

"Like something from a movie? Red skin and horns?"

His tired eyes narrow at her. "This isn't the first time you're asking me about horns, Detective. Is that what you're really into?" his voice dips, laced with a half-hearted suggestion. 

Ignoring the heat in her cheeks, Chloe shakes her head. "You told me that the movies get it wrong," she says, searching her memory. He did, didn't he? "You told me that you couldn't offer something obvious to prove who you were. Something like horns or a tail. And yet you have wings. And this face thing that you showed to Linda. Linda, but not me. No, you kept lying to me."

For just a second it's almost as if his eyes flash crimson. "I don't lie."

"Right," Chloe draws out and takes another sip, the alcohol making her brave. Or reckless. She’ll know which one later, if she lives through the night. "Something obvious like horns or a tail. You said nothing about wings or a face. Gotcha. You're very careful with what you say, aren't you?"

Deflating again, he looks away. Almost... in shame? Another ploy? How can she trust anything he says or does or how he acts? After everything?

After everything what exactly?

Staring at the bottle, she tilts it again, almost to the point of spilling the expensive liquid onto his, no doubt, expensive floor. They shared so many good moments too. The jokes, the laughter, the game nights, the hugs. Her daughter drew a unicorn on his cheek as he scoffed and pretended to be annoyed, but he still complimented her skills.

It couldn't all have been a ploy, a game to him. A long con. He couldn’t have faked enjoying spending time with her? And if he did, if it was, then to what end?

But does there have to be a goal? What if it all was just for funsies? A way to change things up, to keep himself entertained. After all, he has nothing if not time. 

Her throat closes with the press of tears. Chloe takes another swig from the bottle, starting to feel its effects. She should probably stop drinking soon, it’s bad etiquette to pass out drunk at Satan's place.

She has though, before. And he hugged her and teased her and wouldn't sleep with her even though she wanted him to.

Lucifer wouldn't take advantage and have sex with her when she's drunk, but he would toy with her feelings when she's sober?

It doesn't quite add up. It should be both or neither, shouldn't it? Chloe huffs. She's doing it again, trying to apply human logic to a being so above and beyond it they might be in different universes when it comes to perceiving the world.

It's scary.

No, it’s terrifying.  

"I don't always tell the whole truth," he offers tiredly, a reminder of sorts. "But then neither do you."

The urge to argue is strong; she squashes it down. He's not wrong per se. Especially considering her job. She has to keep things from her family. Apparently she's so good at it, she accidentally taught her eight year old to hide her real feelings from her parents so as not to worry them. It still stings. She drinks, a smaller sip this time. "But not the truth about who I am."

"I... was afraid."

She stares at him, but he’s looking away, through the closed balcony doors. Once again, Chloe wonders what he's thinking about. "Of what?"

His eyes dart to her, just for a second. "Of how you might react." Tired, he sounds so tired. It can't be a ploy, can it? "I told you, Detective, you're important."

"But important how?"

Lucifer turns his head, their gazes lock. There's intensity in it, visible even across the room. It steals her breath. Canting his head, a tiny smile stretches his lips. “Are you really going to make me say it out loud?” he whispers. 

It can't be. No, it just, it cannot be.

But why not?

Linda's right, and I'm suppressing pent-up feelings about you and Pierce, which is absurd.

It is absurd. 

Tears blur her vision and Chloe looks up. The tree chandelier has always fascinated her. Did he have it made to his specifications? Did he just happen to find it in a store somewhere?

I happen to know him better than you, and I know that you can't trust him.

The irony of their exchange doesn’t escape her even as the scotch softens everything around the edges. The Devil warned her about Cain, but wouldn’t show her any proof. 

And barring the kind of explanation she can’t possibly comprehend with her tiny human mind, logically, there’s only two reasons why he would do that. Because he cares or because he doesn’t care.

Putting the bottle on the step next to her, Chloe mirrors his pose, elbows on knees and hands in her hair. Which one would she prefer?

Why is she still here?

Why can’t she let it go?

Let him go. 

Deckers aren't quitters, her dad says in her head. They're not, but they seem to lack any sense of self-preservation. Still, if there is even the tiniest chance she can trust herself, then she has to do what she knows best and detective. But where to even begin to untangle the thick web of maybe-lies, maybe-truths without his answers. Words, actions, intentions, a heady cocktail that is making her head spin even now. No one else can confirm. And she can’t confirm he’s telling the truth. 

Or maybe, this is just too much for her puny, human brain to handle. But Linda knows. Linda knows and she’s still seeing him. What does it mean? 

She swallows a lump forming in her throat. This feels increasingly like stalling. 

Are you really going to make me say it out loud?  

Does she have a choice?

The elevator’s orange light draws her eyes to itself, calling to her. If she believes him, then nothing is stopping her from leaving all this behind. She’ll never forget, never unknow what she knows now, but maybe she can pretend. 

Pretend to be just a regular human who doesn’t know. Who lives her life the best she can and tries to be a good mom, to make the world a little better for her child. For other people. There’s nothing special about her—apart from being catnip for immortals who like to toy with her feelings apparently—so she can just… be herself, boring and responsible, and not think of Heaven and Hell and the Devil. 

She would move on. Eventually. Lucifer would become a story. A crazy, completely insane story to tell her grandkids as they sit in front of a fireplace, thunder and lightning illuminating the room. “And for a moment,” she’d tell them, “I thought that the Devil himself loved me.” They’d gasp and aw and giggle and ask for more stories from her incredible past. And that’s all she’ll have, stories. 

Her heart tightens with unexpected panic and grief. What the hell is she thinking? Is she seriously mourning an imaginary future in which the Devil is not by her side telling stories to the imaginary grandkids? 

Are you really going to make me say it out loud?  

She takes a swig again, the alcohol burning as it goes down. “The Professor,” she says, hoarse. “When we caught him and you saved those kids, how did you do it?” 

Lucifer looks up, their eyes meeting; Chloe startles at the sheer agony written on his face. What does it mean?  

Tears prickle. “You said you’d answer my questions,” she reminds him, affronted when her voice rings. 

The agony doesn’t lessen, but he nods his head slowly. “That I did.” A beat of silence passes between them, then another. He looks away. “The poisonous gas had no effect on me.”

That’s what she thought. Invulnerable. Powerful. So very powerful. Except… not always? “But I shot you, too,” Chloe whispers, not quite a question. “I shot you, and you bled.” Malcolm shot him, and he almost died. 

Head hanging lower, Lucifer nods again. “I did,” he says, nearly inaudible across the distance between them. Miles and miles of it. 

She racks her brain, searching for all those moments; the alcohol makes it harder to concentrate, but it doesn’t add up, doesn’t make sense, unless it was a tactic? A way to manipulate her, to convince her of how harmless he was. How could she believe his truths if he was taking a knife to his shoulder and bleeding? 

A gasp catches in her throat. He took a knife to his shoulder to protect her. The left shoulder, the same place Jimmy Barnes shot her when they first met. Their first, unofficial case together. 

“So you can just turn it on and off at will? Did you do it to manipulate me? Were you trying to make me care about you more?”

“No!” It sounds too loud in the quiet of the penthouse. Startled, Chloe stares at him, and Lucifer stares back. Abruptly, he drops her gaze, getting up to his feet. Finally, he draws open the balcony doors, letting the cool night air inside; some of the fog in her head seems to dissipate. 

Wordlessly, Chloe watches his back. If he wanted to leave, he could just fly anywhere. He has wings now. A couple of years ago, he didn’t; she saw the scars. Did they regrow? She swallows and closes her eyes, but all she sees is the white wings, glowing and moving with every breath he takes. 

Just several steps away the elevator waits patiently. It can take her right to the parking lot. She can get into the car and drive home. And then… she’ll never have another chance to ask him anything. 

“Is that all you have to say?” As answering questions goes, he’s really bad at it. Shouldn’t he want to clear up the air if everything wasn’t a trick? 

“Fine.” He turns around, eyes wide, arms spreading out. “Fine. You want answers, Detective, fine, you shall have all of them.”

That frantic, manic energy—gone or subdued for a little while—is back in full force. Sudden panic chills the blood flowing through her veins. She wants answers, needs them even, but now the urge to tell him to stop, to tell him to keep it, to cover her ears and not hear a single word he says, pushes to the front until it and the cold are the only things that inhabit her body and mind. 

She wants him to say nothing. 

“I,” Lucifer says, pointing the index fingers of both hands at himself, “am the Devil, invulnerable in most circumstances except”—and now he’s pointing at her—“when I’m around you.”

What?

“What was that?” He asks, stepping around all the stuff scattered around the floor without even looking, one palm hovering next to his ear. “How is that possible, you ask? Oh, I don’t know. Just that it is. Or perhaps it has something to do with you”—his voice rises, the cold inside immobilizes her—“being a miracle, Detective.”

He laughs, high and bitter and cruel, and all she can think of is kissing him earlier. Tell me how do you live like this? Knowing that you're not worth it? Perhaps they’re worth each other.

And then the words sink in. 

“What?”

Lucifer laughs. “A miracle! Ordered into existence by God himself.”

You’re important.  

There’s not enough air. Her eardrums play a solo concert. Chloe finds herself on her feet, clutching the bottle so tightly it might break. “Why?” She might break too. 

His laughter ceases. He shrugs and shakes his head at the same time. “I don’t know. Truly. I thought it was to manipulate me, but you’re not a player in this game, Detective, I know that. You’re just an innocent. A pawn. You never asked for any of it. We have that in common.”

The strangest thing happens, with every word, Lucifer grows quieter and calmer, the frantic, mean energy draining from him. Yet with every word he utters, Chloe feels something grow bigger and bigger inside her. No energy is ever wasted, she suddenly remembers reading, only transformed.   

“How long have you known?” she pushes out through clenched teeth. 

His shoulders sag. 

“How long?” her voice turns into a scream, and oh, it feels so good.

Lucifer freezes, staring at her; emotions playing on his face is the only movement about him. Her pulse beats too loudly in her ears, too distracting to concentrate on anything but this revelation and what it could possibly mean. What does it mean? 

“A year,” he whispers. “Give or take.”

A year. It’s hard to breathe. She finds a hand clamped tight over her mouth. To contain the scream, maybe. Not only has her partner been the actual Devil this whole time—a fact he never bothered to share, in ways that she would believe him—but she isn’t a person either.

Is she?

She has a daughter, does this affect Trixie? Oh, God. Of course it affects Trixie, she’s involved in this as much as Chloe is. What about Penelope? You’re a miracle. What does it mean for the people she loves?

“Detective?” Lucifer says, concern bleeding through so thick that even in her state Chloe cannot miss it. “Are you-”

“No, I’m not okay, Lucifer.” Gesturing, she forgets about the bottle clutched in her hand, and the expensive scotch spills down onto the floor. “What kind of question is that? What does it mean?”

He stares.

“I’m a miracle, what does it mean?”

“It means that approximately nine months before you were born, my dad sent my brother on a mission to bless your parents.”

She stares. 

Her brain struggles to process all the information she’s getting, it grows like a snowball, pressing on her temples from the inside. 

There has to be a rational explanation—she’s talking with the Devil—right? 

“My mom said they struggled to conceive. She called me their little miracle.” It feels like a mockery. 

“You are,” Lucifer says, softly. “Quite literally.” 

“But why? Why me? Is it just something your dad does? Giving out miracles for couples who want kids but can’t have them?” What about other miracles? Like eliminating world hunger? What about justice? What about-

“I don’t know, Detective.” Looking world weary, older somehow too, but it could just be the bags under his tired, reddish eyes, he sits on the couch. His gaze wanders away from hers. “But I can’t think of any other reason than to manipulate me. There are more ways than one, after all.”

Tiny insignificant bug.

“Yes, but manipulate you how?”

“Well, we’ve met, haven’t we?” He looks up, a lopsided smile appears on his face. Without any warmth and joy in it, it resembles a grimace. “We’ve met and then I felt-” He cuts himself off, gaze turning downwards at his tightly clasped hands. 

Are you really going to make me say it out loud?  

“What did you feel?” Throat dry, Chloe holds her breath. He says nothing. “Outside of the Professor’s lab, after we caught him, after you saved those kids...” Like walking into a concrete wall, words die on her tongue. She can’t voice them. They’re heavier than a mountain. 

What is she doing? The thought is oddly distant, in sharp contrast to the immediacy of all other feelings and sensations. Is she really asking the Devil if he loved her? Loves her? 

“Later that day my mother told me the truth about you,” he says, almost too quiet to make out. 

And that’s when he found out that he can’t love her because she’s not even a person. No longer worth it. 

The memories of that night are a blur, but underneath, through the terror of having been poisoned, she remembers Lucifer barging into her apartment, yelling and demanding something. “I almost died.”

“Yes. And so did I.”

The world tilts again. “What?”

An old smirk dances on his lips as he throws her a glance. The old him. The partner she knew before. It pulls on something deep inside her. Longing for how things used to be. Lost forever. “We got the list of ingredients from Dave Maddox, but how do you think we got the formula?”

How indeed. No one wanted to discuss the poisoning, herself included, so Chloe always assumed that Maddox had it too. Clearly, there’s more to the story. “How did you get the formula?” 

“Well, I died, of course.” His eyes widen in emphasis. Her heart skips a beat. He’s the Devil. “I died, went to Hell, and had a little chit-chat with the Professor. He found himself to be quite remorseful.”

He went to Hell to talk to a dead man. The Professor exists in Hell. It hits her again. And Lucifer was able to talk to him. 

“Oh my God.”

Lucifer makes a sound of displeasure, but doesn’t offer a comment. 

He went to Hell because he’s the Devil, but if he wasn’t…

“I’m only alive because of you,” Chloe whispers.

A broken laugh falls from his lips. “Yes, it appears to be so.” Their eyes lock, the desperation in his takes her by surprise. “I’m so sorry, Detective.” 

“Wha-” she begins before it dawns; he means her existence, not the fact that he could only save her because he’s the Devil and can go to Hell to convince a dead man to give him the antidote as easily as she can go grocery shopping. 

But is he wrong? 

“Do I really exist because of you?” It’s a strange thing to try to wrap her head around. How can it be true? And if it is true, there must be a reason. A good reason. A worthy reason. 

You’re important.  

“It appears so.”

“Is that why you’ve been working with me? To keep an eye on me?” 

“No, no, no. I told you, Mum only told me when I was in… too deep. I assure you, Detective, I had no idea. If I had…” 

The words stab, tiny precise pinpricks. Death by a thousand cuts. If he’d known, he wouldn’t have bothered at all, that’s what he meant to say. But he hadn’t known until… “That’s why you left, isn’t it?” Vegas, Candy, sheets covering the furniture. He didn’t intend to come back then. 

Yet he did. 

Lucifer nods, staring away. 

“So why’d you come back?” When he doesn’t reply, she feels the anger bubble up to the surface again, swirling like a tornado, growing bigger and fiercer the longer he keeps silent. Her tiny house is going to crush something. Most likely herself when it falls back down. “Why. Did. You. Come. Back?”

“Because I couldn’t stay away from you,” his voice goes up and down, not quite a yell, more like a hurried confession he never wanted to make. 

Ruthlessness pushes the anger and numbness away. “You couldn’t stay away from me, so you came back with a wife that you divorced less than two weeks later.” He doesn’t even need to confirm it, at this point, she’s simply stating facts. 

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand, Lucifer.”

He looks up, confused. Chloe shakes her head. She can understand him leaving. She can understand him coming back. But breaking her heart? How does that help anything? 

“If you left because I was a miracle who only exists because of you, and if you came back because you couldn’t stay away from me… Why did you break my heart? Because what, suddenly I wasn’t good enough for you to be with, but still good enough to keep around anyhow? Like a pet?”

You’re not worth it.  

Lucifer pushes to his feet, sharpness in every movement. “No!”

“Then why?”

“Because you had no choice!” He yells, finally. Something tightens and releases inside her belly; she’s poking the Devil and the Devil reacts. 

But then she’s always known that. 

She’s always been doing just that, only without realizing the sheer scope of it. Always pushing him, challenging him. Telling him to cut the crap. And he… gave back as good as he got, or he listened. 

“About being a miracle?” About being born a certain way?

“No, you don’t understand,” Lucifer says, and oh she believes him. Her heart is still beating fast, her thoughts are a storm that doesn’t seem to abate, she’s a miracle child talking with the Devil; it’s a guarantee that there’s something she doesn’t understand. “Yes, you didn’t ask to be born a miracle, but that’s the point, Detective. You didn’t ask for any of this... crap. You were manipulated. As were your feelings for me. None of it was real.” 

The words sink in slowly, but inevitably, like heavy stones to the bottom of the ocean. The amount of information and revelations hurts her head. Yet, something doesn’t add up. Like trying to jam a square peg into a round hole. The alcohol was a mistake. “Does it include our friendship?” Or at least what she thought was their friendship. Except it’s not quite true, she did—does—consider him her friend. Her best friend. 

“I- uh.” He pauses, mouth opening. “I’m not sure.”

“Aren’t you? Because you came back.”

Lucifer stares at her with a confused, blank expression. A wave of satisfaction rolls through her at catching him off guard. Maybe she is insignificant, and unworthy, and hundreds of other demeaning things, but she is not stupid. 

“You came back and broke my heart, so that took care of my”—Chloe finger quotes, voice rising, gaining strength—”romantic feelings for you. Okay. But you still wanted to work with me, still wanted to be my friend. Why? Because those feelings were real? Or… because you only think of yourself?”

A weak huff of laughter falls from his lips. “That’s funny. Maze said the same thing before you arrived. Must be true then.” 

Like releasing an untied balloon, the fervor drains from her. He saved her life. But… he’s the Devil, he can just go to Hell whenever. There’s still his willingness to bother, of course… The question remains, what if he did it because of selfish reasons? Not for her sake but because he wanted to keep her around for his? And that’s why he came back after Vegas, with a plan to keep her close but not too close. 

It makes sense.

It doesn’t make sense. 

Is there anything she can trust now? Least of all the man—the Devil—standing, looking lost, several feet away from her. 

This is a nightmare, one she can’t wake up from. There’s no one she can trust, not even herself. She has spectacularly lost her grip on everything. As if to prove her point, the bottle slips from her fingers. It doesn’t shatter, but the liquid spills out; a little lake on his marble floor.

Sniffling, startled to find tears escaping her eyes, Chloe wipes them away. “Why’d you save my life when I was poisoned?”

“Are you bloody serious?” The indignation in his voice rings loud, surprising her. She blinks. Lucifer stares at her unblinking, brows furrowed, something akin to accusation in his expression. 

“I couldn’t be more serious if I tried. None of this is a joke to me, Lucifer,” she says, almost regretting her tone when he winces. This is her life. Her entire existence that they’re talking about. “Why’d you go to Hell to save me? And what did you mean when you said you’d died?”

“I meant exactly what I said.” His voice is suddenly level, a little cool. Chloe swallows hard. “At the time, the only way for me to get to Hell was to die, so that’s exactly what I did.”

“But you’re…”

“Alive? Yes. Doctor Linda and Maze and, well, my Mum, managed to bring me back.”

Her head swims. He died. He literally died. “What would’ve happened to you if they didn’t?” 

Lucifer shrugs, a dismissing gesture that doesn’t match the expression on his face. “I would’ve stayed in Hell, of course.”

A chill runs down her back. “Why would you do that? Why would you risk it?”

“How could I not?” His voice rises, he takes a step forward. She swallows again. Their eyes catch and hold. 

Once again, the possibility of him… 

Him. The Devil. 

And she’s nothing. Just a human. A miracle.  

Someone who doesn’t know if she can believe her own eyes and heart. 

“Why?” Chloe whispers. 

He freezes in his spot. “You’re not going to believe me no matter what I say. Are you?”

Is she?

“You’ve made up your mind.”

“I didn’t.”

He tilts his head. “Didn’t you?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” 

Something passes across his face. “But you don’t believe the word I’m saying,” he says bitterly. “You don’t trust me anymore, and I honestly don’t know if I can blame you.” 

“Lucifer-”

“But I can’t,” he says, words bunching together as if he finds it hard to breathe. “I can’t let you think that I would hurt you. That I would manipulate you. I can’t let you believe that I don’t-” His throat bobs. She sees the effort it takes for him to swallow. “That I lied to you.” 

“Okay,” she whispers. 

“Okay.” Lucifer nods. Then he nods again. She sees the moment he decides; to do what, Chloe can’t even begin to guess. “Okay,” he repeats.

Their eyes lock, she can’t look away. Before she can blink, he covers the distance between them. His palms cup her cheeks. His forehead presses to hers and…

Chloe’s weightless. There’s nothing surrounding her, no up and no down, no air to breathe and no light, nothing but vast emptiness wrapping around her, swallowing her whole. Then the invisible strings snap and, faster than light, she’s plunged into the icy cold waters of memories and feelings that aren’t her own. 

A wall of images slams into her, or rather slams her into it, stealing her breath away. Swirling feelings, like a kaleidoscope, disordered and overwhelming, growing warmer and brighter. And in the middle of this chaos, there is one figure. One constant. Her.

Her, her, her.

Like watching a recording, a smirk on her own face and a notepad in her hands. Immortality, you spell that with one or two M’s, I always forget. Her voice sounds strange to her ears. Their eyes meet in the rear view mirror. The light reflects off the glass in her hand. And now no one wants to work with me. A gasp catches in her throat. Then and now blending into one. 

The sound of the waves lapping on the shore. A strand of hair escaped from the bun. The wonder and surprise that isn’t hers press on the inside of her chest, threatening to get out, impossible to contain. The gentle press of her lips, and the feeling of her hand sliding into the hair. 

Longing and ache in the pit of her stomach, and the bullet necklace hanging from her fingers. The wide smile and messy hair, she looks lovely wearing his shirt, too large on her slight frame; she looks in love. So obvious, but she had no idea. Regret and fear and strong arms closing around her as they sit together outside of time. 

Fear grows like a stormy cloud, the primal kind of terror. All I ask is that you protect Chloe. Then darkness and thunder. The heat and the stench fill her nostrils and the hot pain of rain on her skin; it sizzles. Resignation mixes with relief. A willing sacrifice. No second thoughts. No regrets. 

Her daughter grins smugly, a hundred dollar bill in her hand, but the perspective is not like she remembers. A top hat figurine balanced delicately on the tip of one finger. Their shoulders brush as she smiles at him, so soft. For a moment, the puzzles fit just right. His shoes by the door, his jacket nowhere to be found, his place by her side in this little apartment. It is enough. 

A stab of pain in her thigh, growing and spreading, muffled by raw confusion and fear. The walls fade away, her face is the only thing in focus. A hand grasps the fabric of the coat she’s wearing. What’s happening to me?  

Maze’s face, hovering, hesitating. I can’t. You do it! The steady hum of machines, the hospital smell she recognizes and hates. Impatience, they’re running out time. To do what? The paddles connect with soft skin and everything goes dark, then everything goes blue. Hell.  

The sunrays dance in her blonde hair, the joy so bright it outshines the stars, it lands on the palm of her hand like a delicate butterfly. I didn’t think it could happen, but it has. I feel… invincible. The butterfly is crushed, the joy is torn down with two sentences. Heartbreaking and maddening, a loss too profound for words; powerlessness too big to bear. Disbelief and grief. Why would he do that?  

One loss melts into another. There was no other way. There is no way to turn back time, to undo it. The pain drowns. Lux swirls around and around, dizzying. Even those who seek justice aren’t exempt from being punished. Bullets shatter the glass. Every time you say that you’re evil, or you’re the Devil, I know that’s not who you really are. Her own words, ringing back, accusing, in his feelings sweeping all over her like a hurricane. 

She wanted to understand. 

Stumbling back, Lucifer lets go of her. She gulps in the air, lungs aching in relief. Years condensed into mere seconds. Chloe touches her cheeks—fever hot—and feels water on her fingertips. Her hands shake. Her entire body shakes like a leaf. 

“You remember,” she whispers. When she opens her eyes, Lucifer stands with his hands up in surrender. His frame blurs and sharpens as tears continue to roll down her face. 

“I remember everything.” His voice is hoarse. “Every moment, every smile, every gesture. Every hug and every eye roll. Every touch and every word. I will sooner forget my own name before I forget you. You are the single bright ray of sunlight in the neverending darkness of my long and hopeless life. Radiant. Alive. So very beautiful. I just…” He swallows. “I needed you to know the truth.”

Each word cuts deep and heals at the same time. The gravity of it, them, presses down on her. More tears fall, and she hastily wipes them away. A sob pushes from the inside, before it grows too big to keep it in. Lucifer stands before her, agonized, like a man condemned, awaiting his execution. “I believe you,” Chloe croaks. 

Now, with the evidence still fresh and bright in her mind, his emotions and feelings in her heart—she doesn’t know where he ends and she begins—but she believes him now. 

“I believe you,” she whispers again. 

Silent, speechless, they stand, holding each other’s gazes. What is there to say when he showed her his heart, raw and beating, in the palm of his hand. Her own hammers inside her chest. Her knees give in and Chloe stumbles back to sit on the cold. marble steps. She’s so tired. 

“Detective,” Lucifer begins hesitantly. “This, what I just did, must have been”—wild, overwhelming, completely impossible—“a lot. Are you okay?” 

A weak laugh bubbles up from her belly. An understatement of the century. “Yeah,” she says, surprised to find that it’s not a lie. She is not okay in so many ways but this one. “I- uh. I don’t know what to say now.”

“Me either.” 

Their eyes meet. Lucifer huffs. She laughs again. And then he does too. Her body shakes, not from the shock and tension and fading adrenalin, but from unexpected humor running through her veins. They are a mess. 

Still chuckling, Lucifer rights a chair before sitting on its armrest, facing her. “I’d like you to know that that was a first for me.”

That’s kind of nice. “You have to buy me dinner now.” 

“I think dinner is not enough, Detective. I might as well buy you an entire house.” He rolls his eyes, but the soft smirk doesn’t disappear from his face. 

“Oh yeah? Well, I quite like this place.” 

“I’m afraid it comes with the Devil.” 

“Well, that’s okay.” 

The smirk morphs into something else. Hope? His hands clasp together as he wets his lips. “Det- Chloe-”

“I am fine, Lucifer. That was, uh, very enlightening. How does the saying go? Walk a mile in someone’s shoes, let someone inside your head?”

“I should’ve told you,” he says, so much regret seeping into his voice. “Of course I should’ve told you. You are right, Detective. I had no right to keep such important things from you, no matter what it meant for me.”

She picks at a fingernail, looking away. Her hands still shake lightly. The elevator stands open and ready, but now Chloe knows she’s not going anywhere. Bone deep exhausted, she’s not in any state to drive anyhow; today has been endless. And no matter how powerful he is, there’s one thing he can’t do—undo what’s been done. “What does it mean, Lucifer? Do I really have no choice?”

Without looking, just by the tone of his voice, she can tell he shrugs. “Truth be told, I can’t know for sure. But there is a likely possibility that you do not.” 

Chloe hums. “Is that why you didn’t tell me about Pierce being Cain?" Not at first anyhow. "Because you thought I was making my own choices regarding my own life?”

“Yes. Yes, you could say that.” 

She hums again. It’s a nice thought, if it were true. “I still wanted to be with you,” she says, matter-of-factly. He’s allowed her to feel his feelings, the least she can do is be honest about hers; real or not real, that’s how she feels now. “I would’ve left him in a heartbeat if you asked me to.”

His breath hitches. She looks at him from the corner of her eye. 

“Anyhow.” That little detail requires too much brainspace, and hers is pretty much fried at this point; she’ll still be a damned miracle tomorrow. “Why didn’t you sleep?”

“Oh. Right. I, uh, what I said in the interrogation room was true,” Lucifer says, a little sheepish now.

“Rogue angels flying around and unresolved feelings about my dating Pierce?” 

“That about sums it up, yes.”

A smile tugs on a corner of her lip. “Were you? Flying around in your sleep? That must be terrifying.” She sleep-walked once or twice, an experience she never wants to repeat. But to fly? It's gotta be faster than walking, so easy to fly into a building and go splat. She shudders. 

“Ah, no. I thought it was my father manipulating me like a puppet, quite literally, but turns out it was just Maze being a demon.”

Her fingers dig into the soft flesh of her palms. “What do you mean just Maze being a demon?” 

“That was her way to get back at me. To feed my paranoia and keep me away from you while Pierce made his moves.” 

A heavy, freezing chill weighs her down, chasing away the warmth of his feelings. “I’m sorry, what? Does everyone have plans for me?” First she’s made to love the Devil—apparently, maybe, quite possibly—then Cain wants to snatch her for himself? What for? 

“It’s not that bad, honestly,” he reassures her. Which makes her feel worse, not better. “You see, Cain is cursed, so he’s unable to die”—what—“but because you make me, the Devil, vulnerable, he figured that if you cared for him, he might become vulnerable too, well, killable.”

And she thought that nothing could surprise her at this point. How fucking naive. “Let me get this straight, he wanted me to fall in love with him, so that he could kill himself? I’d be a little upset if my new boyfriend committed suicide, don’t you think?” 

Lucifer blinks as if the thought never occurred to him. Chloe swallows. What is her life, exactly? 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” he admits.

“Yeah, the look on your face told me as much.” She huffs. “And Maze was helping him?” Fuck that pot-brownies-Cain-helping bitch. “Were you?” 

“Not as such. I did try to kill him, but when our deal threatened your life, I called it off.” 

Oh great, more revelations. Might as well get it over with. She’s not getting out of this the same woman anyhow. “When?”

His throat bobs. Reaching up, Lucifer rubs under his eyes. “Do you remember the case with the young assistant Bree?” Chloe nods. “Well, Bree wasn’t actually Bree. Abel, Cain’s brother, borrowed her body.” 

“She offered me her flock of sheep... I guess that explains that.” And she’s not even really fazed, which is slightly terrifying. 

“Yes. I intended to put his soul into an old, dying man; to undo Cain killing him, so to speak. But Bree died at the same moment, and well, I suppose the choice was obvious.” A short, uncomfortable laugh falls from his lips. 

Wow. Just… no other words but wow. He can bring a soul from Hell and put it into someone’s dead body? But the body is dead, does, uh, someone moving in fix up whatever’s broken? He said an old, dying man. Maybe it can mend some injuries but not the natural end of a person’s life? It’s both stuff of body horror and also strangely fascinating. 

“I think I would’ve liked being in the know,” Chloe says, more to herself than to him. She wouldn’t have been okay with what he did—what if a person dies of injuries and then they’re put back into their own body—but otherwise… 

“I am truly sorry, Detective.”

Nodding, Chloe looks down. Her boots zip on the sides, but the laces are about to come undone. Much like her entire life. Except not really. At least one thing got sorted out. Despite the hurt caused, the Devil did have the best intentions. Except everyone knows where that road leads to. 

Hell.

She’s seen Hell. She’s felt it in every pore of her skin, every strand of her hair, filling her lungs and ears with ash and thunder and the rattling of chains. It lingers. The heat in her memories—not just his anymore, but hers as well—clashes with the chill running down her spine, making her shudder. 

She’s been to Hell.  

He lived there. Thousands, millions of years. In the oppressive atmosphere, the darkness of the neverending night. The screams. The loneliness. She swallows hard; it seems that more than just his memories of her have managed to bleed through their connection. 

Now she knows. There are no lies in how he feels about her. But that’s just one piece; Lucifer is still the Devil, whatever else it means. 

“Can I, uh.” She swallows again, her coarse tongue unpleasant in her mouth. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything, Detective. I did promise you any and all answers.” 

“Right. Uh. All those stories? Hell, torture, that kind of stuff. Are any of them true?”

When he doesn’t say anything, Chloe looks up, afraid she’s overstepped. Is there even such a thing between them now? He let her into his head. Still, this feels a little invasive. 

Slowly, Lucifer stands up, walking around the other side of the piano to get to the bar. She doesn’t blame him. Just judging from the glimpses of that terrible place, there’s no other way to talk about it but with a bottle in hand. He pours himself a glass and downs it, then pours another. 

“Would you mind sharing?” 

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Far be it for me to be the responsible one, but I think you should probably stop drinking.” 

Chloe frowns. “Since when are you my mother?” Actually, her mother would never tell her that.  

“Since I believe you’d like to remember this tomorrow?” Lucifer says mimicking her tone.

Oh shit. He’s right. Annoyingly so. She has to remember this tomorrow and for the rest of her life. Too bad he doesn’t have any security cameras. Would she believe it if she saw it? Maybe not. And her head does feel all kinds of weird now. 

Lucifer raises his glass in her direction. “I’ll drink for the both of us.” 

“How generous of you,” Chloe mumbles. “I guess that’s ‘cause you’re”—vaguely, she gestures at him, drawing a line that follows the shape of his wings, as she remembers them—“you know.”

“Devil? Angel? Celestial?” 

She nods. It hits her all over again. “Wow, we’re literally different species.” 

“Does that… Does that bother you?”

Traitorously, her mind flashes back to a moment in their early partnership, before their official partnership even began. Heat floods her cheeks, Chloe looks down at the marble floor. “Well, we’re not that different, are we…”

“No.” The amusement in his voice is impossible to miss. Of course he’d see right through her. Of course he’d find it delightful. Damn him. “No, we’re not.” 

“So anyhow,” Chloe says loudly, too cheerfully. “Hell?” 

“Right.” He drinks and pours another glass. “I suppose the answer is yes and no.” 

Staring ahead at the elevator, Chloe nods. It makes sense. Stories get distorted with time—turn into spooks to scare children at night—but there’s usually some truth to them. Why would this one, about the Devil, be any different? “How so?”

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Lucifer lean back on the bar. One of the tables hides his torso from view. He looks… resigned. “Well, for one, I did not create Hell. I only worked there. Doing Dad’s dirty work until I had enough and quit.” 

So there’s that. Whenever he said he knows about torture and punishment, he really did mean it literally because he tortured and punished people in Hell. 

But wouldn’t they be the worst people? Chloe frowns again. Heaven is for the good guys, and Hell is for the bad guys, that’s how it’s supposed to be. He wouldn’t hurt those who don’t deserve it. Whatever else she thought about him—about him playing with her feelings which turned out to be wrong anyhow—she knows he doesn’t delight in inflicting pain; only if someone deserves it for doing something terrible. But then, so does she. 

It’s satisfying to watch bad people get their due. She can’t deny it. 

Groaning, Chloe rubs her face. 

“Detective.” Lucifer’s voice, too close to her, makes her take a peek. He’s holding a glass of something, probably water, clear and condensated. With a sigh, she accepts it, but presses it to her forehead first; the cold soothes her aching mind. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs. 

“The water needs to go inside you for it to have any effect,” he points out. Chloe considers rolling her eyes; it would take too much effort, so instead, she looks at him and drinks. Satisfied, Lucifer nods. “Good.” 

Right this moment, it’s really wild to think that this man is the Devil. 

“So,” she says when she’s done and the cold water chills her insides on its way down. “Hell is bad. Heaven is good.” Not exactly a question. 

Lucifer leans on the bar table. “Hell is bad, yes, Heaven is, well, it’s paradise for the dead.” 

Her mind almost lets it slide, after all, his words sound perfectly reasonable. “For the dead,” Chloe repeats slowly. “But not for you?”

He huffs, a little unkindly. “Have you watched All Dogs Go To Heaven 2?” 

Chloe blinks. Has he watched it? At one of their game nights, Trixie chose All Dogs Go To Heaven for them to watch, so what, he watched the second movie on his own? The temptation to ask is too great, but she resists; this is something she can always tease him about later. “Yeah, I have.” A while ago with Trixie, so it’s a little vague. 

“Do you remember the song Charlie sings at the beginning?” 

“I do.” All too well actually. One of those songs that stuck with her, she sang it for days with her little monkey, who at the time really wanted to have a dog or to be a dog. 

Lucifer nods, pleased. “Well, that’s what it’s like for me on a good day.” 

What about a bad day? she wants to ask but once again doesn’t. Wouldn’t Heaven be his home, technically? Where does one go when they can’t stand to be in Hell or Heaven? 

She knows exactly where. 

“That’s why you’re here,“ Chloe whispers. So many things make sense now. His drive, his passions, unabashed joy and delight as he partakes in every good and wonderful thing Earth has to offer. Why he would encourage people to live to the fullest. Why he wanted her to let go and have fun instead of working overtime. 

Why he is the way he is here. 

“Well done, Detective.” But there’s nothing mocking in his voice, just genuine warmth. “Earth,” Lucifer says slowly, tasting every word, “is the only place I’ve ever felt wanted or respected. Los Angeles, this place”—spreading his arms he encompasses the penthouse—“is my home. Not Heaven and not Hell.”

She swallows, wishing for more water, but the thought of getting up feels intrusive, disruptive; he needs to keep talking. She needs to know more. 

“So I quit. Spent nearly five years living it up, until I met you.” A small smile lights up his tired face.

“And decided to get a real job, like a real boy,” Chloe teases. His lips twitch. 

“Yes, but my nose won’t grow if I tell a falsehood. Which I never do anyway.” 

Humming, she decides not to focus on that one. He twists the truth—and as was the case with his identity, he flat out tells it—and bluffs, but whether or not he lies is subject for debate. One that she is not in the mood or state to have right now. 

“I’ve taken short breaks from my job, but those never lasted as much as I would have liked.” His job. Torturing the bad guys? “Merely glimpsing the world and the progress humanity would make since my last visit. Of course, sightseeing wasn’t exactly on my itinerary.” A smirk, if a little hollow, plays on his lips; it doesn’t linger. Humans and human connections. Her heart aches for him. How lonely must he have been in Hell, surrounded by the worst of the worst? And Maze. “There’s plenty of scenery in Hell, but none of it is real. Just memories of guilty souls; smoke and mirrors.” 

The information washes over her. Guilty souls. She has to ask him about that. “When you did… that thing”—as overwhelming as it felt, she also liked it; the sheer trust of it too—“I saw… columns, and- and ash, and chains.” Darkness and swirling clouds. She shivers as a thought occurs to her, no other living soul knows what Hell is like. Just her. 

Lucifer nods. He turns and pours himself another glass. “I do apologize for that, I never intended for you to see Hell. I’m not… at my best; it’s been too long since I… well.” He drinks. 

Not at his best is a slight oversimplification. From her vantage point, she can see the almost imperceptible shake of his hands. The best thing for both of them is to can this and get some sleep. 

But can they have this conversation in the light of day? 

“Did you also see doors?” He asks, glancing at her. Chloe nods. “Hell, for the most part, consists of a maze; an ever expanding maze. Inside the maze is what you saw, each door leading to a room. Every soul gets their own room, their own Hell loop, in which they relive their greatest guilt. With a bit of flair to make it exciting. Not for the souls, of course.” With both hands, Lucifer rubs his face wearily. “For the most part, they torture themselves.” 

For the most part.  

With bated breath, she waits for him to continue, but Lucifer offers nothing more. 

“What was your job then? A supervisor of sorts?”

His eyes twinkle when he looks up at her. “Why, I was King, of course.”  

Of course.  

The spark of amusement is gone as fast as it appears. “For the most part, my job was simply to remain in Hell. Out of sight, out of mind.” 

Through the growing ache for him, Chloe searches her memories of any and all mentions of Hell, back when she thought he spoke in metaphors to make sense of what happened to him. Not a metaphor, never a metaphor. The unhappiness, and bitterness and sometimes even grief coloring his voice whenever he talked about his past is staring her right in the face now. In hindsight, it’s so obvious; how could she ever have thought him an ordinary human?

“The torture is something I did willingly,” Lucifer says slowly, bringing her back to the present. Shivering again, she looks up. “But then when a soul only feels guilty for getting caught and not for causing pain to so many innocent, annoying children, it warrants a little intervention, wouldn’t you agree?”

His eyes bore into hers—a challenge, a dare to deny it—she couldn’t drop his gaze even if she wanted to. Words stick in her throat. 

He’s right though, isn’t he? She’s an officer of the law, a detective; it’s her job to find out the truth after the unthinkable happens, but it’s also her job to prevent it from happening whenever possible. To report any kinds of abuse, physical or neglect. It’s her duty. 

If Lucifer was in Hell right now, he could be torturing the very same people she helped apprehend. Human justice and celestial justice working together. That’s why he wouldn’t stop following her around. That’s why he weaseled his way into a partnership. 

“I would,” Chloe whispers, hoarsely. For a long moment, he holds her gaze captive before his shoulders relax and he looks away. 

Staring right ahead, she lets her eyes glide over the shiny surface of the piano. They played it together in another lifetime. It’s barely been three years.

Three years. She hadn’t known Dan for three years before she’d agreed to marry him. 

“Why don’t they feel guilt for what they’ve done?”

Lucifer huffs, disappointment radiating off him in waves. “Because they just don’t. Perhaps, it will be more productive to have this conversation with Doctor Linda.” 

Maybe she will. Linda knows. Chloe wants to know what she thinks about, well, everything. “At least they’re in Hell anyhow,” she says, letting viciousness seep into her voice. 

His shoulders shake with silent laughter, making her feel defensive. “They’re not in Hell because they’re scum of the Earth, Detective. They are in Hell because they feel guilty, just not for the crimes they’ve committed.”

His words wash over her, but her brain struggles to make sense of them. Surely, he didn’t say what she thinks he said. “What?” Chloe breathes as the full gravity of this revelation slams into her.

“I know!” The glass in his hand makes a loud clank as Lucifer puts it down onto the bar table. “They could be the worst person in the world, but they would go to Heaven simply because there’s no guilt weighing them down. Ancient Egyptians were onto something. Isn’t that just lovely, Detective?”

Staring at him, mouth open, Chloe tries to find anything suitable to say other than a string of What the fuck’s. It can’t be real. And if it is, then it means those people she helped catch, may very well be, or go when they finally die, in Heaven. The good guys are supposed to go there. 

“What… Then there’s…” Stuttering, she huffs. Her thoughts scatter away like bats. “What’s the point then?”

Lucifer hums. “I asked the same question.”

“And?”

“And nothing. As usual.” 

She was wrong. So wrong when she thought that nothing could possibly shock her now. Mouth dry, Chloe holds out the empty glass. “Please?”

“Of course.” She doesn’t look at him when he takes it from her hand. She doesn’t look anywhere at all. The persistent buzzing stretching between her ears and the newfound knowledge of the afterlife colors everything in such a bleak light. What is the point? 

“Is there anyone in Heaven at all?” Chloe blurts as Lucifer gives her the glass back. Just from a glance at it, she can tell it’s more water. Probably a good idea. Not that this is something she’d want to remember. Not that forgetting it would change a damn thing. 

Lucifer nods. “Of course.” 

“Everyone has guilt, Lucifer,” she whispers. She has so much of it, does it mean she’s doomed to go to Hell now? Does her being, or at least trying to be, a good person mean nothing? All the, potentially, good deeds of catching the bad guys and getting justice for the good ones, are for nothing and she’ll be tortured for… “Does it have to be something big? Like… like… hurting someone?”

He pulls on the fabric of his pants before sitting down next to her. Close enough, but their shoulders don’t brush. “No. Not necessarily. I’ve seen all kinds of guilt in Hell loops.” His voice rings hollow.

This adds another layer to him. The hows and the whys. The revelation of good people going to Hell sits heavily in the pit of her stomach. It can be anyone. Her. Her mom. Her dad. Oh, no, her dad. 

Without conscious thought, Chloe’s hand moves until she grabs his thigh. “Is my dad in Hell?” John Decker would definitely be in Hell. Not because he was a bad person, but because he was a good one, because he had a conscience; she still remembers the way he talked about succeeding and failing to help others. 

Lucifer’s hand gently covers hers; it feels more comforting than she would’ve thought. “I don’t know, Detective. I’m sorry. But I can go and check if you’d like?” 

Would she? Yes! Except, it wouldn’t change anything. If her father is in Hell, then that’s it, and she would have to live with that knowledge. Can she live with that knowledge? Can she look into her mom’s eyes whenever Penelope talks about reuniting with the one true love of her life once she dies—but not too soon yet—and keep the knowledge of what’s coming from her? Her mom might actually go to Heaven; she isn’t incapable of feeling any guilt, but she is remarkably good at letting it go. 

It’s something Chloe used to hate, but now it will ensure her mother doesn't suffer for all eternity at least. 

And she doesn’t want Lucifer to go to Hell too, even if it’s for a quick look around. How quick finding her dad can actually be? How many people are there? No. Not now anyhow. 

Shaking her head, she relaxes her fingers. “Maybe later, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” he whispers. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him looking at her, concerned. 

The one good thing about this, is that she’s fairly sure she’s all out of shocks. This is definitely the rock bottom of bad surprises. Nowhere to go but up now. 

“That doesn’t sound very fair.” Taking a sip, she gently makes the liquid swirl. No wonder he’s so hung up on justice it’s practically a turn on. People getting away with things they shouldn’t already drives her nuts, but considering, well, Hell and how it works… Chloe shudders. 

“Nope,” he pops the P. “Cain believes he’s going to Heaven if or when he finally dies.” 

Chloe tuts. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he doesn’t feel any guilt for trying to manipulate me. I was just a means to an end. Literally.” It should make her feel bad, yet for some reason, it doesn’t. A welcome change from how upset she felt just—minutes, hours—a little while ago at having been broken up with. 

Not worth it? No, if anything, she’s too good for him. That jerk. 

“Worry not,” he promises, squeezing her fingers, “if he should die anytime soon, I will make him regret something. It shouldn’t be hard, considering how long he’s lived and that he’s the Sinnerman. There must be something he feels guilty about. Like you said, everyone does.” 

Well, look at that, she’s wrong. Again. The bottom isn’t rock, it’s sand, and Lucifer has a shovel. 

Turning her head, a bit of water splashes onto her jeans, Chloe stares. “Really?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, that. Well, I did tell you.” He has the good grace not to add that she wouldn’t believe him, but the I told you so still rubs her the wrong way. She pulls her hand out from under his. 

“Yeah, sure, but how the hell was I supposed to believe that? Angels, demons, people from the Bible, and an urban legend? Come on. Pierce told me that the Sinnerman killed his brother.” 

Oh shit.

Lucifer actually laughs. “Oh, that’s very clever. He did kill his brother. Abel. No regrets, despite it being the reason he’s cursed.” 

Maybe she’s fallen into a black hole or something, there is no end to shocking revelations. After all, she’s not even a person! Oh how quickly Chloe managed to forget about that. On the list of everything she’s learned, including having been inside Lucifer’s head, just how far down will that go? Number six? Eight? She’d rather not know. 

“He’s cursed to remain immortal for killing his brother?” 

“Yep.” He drinks from the bottle. “But he’s tired of his immortal existence, which clearly means he’s doing it wrong,” Lucifer says, judgingly. 

“Yeah, he’s a criminal.” 

“I suppose you have a point. There’s a reason I don’t go around killing everyone I find annoying. Not just ‘cause it’s Dad’s rules. There’s blood, gore, hard feelings. It kind of ruins the party.”  

Chloe snorts, she can’t help it. She glances at him and their eyes meet. Through the exhaustion that now seems worse, there’s still a sparkle in his. Is it because she’s still here? Because she believes him? A part of her wants it to be so. 

She knows how he feels, it hits Chloe all over again, knocking the air from her lungs. She felt it. She feels it. It’s still inside her head and heart, like a warm ember that refuses to go out. She knows the Devil loves her the way he’s never loved anyone else. 

The small smile leaves his face. “Detective? Penny for your thoughts?” 

Without thinking, her hand finds his, entwining their fingers together. He looks down at their hands, surprised and maybe even awed. 

“Thank you for telling me. Eventually. And, uh, well, showing me too. I…”

“Wouldn’t have believed me otherwise,” he finishes for her. Not quite what she was going to say, but he’s not wrong. 

Chloe nods. “Yeah, I guess. It was just… Everything… And-”

“I understand.” Gently, Lucifer squeezes her fingers, drawing her eyes to where their hands rest on his thigh. “Bad timing all around. I hold none of that against you.” 

Maybe he should. She’s not going to insist otherwise though. The clarity which knowing the truth provides her now is precious. Making sense of what previously baffled her, what forced her to go against her instincts because things just made no sense, unless she believed him of course. Could she? Without any definitive proof that didn’t include Jimmy and Lucifer’s strength and the mojo and whatever else? Maybe. Or maybe not. 

No use to wonder, she knows now. 

Most importantly she knows where they stand. How he really feels about her. 

There is the little hiccup of her being a miracle baby and everything, but whether or not her own feelings for him are real or not real, is something she’ll think about tomorrow. After a good night’s rest and the biggest cup of strongest coffee she can find. And maybe an omelet too. It’s easier to think with a bellyful of caffeine and bacon. 

In the morning, in the light of day, things also tend to seem less… scary. 

A yawn rises from the back of her throat, but she bites it back. 

“Would you like to call it a day? I would drive you home, but I’m afraid you’d have to arrest me before I could even start the car.” 

Laughing softly, she shakes her head. Going home to her bed doesn’t sound as appealing as it should. Or it could be going home alone, being there alone. Having more questions and Lucifer across the town to answer them. “Is there, uh, other things I don’t know that I need to know? You know, just to… finish the crash course and make me celestial certified?” 

Almost sheepishly, Lucifer looks away. “Let me think… Hell, Heaven. Yours truly. Oh, Amenadiel used to be able to slow down time. It’s rather fascinating, you’d like to know that.” Chloe hums, an involuntary smile tugging on her lips. “There’s Cain. There’s your miraculous origin story.” 

“Could I be a superhero?”

“I… don’t know? Are your spidey senses tingling?” She rolls her eyes. “Right, what else? Oh, yes. My mum used to possess the body of Charlotte Richards.” 

“Like… like a ghost? Wait, you really have a mom?” Is she in the Bible too? If Cain’s real, then Adam and Eve are also real. 

“I do. Or rather did.”

She feels her face fall. Used to possess. “Lucifer, I’m so sorry.” 

“Oh, no, no, she’s fine. Just unreachable, in another universe.” 

Okay, that is surprising. “Another what?” Is there another Chloe? Like in those science fiction movies she sometimes watches with Trixie, when different versions of the same people meet each other and compare notes? What if that Chloe never met Lucifer? Although, wouldn’t that Chloe also be a miracle, apparently destined to meet him? Ella would be very much into that. 

Lucifer sighs. “You really do want to know everything, don’t you? Perhaps we should leave some less important mysteries for another day?” 

Translation: it hurts to talk about that. With her other hand, Chloe covers theirs. “Yeah, of course. I don’t think there’s enough space in my head left anyhow.”

Gratitude shines in his eyes. “Thank you, Detective. So, should I order you an Uber?” 

“Actually”—she stares ahead, somehow afraid to give voice to the words—“I was wondering, if it wouldn’t be too much, because it’s okay if it is, if I could just-”

“Yes.”

A pause stretches. “Yes?”

“Yes, if you ask me, you’re in no condition to brave the journey home. What if the Uber driver decides to kidnap you? You’re too tired to take him on. No, Detective, it’s quite obvious you should stay. You can take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

She looks at the couch, a horse statue lies on it. Sure, it’s comfortable to sit on, but to sleep? All the mess in the living room makes the place feel almost hostile. “It’s a big bed.” Maybe she doesn’t want to be alone in it too. “And fortunately, you’re a skinny Devil.”

“I beg your pardon.” Her hand jerks lightly, making her look at him. “I am slim and perfectly proportioned.” He leans closer, their shoulders brushing, and her breath catches. “I saw you looking. You like it, Detective.” 

“Do I?” She almost manages not to sound breathless. Almost. 

In response, Lucifer only waggles his eyebrows. 

Asshole. Who is right. 

Instead of answering, she feigns a yawn that turns into a real one. Lucifer huffs a laugh and jumps to his feet. “Right then. Oh.” Reaching out to steady himself, he bows down slightly. “What in the hell was that?”

Oh, yes, that. “Got up too fast.” 

“I’ve never felt that before, everything just-”

“Went dark.”

“Yes!” He groans. “How do you humans deal with being on the verge of death all the time? This is disgusting.” Their eyes meet, whatever’s written on her face makes him pause. “But… it’s something I’m willing to put up with.” To be around her, he doesn’t say, but Chloe hears anyhow. Because he’s only so vulnerable, so human around her. 

Now it means more than she could’ve ever imagined before learning the truth. 

Holding out her hand, she allows him to gently pull her to her feet. Her vision doesn’t go dark, thankfully; it really is such a stupid thing that happens sometimes. He keeps his hold on her for a moment longer, probably to make sure she isn’t going to keel over, then lets go. 

“Right,” Lucifer says again, looking away. “Well, you know where the bathroom is. Feel free to help yourself to whatever you find. And I’ll just be here. Clean up as I wait. Right.” He turns, but she catches his wrist.

“Lucifer.” He glances at her, so clearly ready to do whatever she asks. 

The tension has almost leached out of her body by now, there’s just a few things on her mind. Sleep being the first and most important one. But there is something else. Something that she needs to say out loud right now. Something that cannot wait even if there is nothing they can do at the moment. 

“We can’t let Pierce get away with everything.”