Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the Detective invited Lucifer to join her and her spawn for game night a few days ago, he wasn’t certain what to expect. She was clearly nervous, tripping over her words and playing with her fingers as though she expected him to shoot down the invitation. But he would have been a bigger fool than Daniel to turn down the opportunity to spend more time with her, and the Devil is no fool. Of course, he made a few token innuendos about what sorts of games are we talking, here, Detective? and giving her a leering onceover as he waggled his eyebrows. And of course, she rolled her eyes, but he saw the way her lips twitched and the laughter in those rolling eyes as she did. The flare of triumph and pride he felt over getting such a reaction out of her stayed with him for the rest of the day. 

They’ve been on better terms since her birthday, since the bullet necklace (that she wears everyday, and doesn’t that just give him a warm feeling?) and the private, just-for-them prom he threw for her—almost back to where they were before he ruined everything between them by going to Las Vegas. The first time, that is. She smiles at him more than she has in months; she snaps at him less; she doesn’t watch him with sadness and confusion in her gaze anymore. And it’s been...indescribably, pleasantly lovely. Surprisingly so. 

Well, perhaps not surprising; Lucifer always enjoys himself in his Detective’s presence. The only surprising aspect currently is that this game night she’s invited him to will be entirely the sort of G-rated, family-friendly, domestic event to which he is in no way accustomed; that he typically scoffs at and mocks. And he can’t bloody wait for it. 

Perhaps Mazikeen was right: He is going soft. But then he looks over at the Detective, laughing at some joke he made and...well. Soft is just dandy with him if it means he gets to enjoy moments like these. With her.

There are times when he looks at her and finds her already watching him with something in her eyes he can’t discern, but it makes him...feel. His heart feels too big for his chest. He feels a warmth running through his body he’s only ever experienced around her. Every thought but her leaves his mind. And then there’s the sheer longing. That part isn’t new; he’s longed for her for years. It’s evolved from when he first met her and wanted her beneath him in his bed, to wanting to get to know her, to wanting everything with her, whatever she would give him. But he’s tried to push all of that back since learning of her divine origins, for her own good, and he’s been far from successful. When he sees his own longing mirrored back at him in her eyes, though...well. It makes it difficult to hold onto his convictions to constantly keep her at arm’s length; to give her back her life, her freedom of choice, her free will. 

So when she extends an invitation like this, something she’s not done in months...well. There was never a chance he would say no, was there? 

Uncertain what to bring with him to this family game night, he selected a variety of items—pink, heart-shaped lollipops, chocolate-covered strawberries, wine for himself and the Detective, and a high-end sparkling grape juice for the child. He’s never done anything like this; his own family certainly never held game nights in the Silver City. In fact, he can’t even remember one, single instance where his family did anything all together. Just as well; his family is bloody awful. 

When he lets himself in the front door, the Urchin greets him with her usual exuberance, exclaiming, “LUCIFER!” and latching herself onto him while the Detective stands back and just grins at him like the traitor and minx that she is. He doesn’t mind either of their reactions to his presence, to be honest, which is another surprise. Though it could be because the Detective is smiling at him, looking lovely with her hair pulled back into a messy bun and her relaxed attire. But then...he always thinks she looks lovely. 

“Hello, Detective,” he says when the child finally releases him from her sticky clutches. The words were intended to come out as they always do—bright, cheerful, exuberant. Instead, there’s a...softness to it he’s come to expect in his voice when he’s near her. He tried to fight it, at first; now, he doesn’t mind it nearly so much. Especially when it makes her look at him in the same way. 

She smiles at him again and his traitorous heart does that strange flipping thing. “Hi.” Her eyes dart down to the items he’s carrying. “You really didn’t have to bring anything, Lucifer,” she gently chastises. 

He scoffs. “But of course I did, Detective. You’ve graciously invited me into your home; I couldn’t arrive empty-handed; that would have been incredibly rude and gauche. The Devil has impeccable manners, darling.”

With the expected eyeroll, she accepts the bottles of wine and grape juice, and the strawberries (though she raises her eyebrow, lips twitching, as she takes the latter), and leads him into the apartment. “Well, thank you. These look delicious.”

“Only the best, Detective.” He knows she’ll think he means only the best for him; what he really means is, only the best for her. Because she is truly good and deserves the best of everything the universe has to offer. Which is one of the many reasons he will never be worthy of her. Pushing that thought from his mind, he looks around the apartment for a hint of what he should expect in the coming hours. “Right, then. What, precisely, is on the itinerary for this ‘game night’ of yours, Detective?”

He probably should have realized what he’s in for when the Detective and her offspring exchange grins they’ve surely picked up from living with a demon.

“We have to get our faces painted!” the spawn announces shrilly.

Lucifer scoffs, twisting his cufflinks as he looks between their identical evil grins. “There is absolutely no chance that I am having my face painted,” he states firmly, his tone brokering no argument. Waving a hand in a circle around his face, he adds, “Besides, it would be nigh on impossible to improve upon perfection.”

In response to his words, he gets deadpan looks and raised eyebrows. Then the Detective grabs him by the wrist and drags him, not strictly against his will, to the living room, completely ignoring his protests and attempts to dig his heels into the floor. Mostly it’s for show; he’s far too distracted by the Detective’s hand around him, and trying not to wonder how it would feel elsewhere on his body, to put up any real resistance. 

Once he’s standing in front of the sofa, she places both hands on his shoulders and pushes him down to sit on the cushions. “Really, Detective, if you wish to manhandle me, I’ve no objection, but I'd have thought you wouldn’t want your spawn present,” he says with a leering smirk.

“In your dreams,” she mutters, though he sees something in her eyes that suggests her words are halfhearted at best. 

He waggles his eyebrows at her. “In my dreams, indeed, darling,” he says, his voice low and husky. In fact, he dreamt about her just last night. The most confusing part of that was, they were both fully clothed, just sitting on his sofa, chatting and holding hands. 

He’s certain he doesn’t imagine her shiver at his tone. His teasing flirting comes to an abrupt halt, however, when the Detective settles not beside him on the sofa but directly in front of him on the coffee table, situating herself between the V of his legs. Beside her is a case of some sort that contains what he assumes is face paints in all the colors of the rainbow and then some. He grimaces when he notices two rows of them are glittery. Turning back to the Detective, he finds her grinning mischievously at him.

“So, what’ll it be?” she asks him in a low voice, looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

He nearly swallows his tongue, despite knowing she is teasing him, and croaks without thinking, “Bruce Lee, mid-flykick.”

The Detective’s lips twitch. “I can do flowers and unicorns,” she states flatly.

The Urchin gasps as though a brilliant idea has occurred to her. She leans in to whisper something into her mother’s ear. Her hand is cupped around her mouth to avoid Lucifer hearing. Unfortunately for her, his hearing is far more advanced than any mere, puny human’s—he still can’t make out what she whispers. 

Then, the Detective turns back at him, that truly evil smile on her lips again as she sizes him up. “I think that is a great idea, Monkey.”

“What?” he asks. And it definitely is not panic in his voice. The Devil does not panic. “What’s a ‘great idea’, Detective?”

The Detective smiles sweetly at him, cocking her head to the side. His traitorous heart skips another beat. “Do you trust me?”

“Not when you smile like that, I don’t.”

Rolling her eyes, she turns to the case of paints, examining her options and choosing her torture devices—he means paint colors and paintbrushes. “Don’t be a baby...”

Sighing, he resigns himself to his fate, grumbling under his breath...until the Detective takes hold of his face and gently turns it to the right, leaning in close. He can feel her breath puffing on his cheek and has to swallow hard at the sensation of having her so nearby. Their eyes lock for a moment and he thinks there’s something similar happening to her, judging by the look in her own eyes.

“This okay?” she asks uncertainly under her breath, just loudly enough for him to hear.

He can only nod silently, swallowing again. Hard. 

He watches her as well as he can, the way her brow furrows with intense concentration, as if this task is of the utmost importance. She bites her lip as she works, eyes darting up to check on him every so often. She is pressed so close to him that her breasts accidentally brush against his arm occasionally. More than once he has to adjust his position to avoid her seeing the effect she has on him. Particularly when he realizes that, if he wanted to, if he had the nerve, he could simply turn his head to kiss her. Her fingers on his opposite cheek to where she’s working are gentle; he feels her thumb absentmindedly stroking his skin, as if she’s trying to put him at ease. It works. And the smiles she gives him every so often...they make his (traitorous) heart beat a little faster. 

The entire experience makes the end result more than worth it. When she finishes, Lucifer is passed a small handheld mirror, allowing him to inspect her work. A pink and purple, sparkly unicorn is now adorning the Devil’s face. Well, at least it’s well-drawn. He had no idea the Detective had such artistic skill. 

“Well done, Detective,” he murmurs proudly, twisting the mirror this way and that to better see the new enhancement to his face. 

The Detective purses her lips, trying to hide her smile. She can’t, however, cover up her blush. “Glad you like it,” she says. 

Then she takes a picture with her phone. 

Lucifer makes a sound of outrage. “Absolutely not! Detective, I demand you delete that photo at once!”

She snorts a laugh while her offspring cackles. “Definitely not. I might just make this my new lock screen.”

He narrows his eyes at her, then looks at the face paints. “Right, then. My turn,” he says, turning to her with his own Devilish grin.

The Detective hesitates, but her offspring is on his side, for once, and urges her to switch places with Lucifer to let him paint her face. With a strangled, resigned sigh, she gives in. “Okay, okay...” She sits down on the sofa where Lucifer was a few moments ago and he sits directly across from her on the table. 

“What’ll it be, Detective?” He repeats her earlier words in a low, husky voice. And he’s certain he hears her breath hitch and sees her eyes darken a touch. A smirk attempts to tug at his lips at her reaction...which is also having an effect on him. It’s a circle of mild arousal between them he’s sure they’ve never experienced before. 

She swallows, exactly as he had, looking up at him with her big blue eyes. “Surprise me. Just...keep it PG, Lucifer,” she adds hastily. 

Stifling a laugh, he considers her for a moment and makes his decision. Selecting his colors, he picks up a fresh paintbrush, dips it in a pale pink paint, and cups the Detective’s right cheek, leaning towards her. She watches him closely, her breathing speeding up just enough for him to notice.

“This okay?” he murmurs to her, wondering if having him this close is making her uncomfortable. That is something he never wishes to do. 

She nods, smiling a little as she stills her fidgeting hands. “I trust you.”

Simple words that mean more to him than she could possibly understand. Would she still trust him if she knew the truth? If she knew what he really is? Shaking himself, he gets to work painting a banner of pink hyacinths above her brow. He isn’t the best artist in the world, even he can admit that, but he’s determined that this will be perfect—nothing less for his Detective. 

She watches him as he watched her, resting her hands just above his knees to keep her balance as she leans closer to him. Somehow, he manages not to startle in surprise and ruin the whole thing. It’s distracting, having her at such a close distance for a second time tonight when typically they’re keeping each other at arm’s length for one reason or another. Her shampoo and perfume are familiar to him, but he can’t recall ever having the opportunity to smell them up close for this long. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to him, to be honest; they spend much of their days in close quarters driving to and from crime scenes or to question witnesses. Shouldn't he be immune to this by now? Immune to her?

“Ooh...Mommy, that’s so pretty!” the Urchin gushes as Lucifer is finishing up.

“Yeah?” the Detective asks hopefully. “Let’s see.” She reaches for the little handheld mirror to check out his handiwork and he watches anxiously, hoping she likes it. Her lips part in delighted surprise. “Wow, Lucifer. That...really is pretty.” She turns her head this way and that to get every angle of her flower crown, just as he did with his unicorn. 

He scoffs. “Well, yes, of course it is, Detective. I am a magnificent artist.”

She gives him a deadpan look. “Uh huh.” He grins at her. 

“Me next!” the Urchin announces.

Next on the itinerary for game night is the actual game. Monopoly. It’s one Lucifer is vaguely familiar with, but only from Hell Loops in which damned souls relive their own family game nights where they said something cruel or accrued some other guilt. The one constant is that somebody always gets angry and flips the game board, sending fake money and game pieces scattering around the room. Or somebody gets one of those little red house-shaped pieces jammed up their nostril. The game looked tortuous in and of itself.

Reminding himself that he’s as far from Hell as he’s likely to get, Lucifer suddenly remembers the pink lollies he bought specially for tonight and passes them out, much to the Urchin’s delight. The Detective accepts hers with a grin, immediately unwrapping and popping it into her mouth. Lucifer has never wanted to be a lollipop more than he does right this very moment. He does, however, have enough sense to bite back the I have something else you could suck on, Detective innuendo on the tip of his tongue. Though he gets the feeling she knows exactly what’s running through his mind; she sends him a warning look, her eyes dancing in amusement. 

Kicking off his shoes, removing his suit jacket, and rolling up his shirtsleeves, he settles on the floor beside the Detective and across from the Urchin. He doesn’t miss the way the Detective’s eyes linger in his forearms when he reaches for something. How interesting...

Lucifer hums, removing the lolly from his mouth. “This is a new one on me, Detective.”

The Detective moans a little as she takes a bite of a chocolate-covered strawberry. He’s glad they’re on their stomachs and she can’t see his...physical reaction. “Well, there’s a first time for everything,” she replies in a flirty tone, grinning.

“Yes, but I’ve heard it can take hours. I’m not sure even I have the endurance for that.”

The Urchin pipes up as she finishes setting up the board. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you!”

The Detective has explained the rules to him, amazed that she even had to (because who has never played Monopoly before?), and assured him she will explain further as they go along. Beside them, the gas fireplace has been lit, as it’s a chilly evening and the Detective is always cold. Meanwhile, Lucifer is unable to recall another time he’s felt this comfortable in somebody else’s home. Unless there are more carnal activities being enjoyed, he’s usually on edge and antsy, eager to leave and get back to his own interests and hobbies. Here, though, with Chloe and Trixie...it’s odd, but a feeling of contentment washes over him and he feels as if this is someplace he could...belong.

“I’ll be the top hat!” the Urchin immediately announces, snatching the little silver piece and setting it on the square marked GO!

“I will be the race car,” the Detective says, picking up her piece. “Because I’m going to leave you both in. the. dust.”

Lucifer chuckles. He does enjoy her sense of humor; it’s so rare that she allows herself to make use of it unless she’s being sarcastic. “Very funny. RIght, then...” He examines the remaining tokens. “Wheelbarrow...shoe. Oh! I guess I’ll have to be the shot glass. Cheers!”

The Detective scoffs and snatches the piece from his fingers. “That’s a thimble.”

He looks at her incredulously. What does a bloody thimble have to do with real estate? “What? I want to conquer real estate, not mend socks.”

“So then, be the shoe!” the Urchin says reasonably. Her painted on, pink princess tiara is glimmering in the firelight with its little, plastic jewels. Because that wasn’t enough sparkly, she also put on an even sparklier silver headband with cat’s ears. 

Lucifer scoffs now. “Please. I am not a shoe. Clearly, I’m a top hat. So, come on, hand it over.” He holds out his hand towards her expectantly, folding his fingers back and forth in a gimme now gesture. 

The Urchin holds the silver top hat tauntingly. “You want it? It’s gonna cost you.”

Impressed at her bargaining skills, Lucifer reaches for the colorful, paper money sitting at his elbow. “Oh. Well, name your price, Urchin,” he says, starting to count out the bills.

Smirking, the child scoffs right back at him. “Oh, I’m not talking fake money.”

“Oh, wow,” the Detective taunts. “She slammed you.” She laughs. 

Lucifer looks between them, wondering how he even wound up here in the first place, on his belly in front of a ridiculous board game. Then he sees the way his Detective’s eyes sparkle at him and remembers. 

Oh. Right. 

Refusing to pay the exorbitant fee of $200 cash for a little game token, Lucifer swallows his pride and chooses the Scottish Terrier instead. “Close enough to resemble a Hellhound, I suppose,” he says musingly, setting it beside the Detective’s race car. He gets an eyeroll for the comment that makes him grin; he loves her eye—  

Likes. Lucifer likes her eyerolls... His heart beats a little faster at the thought of that other word. Inwardly, he scoffs. It’s just a bloody word and you’re the Devil. Get a hold of yourself, man!

He tries to focus on the game. He does; his competitive instincts, however, are dampened with the Detective pressed against his shoulder. At first, he tries to blame it on his vulnerability in her presence, but he knows that isn’t the true cause. It’s just...her. She’s always had an effect on him that has nothing to do with physicality. He feels...happier in her presence, less in the dark as he’s been for longer than he cares to think about. Chloe Decker is his best friend, but it’s far more than that; far deeper. Yet when he tries to reach for the word to describe what she means to him, a terror he can’t describe creeps up into his throat, choking him. It’s completely absurd. At the same time, though, it feels...amazing and he will do anything to keep feeling this way. 

None of it makes any bloody sense. 

That other word tries to creep back into his mind. He firmly slams the door on it. Those sorts of thoughts will lead him nowhere good. Or they will and he’s just being an idiot. Certainly a possibility. 

It doesn’t take long for him to be trounced by the Detective and her miniature. The former attempted, at first, to correct him when he wanted to spend all of his fake money on every property he landed on; then she gave up when he argued that this is how real estate works in real life, Detective! and allowed him to play how he desired. He should have listened to her—he’s bankrupt within thirty minutes, to the Urchin’s gloating delight, and spends the hour after that drinking wine, eating strawberries, and watching the Detective. 

He’s always known she has a quiet competitive streak, but she is a cutthroat in this game, even against her offspring, who is equally determined to win. In the end, the Detective squeaks out a triumph over her child, who pouts and grumbles while her mother smirks at her. 

“Trixie usually always wins,” the Detective tells him smugly, biting off the end of the chocolate-covered strawberry Lucifer offered her as a reward for her success. And he has to stop himself staring as she licks the juice off her lips, suddenly desiring nothing more than to do so for her. “So, anytime I beat her, it’s a miracle.”

His fantasy comes to a grinding halt; it feels like a bucket of cold water has been dumped on him as he recalls why he can’t be the one to lick fruit juice off her lips and chin—or any other part of her body. Chloe Decker is a Miracle put in the Devil’s path without her own free will to choose how she feels. He forced himself to leave her after she was poisoned because of it and convinced her (and himself) they could be nothing more than “just friends”. 

With a weak smile, he pushes those thoughts back. “In that case, well done, Detective,” he says quietly, tapping his wine glass against hers then draining his own. “May I get you more wine, darling?” He jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen in order to compose himself in preparation for the rest of the evening, feeling her slightly confused eyes following him.

Lucifer may not be able to be with the Detective how he desires, but at least he has her in his life at all. There was a brief period during which he thought he’d never see her again, because he hadn’t planned on returning to Los Angeles...until he and Candy struck their deal. He knows now he wouldn't have been able to stay away much longer; it physically hurt him in a way he still can’t describe, being away from the Detective for those two weeks. 

So he had to find a way to keep her in his life but shatter any feelings or illusions she may have had about anything romantic happening between them. Oblivious as he may be about other people’s emotions a lot of the time, he knows he hurt her deeply with that move. He hurt himself with it, as well; it still hurts, raw as it was the day he returned to Los Angeles. But what else can he do until he knows for certain her feelings are her own? There is a fear that if the day comes and he does find out it’s real, it will be too late; he’ll have lost her to somebody else, somebody better than the Devil could ever be. Though he can’t imagine there exists a soul worthy of Chloe Decker. Or she’ll just have given up on him completely. 

Sometimes he wonders whether he should just put them both out of their misery, damn the consequences. That is, assuming the Detective has any residual feelings or interest in him in that way; he highly suspects she doesn’t, not after all he’s done.

When he returns to the living room, he finds the game board moved out of the way to make room for a small contraption with bright, multi-colored lights surrounding what looks to be a speaker. The Urchin is kneeling in front of it, three microphones beside her, as she fiddles with it.

“What’s this, then?” he asks, intrigued. 

“Post-game karaoke,” the Detective tells him with a grin. “Something you might actually be good at.”

Lucifer scoffs, affronted. “How dare you! I painted a gorgeous masterpiece on your forehead which only enhances your already breathtaking beauty! You take that back, Detective!”

The Detective’s eyes widen and she pauses in reaching for her wine, staring at him. He replays what he just said and...oh. Well, certainly that couldn’t be news to her—that he finds her breathtakingly beautiful. The look on her face, however, says differently. Her lips part as though she wants to say something to him, but then seems to remember her child is present. 

“Um, yeah, you... Yeah...” Her face is flushed and she quickly looks away from Lucifer’s bemused gaze. Shaking herself, she smiles at her daughter. “Okay, Trix, you’re up first—what’s it gonna be?”

How does she not know how strikingly beautiful she is? Physically, yes, obviously. But also, beautiful on the inside. Chloe Decker is amongst the brightest souls he’s ever encountered; he could go on for hours about her attributes that have nothing to do with her looks. 

The Urchin turns to her mother with an excited, slightly mischievous expression. “Let it gooo!” she sings. Loudly. And so off-key that Lucifer flinches. 

“This is going to be painful,” Lucifer says under his breath, sitting down beside the Detective on the sofa. Hiding a cringe in her wine, the Detective reaches for her phone, opening some sort of application and typing in the name of the song. Distracted as she is, she still kicks him in the shin with her socked foot and shoots him a be nice look for his comment. A moment later, music begins playing from the speaker and the lights move along with the tune, brightening and dimming, swirling around the speaker to match the tempo. 

Sighing, Lucifer drains his own wine, relieved that he thought to bring the bottle. “Should have brought something stronger than wine. Why didn’t you warn me this was a possibility?”

The Detective ignores him completely.

It’s more painful than Lucifer could have imagined. As far as musical abilities go, the Urchin possesses none. She dances around the living room singing the words to the dreadful song—well, allegedly it’s singing; it comes out more as screeching. Even the Detective, who is constantly bragging about how wonderful and amazing her spawn is, can’t quite hide her own pain. Her smile is a little tight at the corners and Lucifer sees her wince more than once, though that could be because the Urchin is jumping all over the furniture like a demented primate.

Nevertheless, the Detective claps and cheers at the end of the song, elbowing Lucifer to do the same. Grudgingly, he does. “Great job, Monkey!” she calls out as her child takes a bow and catches her breath. 

Then the Detective looks at him, grinning. “Wanna take the next turn?” 

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says, grinning back charmingly. “Couldn’t be any worse than—oof...” Another elbow to the side. Rubbing his ribs and scowling at her, he snatches the Detective’s phone. “Unnecessary roughness, Detective.”

“Baby,” she teased. 

His lips twitch as he looks through the song choices. “Ooh, big surprise—mostly 90s jams, I see. And Disney. Bloody hell, isn’t there any rock’n’roll available? Some AC/DC? Led Zeppelin? Bowie?”

“I don’t know who they are,” Trixie announces, nonplussed, scrunching her nose. 

Lucifer shoots the Detective an accusing glare. “You really must widen your spawn’s horizons, Detective,” he says with mock-disappointment. “You’ve allowed her to come this far in life without ever coming into contact with proper music? What sort of mother are you, anyway?” She rolls her eyes at him, knowing he’s only teasing—she’s an incredible mother, far better than his own could ever hope to be. 

And then he finds the song he wishes to sing. The Detective has played it in the cruiser on the way to crime scenes before, so he knows she likes it, and...well. It isn’t completely awful. 

“Right, then, Urchin, hand that microphone over to a proper musician,” he says, standing and moving to the middle of the room. The Detective’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise when the music begins, pursing her lips to hide a smile. Her eyes are dancing with laughter and something else...something softer. He holds her gaze as he begins to sing.

You are my fire
The one desire
Believe when I say
I want it that way
But we are two worlds apart
Can't reach to your heart
When you say
That I want it that way

Lucifer chose this song mostly to tease the Detective about her inferior tastes in music, but now that he’s singing it to her...well. Silly as the lyrics are, they resonate with him. Deeply. She is his one desire; she has been for longer than he cares to admit. In fact, the only thing he can ever recall desiring more than her is free will. Though admittedly, that didn’t exactly go well for him, did it? More than anything, he wishes the situation between himself and the Detective was different; that he could be absolutely, without a doubt certain that whatever feelings she may have for him (or did have, rather) are real. 

The Detective’s smile falters slightly, her eyes flickering with something that tugs on his heartstrings, trying to pull him towards her. He resists. Barely. Instead, he distracts himself, putting his all into the performance, singing the song as he would if he were at Lux and playing for a much larger crowd. His dance moves are a bit exaggerated—an attempt to make the Detective and her offspring laugh; it works. Her eyes are bright and happy, and he feels warm pride that he’s the one making her happy. It seems as though, lately, all he does is upset her or make her cry. Or annoy and frustrate her. Happy moments between them have been fleeting.

Am I your fire?
Your one desire
Yes, I know it's too late
But I want it that way
Now I can see that we're fallin' apart
From the way that it used to be, yeah
No matter the distance, I want you to know
That deep down inside of me

He can’t help holding the Detective’s gaze as he sings, trying to impart upon her that she means more to him than he could ever attempt to explain. And that she always will. Music is how he expresses himself best. Well. Second only to sex, of course. But Lucifer is certain he sees his longing, his desire mirrored in her eyes, as if there is something left of what she feels for him, after all; that he didn’t completely destroy what they had.

You are my fire
The one desire
You are...
Don't wanna hear you
Ain't nothin' but a heartache
Ain't nothin' but a mistake
I never wanna hear you say
I want it that way

Lucifer takes a bow as the Detective and Urchin clap and cheer for him, the former giving him a smile she’s only given him on rare occasions, the last on her birthday when he gave her the bullet necklace. In fact, her fingers reach up for the aforementioned bullet now, as though she’s remembering the same. Or just thinking of him. He rather likes that thought—that she thinks of him, even when he isn’t present. The reverse is certainly true.

“Your turn, Mommy!” the Urchin announces, unceremoniously ripping the microphone from Lucifer’s hand. He huffs, affronted. 

The Detective freezes in an instant. “Um...you know, Monkey, I don’t think I feel like singing tonight.” 

“But you have to,” the child says beseechingly, sticking out her bottom lip and giving her mother the best set of puppy dog eyes Lucifer has ever seen. “Pleeeease, Mommy?”

Blue eyes dart to him then away quickly. “I don’t know, baby.”

Lucifer realizes that for some inexplicable reason, his Detective is nervous to sing in front of him. But she has no reason to be; he’s heard her singing under her breath in the car and she has a voice as beautiful as the rest of her. “Oh, come on, Detective,” he says encouragingly, reaching for her hand and pulling her off the sofa. She drags her feet but allows herself to be moved. “One song. Or we could do a duet?”

“Ooh! Yeah! Do a duet!” the child gasps. “Please, please, pleeeease?!”

The Detective is clearly hesitant, but between Lucifer and the Urchin, they convince her. And apparently, the devious little creature has the perfect song for them. Both of their eyes widen when they hear the chosen tune, glancing uncertainly at one another, but Lucifer doesn’t back down from the challenge. If singing along with her puts his Detective at ease...well. He can think of few things he desires more right now. 

“Okay, okay,” she sighs defeatedly, accepting the second microphone. “You sure you’re okay with this? I’m not that good; wouldn’t want to tarnish your devilish reputation.”

He gives her a look. Her tone was sarcastic, but he can see the truth of her statement in her eyes. “You could never tarnish my reputation, Detective,” he murmurs, flipping his own microphone in his hand. Her lips part slightly in surprise at his earnestness. “Right, then. Shall we? I believe the first verse is yours, darling...”

Blushing, she nods as the Urchin bounces excitedly back to the sofa, practically vibrating on the spot as she watches them attentively.

Tale as old as time
True as it can be
Barely even friends
Then somebody bends
Unexpectedly

Lucifer stares in awe as she sings, quietly at first, then a little louder as her confidence grows. And while he wouldn’t encourage her to quit being a detective to pursue a music career, her voice is lovely. In fact, he’s so mesmerized, really hearing it for the first time, that he nearly misses his cue on the next verse.

Just a little change
Small to say the least
Both a little scared
Neither one prepared
Beauty and the beast

Yet another song that seems to encapsulate himself and his Detective. Strangers to (reluctant on her part) partners to friends to...whatever it is they are now. Lucifer isn’t even certain he knows anymore. Nothing has frightened him more than Chloe Decker. What he feels for her, it isn’t something he’s ever experienced with anybody else. Eons of feeling nothing and suddenly, he feels everything...all at once. There was a time she might have felt something for him, too; she’s made it clear those days are over and done with. 

Sometimes, though, he wonders if that’s the entire truth. 

Even if they were both free to choose one another, however, there would still be the knowledge that he isn’t, could never be, worthy of her. Her grace, her kindness, her beauty. And he is but a beast, even without his Devil face. Dark, monstrous...poison.

Ever just the same
Ever a surprise
Ever as before
And ever just as sure
As the sun will rise

It shouldn’t surprise him that their voices meld together as perfectly as they themselves do—in their partnership, how they work together; their friendship. Opposites though they may be, there has always been something drawing them together like magnets...and he doesn’t think it has anything to do with divinity. It’s simply...them.

Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong

Their gazes met and locked at some point, and for all Lucifer is concerned, there is nobody else in the room. In the universe. It’s just him and Chloe. The mortal woman who changed the Devil for the better. Or rather, who made him want to change. And not only to be worthy of her, but for himself, as well. He’s been caught in a bit of an identity crisis since his wings returned, trying to figure out who he is now. Trying to revert to the Devil he once was to regain some level ground. Only...the thing is, he isn’t entirely certain he wants to be the old Devil anymore. Or the angel. He just wants to...be. Himself. Lucifer Morningstar. Whoever that is now.

And the Detective...well. She makes him feel more like himself than he has in eons. She makes him feel less...beastly. As if it could be possible to one day be worthy of her.

Certain as the sun
Certain as the sun
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the beast

As the song fades to silence, they hold each other’s gazes. Lucifer can see emotions flitting through her eyes he isn’t certain he wants to identify. Well. He does; but he doesn’t know that he should. Because nothing has changed. Has it? She’s still a Miracle without freedom to choose him herself. He’s still the Devil. 

Beauty and the Beast, indeed...

They both startle when the Urchin begins cheering and whooping and telling them that was soo good! The Detective gives him a small, shy smile that he returns before she’s turning away to accept her daughter’s hug. It gives him a moment to collect himself and his thoughts; to push back the ache in his chest that has become more pronounced since their duet began. 

The Urchin demands another turn to “sing” and Lucifer can’t even summon a token complaint, too lost in his thoughts. Wordlessly, he sits back down beside the Detective, carefully not looking at the way she’s glancing at him sidelong every so often.

An hour later, they’ve all taken more turns with different, less emotionally-fueled songs—the Detective even singing a couple solo. Lucifer spent her songs smiling widely and proudly as she let her hair down (literally and figuratively, when she removed her hair tie) and just enjoyed herself. It’s a side of her he so rarely sees and he likes it. Far more than he should. 

It’s the Urchin’s bedtime now, and she’s whining and cajoling and protesting that she isn’t tired—through an enormous yawn. The Detective gives her a stern MumLook that could put the Devil’s own mum’s to shame and the child relents, heading off to grudgingly complete her nightly bedtime routine, grumbling under her breath about it the entire way. 

The Detective turns to him once her spawn is out of the room, looking uncertain but hopeful. Shy, even. “I, um, need to tuck her in, but... Can you stay a little while?”

He should probably say no, that there’s something pressing at Lux to tend to; he could probably even have Patrick fabricate a situation. But, of course, he doesn’t; he doesn’t lie, especially not to her. Besides, he would be a fool of the highest regard to turn down the chance to spend even another minute more with her. 

“Of course, Detective,” he says quietly. “Nowhere I’d rather be.” 

Pressing a hand to his shoulder, she gives him a smile that makes his continuously traitorous heart skip a beat, then stands to follow the Urchin into her bedroom. Except, the Urchin detours at the last second, launching herself into his lap and wrapping her little arms around his neck. 

“G’night, Lucifer! Thanks for coming to game night! It was really fun!”

He never quite knows what to do with her exuberant, freely given affection. But of all the children he’s crossed paths with in his long existence, not that there have been many, he can at least admit to himself that this one is far from being the worst. In fact, he’s nearly as fond of her as he is of her mother. 

Arms flailing for a moment, he finally settles on patting her on the head. “Erm, yes, child. I suppose it wasn’t entirely awful,” he says awkwardly. “Sleep well, then.”

When she releases him, Lucifer huffs and adjusts his waistcoat, sending the Detective, who is grinning at his discomfort again, a narrow-eyed glare. “Back in a minute,” she promises.

“Take your time, darling.” 

While she’s occupied, he goes about clearing up some of their earlier mess. Partly because he’s a smidge OCD; partly so that she doesn’t have to do it herself later on when she’s too tired. He eyes the Monopoly board as he places it back in the box, then the little silver tokens, specifically the shoe. On impulse, he slips it into his pocket—a souvenir from one of the best nights he’s had in some time. 

Domestic though it may have been, it didn’t feel that way to him. It wasn’t boring or dreadful, or any of the things he would have thought it would be. He downplayed it to the Urchin, of course, but he enjoyed himself immensely—every moment. 

From the face painting—he brushes his fingers down the little unicorn adorning his left cheek, careful not to smudge it; then the right cheek where the Detective’s fingers tenderly held him in place. He can still feel her touch there, even now. 

To Monopoly—he may have lost the game, but cheering the Detective on as they lay on their stomachs, shoulder-to-shoulder, feeling every movement she made was lovely. They felt more like a team, partners united against the spawn, than they have in months. 

To karaoke—the song he sang to the Detective and the one they sang together; the look in her eyes that suggested she thinks he’s worthy. 

He wants more nights like this, with both his Detective and her Urchin. The laughter and teasing made him feel part of a family—their family. As if he could be one of them. Neither of them expected anything from him except the pleasure of his company; it isn’t something he experiences with anybody else. And they seemed to enjoy having him here with them. At least, he hopes they have. The ache in his chest deepens with longing and desire. 

It’s a fool’s hope, of course. The Devil could never have the sort of life he knows the Detective desires—a mortal, domestic, normal life. What’s more, she doesn’t even know that he’s the Devil. He’s told her every day since they first met and he’s tried to show her twice now, but without his Devil face, he can’t show her the truth of what he is. Yes, he could show her the wings and she would, at minimum, know that he isn’t human; she’s clever enough to go from that to confirming he’s exactly who he says he is. But the wings feel like too much of a lie; as if he’d be showing her only the good side of him whilst still hiding the bad. 

The longer they go on, though, without her knowing the truth...that also feels like a lie. He could tell her until he turns blue in the face that he is the Devil; he knows she won’t believe him without proof, because that is who she is. A woman of logic and reason. She believes what’s right in front of her. What she can see. That’s how she draws conclusions. The problem is, he doesn’t know which conclusion she would draw—whether she would accept him or run away from him in fear. He hopes for the former but expects the latter, because that is how all humans react, and that is one of the main reasons he’s not shown her. Because he couldn’t bear seeing her frightened of him. Watching her leave him for good; taking her light with her and leaving him in eternal darkness. 

His head snaps up at the sound of the Urchin’s bedroom door sliding shut to find the Detective taking one last peek at her offspring for the night, a small, adoring smile on her face. Refilling their wine glasses, he joins her in the living room and they settle side-by-side on the sofa. She stretches her legs out on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankle; he does the same, his arm thrown over the back of the sofa. They’re pressed practically together now (and how did that happen?). 

She tilts her head back to look at him, eyes glittering happily. “I had fun tonight,” she says softly.

Smiling just as softly, he nods, sipping his wine. “Yes. I did, as well.”

Bumping her foot against one of his, she raises an eyebrow at him. “You don’t have to sound so surprised by that, you know,” she grumbles playfully.

Lucifer laughs. “I’ve no idea why I’m surprised; I always have fun when I’m with you, Detective.”

Her eyes soften. “Yeah?” He nods. She looks away briefly, biting her lip. “I know this isn’t your usual kind of fun, but I’m really glad you’re here, Lucifer. And so is Trixie; she told me when I tucked her in that this has been the best game night ever.”

“Well, of course, it has, Detective. My presence transforms even the most mundane evenings into the best ever,” he says smugly, Something flashes in her eyes too quickly for him to make out, but she purses her lips, then quickly sips her wine and shoves the thought away. He bumps his socked foot against hers this time. “And you? Do you concur with your offspring?” He raises his eyebrows hopefully.

She smiles. “Yeah, I do,” she says softly, resting her head on his shoulder. “I, um, had a realization recently, actually. Well. More like...I admitted something to myself. About you.”

Intrigue and apprehension burst to life within him. “Oh? Do tell.”

Biting her lip again, she looks at him, the glint that tugs on his heartstrings has returned to her eyes, tugging even harder now. “I’ve missed you, Lucifer.”

His brow furrows as bemusement strikes. “Missed me?” he says with a small laugh. “Whatever do you mean? I’ve seen you practically every day for two years, Detective.”

She shakes her head. “No, I meant...” Trailing off, she takes a deep breath as she rolls her eyes—at herself, he thinks. “I meant, spending time with you...outside of work. Hanging out, talking, just us. You know?”

His heart stutters to a stop. “Oh...” 

Before he ran off for Las Vegas, they spent more time together, outside of work, as she said. Whether in her home or his, or even at Lux, having a celebratory drink after closing a case, they could easily spend hours together doing nothing but chatting and teasing one another. Until quite recently, her birthday, specifically, and then the prom he threw for her, they’d not done that in months. To cover up the loss he felt without those evenings spent with her, he partied harder, took more people to bed and pretended he wasn’t imagining the Detective beneath him, her hands on his body rather than whomever he was with. Pretended something wasn’t missing.

He takes a quick swallow of wine to dislodge the lump in his throat. “Yes,” he murmurs softly. “I’ve missed this, too, Detective. Missed you.” More than he wants to admit. 

“Maybe we can do this more often, then?” she says hopefully. 

The suggestion sends warmth through his whole body. “I’d like that.”

“So, you don’t actually mind being a shoe?” she teases.

Chuckling, and thinking of the small trinket in his trousers pocket (surely she doesn’t know he took it?), he shakes his head. “I suppose not. A well-polished Louboutin, of course. But if being a shoe means that I get to spend more time with you, Detective, then...” He shrugs the shoulder she isn’t leaning against, feeling shy. Which is utterly absurd. When has he ever felt shy about anything?

Light fills her eyes and he watches in fascination as her gaze drops to his lips. Belatedly, he realizes he’s leaned closer to her—or she’s tilted more towards him, he isn’t sure which. Either way, their faces are far closer than what can be considered platonic and “just friends”. 

He should back away. The way he did during their first dance at their private prom a couple of weeks ago when he had her in a dip. She looked at him this way then, too; silently pleading with him to lean in and kiss her. And he wanted to, so badly, but MIRACLE flashed in his mind in bold, neon letters, and he couldn’t take advantage of her that way. 

Tonight, though, the reminder of what his father did is in the farthest reaches of his mind. He reasons with himself that nobody truly knows what it means that Chloe Decker is a Miracle. Everybody from himself to Amenadiel to Mum...they’ve all just guessed. Assumed they knew the score because of past manipulations and traps and mysterious ways. 

The truth is, for all Lucifer knows, the Detective is entirely in control of her feelings—or as in control as anybody can be; the good doctor likes to tell him nobody can fully control how they feel. They’re hers and hers alone. He’ll likely never know the truth about whether his father manipulated them by placing her in his path; perhaps that’s all He did. Well, that, and making her immune to his mojo. But he likes that she’s immune; he likes that he can’t simply take all the mystery out of it by pulling out her desires. And he likes that when she looks at him, she doesn’t see her greatest desire—she just sees him.

The ache is worse than ever now as his own eyes slide down to her lips, stained slightly red from the wine she’s drunk. He’s forced to swallow a groan when her tongue darts out to wet them. 

How much longer can he deny them this? Her eyes are telling him exactly what she desires, even if he can’t use his mojo to find out—she wants him to kiss her. And he wants to kiss her. So, why the bloody hell is he allowing his father’s so-called manipulations to stand in the way of their mutual desire?

She stretches just far enough to brush her lips across his and it’s as though an electrical storm has been set off in his body—tingles from head to toe of the best kind. Warmth blossoms from the center of his chest, spreading outwards, as if he’s coming to life for the first time in months—since their first kiss on the beach; since their hug on the staircase of that university science lab before everything fell apart around them. His heart is racing as though he’s run a marathon and it’s bloody absurd. It was barely a kiss, but he’s done far more with other people and felt far less than he does right now.

And he needs to feel it again; his nerves are raw with it; his heart screaming at him to just bloody kiss her already!

So he does. 

His free hand lifts to cradle her face in his palm, searching her eyes to make certain this truly is what she desires. Her eyes widen just a touch as she leans into his hand. And then their lips meet. There’s no angelic chorus, or trumpets, or fireworks—except for the ones he feels in his heart—it’s just them: Lucifer and Chloe. The Devil and his Detective. 

She makes a sound, a sort of humming noise in her throat and it spurs him on, pressing his lips harder against hers. Then her fingers are against his neck, his pulse point; he’s certain she can feel how hard and frantically his heart beats. Their lips move, eyes flutter closed, and when they part after a minute or so, he rests his forehead against hers. His eyes are still tightly shut, knowing that if he opens them now, she’ll see everything he’s ever felt for her in them and he’s too dazed to try hiding it. 

“Lucifer...” Her voice is little more than a breath.

He makes some low noise, both acknowledging that she spoke and appreciation of hearing her say his name like that. “Detective...”

Fingers are stroking his cheek, his stubble, his nose, his lips. Finally, he opens his eyes and swallows a gasp when he sees the emotion staring back at him. He doesn’t know what it means, exactly, barely understands his own emotions, let alone someone else’s—even hers. But it makes his heart skip a beat. Lucifer decides right here and now that he wants her to look at him like this for the rest of time. 

He doesn’t know what to say to her; what they are supposed to do; or even what they are doing. The insane urge to call Dr. Linda and ask her advice pops into his mind, but that would require moving away from the Detective and...well. That certainly isn’t happening.

“Have dinner with me?” she whispers, her fingers still stroking his face. 

He leans further into her touch, even as his brow furrows in bemusement. “Right...now?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head slightly. “I was thinking...tomorrow night?”

“Oh, right,” he huffs, watching his own thumb slide along her jawline. He’s wanted to do this for two years. The woman’s jaw could cut glass and he’s had more fantasies than he can count about running his tongue across it on his way down her long neck. “I’d like that.”

She bites her lip to contain her smile. “Really?”

He nods. Dinner. He can do dinner with her. And he vows to not repeat his past mistake of making plans with her and not showing up. Of leaving her sitting alone in a restaurant for two hours feeling rejected and humiliated. She never specifically stated that’s how she felt, but he tried to imagine himself in that position, at Dr. Linda’s urging, and those are the feelings that came to mind. It made him feel even worse for standing her up. 

“Okay...” She starts to lean in to kiss him again, and while he would love nothing more than to allow her, he feels he needs to warn her before this goes too far. Placing a finger on her lips and getting a confused look in return, he takes a breath, forcing himself to pull back from her. Enough that he can look her in the eyes. 

“There are things, Detective, that you don’t know. About me,” about you, he adds silently, because he isn’t ready for that conversation yet. “Things I fear would change how you see me. Things I fear will...chase you away for good.”

Her brow furrows as she studies him intently. She shakes her head. “Nothing could do that, Lucifer,” she says confidently.

“You say that now...”

“Then, tell me. Not tonight,” she adds when he takes a breath. “Tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to...” Her eyes slide down to his lips again.

He should insist on telling her now, but perhaps there isn’t any harm in giving into this for one night. One good night with her before it all falls apart. Again. This time when he tells her the truth. “As you wish, Detective.”

Smiling, she kisses him. And he’s lost. 

Neither of them notices the door behind them quietly sliding open and two brown eyes peeking out. Nor do they notice the owner of those eyes smiling in satisfaction that her plan worked. Closing the door again, Trixie leaves her mom and Lucifer to their kissing. 

It took them long enough...

Chapter Text

Following one of the best evenings he’s experienced in...eons...Lucifer is in what his therapist refers to as a manic mood as he readies his penthouse for the second evening in a row spent with his Detective. The thing is, last night wasn’t anywhere close to being his usual sort of fun—drugs, booze, sex, debauchery. There weren’t naked bodies strewn across his bed coming down from the best orgasms of their lives, then redressing and walking out of his life forever. It wasn’t a drug-fueled orgy making use of every dildo and vibrator he owns. Nor was it a sweaty party at Lux where the booze flowed and the music was loud enough to make one’s bones vibrate.

It was game night in the Decker household and whilst there was, indeed, wine, women, and song, it was wine, the Detective and her Urchin, and post-game karaoke. There was even a bit of kissing, once the child was put to bed, and Lucifer is still riding that high nearly twenty-four hours later. Whilst the evening did not end with him and the Detect–Chloe stumbling up to her bedroom, ripping at each other’s clothing, and joining for the first time, he still counts it amongst the best nights of his exceptionally long, hopeless life. Perhaps the best. It was G-rated, family-friendly domestication at its finest, and the Devil wants to relive it over and over again. 

#ShoeLife

What’s more is that tonight, he and Chloe are having dinner together, just the two of them. She’s sent the Urchin to her father for the weekend, so there are no time restraints—bloody well anything could happen. They discussed, in soft, murmuring voices, what to do tonight—apparently, Chloe made the offer spur of the moment, and hadn’t thought on it any further. So Lucifer suggested a quiet dinner here in the penthouse, somewhere they could talk freely without distraction (and hopefully, without interruption). 

When she walked him to the door at the end of the evening, sometime around midnight, she kissed him one last time. Well, being the Devil he is, he couldn’t resist the urge to press her against the nearest wall, to feel the length of her against himself, to take everything she was willing to give him in the moment...before it undoubtedly falls apart again. Because this evening...well. He intends to tell her the truth. Or rather, show her the truth, something she can no longer deny. It’s well past time that she understands fully what she’s allowed into her life these last two years; that she be given the choice to keep associating with the Devil. The same choice he gave Dr. Linda. His therapist chose him, so perhaps his Detective will also.

A Devil can dream, can’t he?

The truth is, he has no idea how Chloe will react to the truth when she sees his wings. It could be that her being a Miracle and being immune to his usual charms don't extend to immunity to the divine, and he could risk turning into her a drooling, religious fanatic obsessed with his wings—or to spend her life in a psychiatric hospital when he melts her brain. She could be utterly terrified by the divine and the realization that she has been working alongside the Devil; that she snogged the Devil for close to two hours last night and will run screaming from his penthouse, retrieve her child from the Douche, and fly halfway across the world to get away from him. Lucifer, that is, not the Douche. 

Or she could accept him completely. Perhaps her being a Miracle means that she is immune to divinity, as well. He’s absolutely certain that no matter what happens, it will be a shock to her. Chloe doesn’t believe in the divine. She doesn’t believe that Heaven and Hell exist or that God and the Devil rule those planes of existence. She doesn’t believe her roommate is a demon, Amenadiel is an angel, or that Lucifer is the Devil himself. She believes what is right before her eyes. He’s known this since their fourth case working together. Right before she shot him to prove he’s the Devil. Of course, that didn’t work out, because he bled. To both their surprise, really.

All he can do is hope for the best and prepare for the worst. 

In the meantime, he’s cleaned every inch of his penthouse to pristine condition—and changed the sheets and bedding on his bed, because...hope for the best. And he’s cooked the most perfect meal in the history of date night meals. Something that will tantalize her taste buds and blow her mind. Something that will make her throw herself over the table at him and snog him senseless. And make her not care that he's the Devil. 

Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration, but he’s in that sort of mood today. 

He’s also groomed himself to perfection. His hair has been straightened and styled; five o’clock shadow neatly-trimmed to his preferred length; he went for a mani-pedi today in preparation for the evening; hell, he even manscaped (because, again, hoping for the absolute best). His eyeliner is truly on point. The suit he’s chosen is fresh from the dry cleaners—black with a blue shirt that just so happens to be the exact shade of a certain Detective’s eyes, and a matching pocket square. His Louboutin Chelsea boots have been buffed and shined to a mirror polish. 

Everything is ready. And he still feels at odds. Something is missing. He glances around the penthouse from the vantage point of his bar. The coffee table where they’ll have dinner is set with a crystal vase of red lilies, which he happens to know are Chloe’s favorite, and a single sunflower—he ordered her a bouquet whilst she was in hospital recovering after being shot during their very first case. On either end of the table he’s arranged candles to be lit closer to her arrival. The fluffiest, most comfortable pillows he owns are on the floor for them to sit on. His eyes land on the piano briefl—  

OH! Of course! How could he have possibly forgotten the music?! The playlist of sweet 90s jams he made for her this afternoon during his mani-pedi. Rushing towards the stereo system controls in the bedroom, he loads it from his phone and double-checks the speaker volume. 

Now, it’s perfect!

Five minutes before the Detective’s arrival, he’s finishing dinner preparations and setting the cloches over the plates on the coffee table and lights the candles. Just as he steps back to take it all in, the elevator doors slide open—he hadn’t even heard the elevator moving—and when he looks in that direction...well.

Chloe Decker steps out and Lucifer’s heart stops momentarily. When it restarts, the rhythm is galloping and he wonders if it’s possible for hearts to jump right out of one’s chest; whether she can hear it, even from the distance at which she currently stands. Then he doesn’t care, because he’s taking in her appearance. When he imagined how this evening would progress, he thought she might wear a nicer version of her usual workday attire of a blouse and jeans. He wouldn’t have cared if she wore a potato sack, because whatever her attire, it would be worn to spend time with him. 

That isn’t what she’s wearing, though. His eyes do a quick scan of her, taking it all in, then a slower one, starting from her shoes. Her high-heeled shoes. Not too high, just a couple inches, but it’s enough to make her legs appear longer than they normally would. Legs that lead to the short, mid-thigh black skirt. He could spend days fantasizing about what he wants to do to those legs (and he has), but then he’d miss out on the rest of her. The long sleeve gray sweater that looks a bit glittery in the firelight and emphasizes her eyes. Or that could be the smoky eyeshadow look she’s gone for this evening. Her hair is down and wavier than he’s ever seen it. All he can think is that he wants to run his fingers through it as he kisses and licks his way down her neck—

Should probably...put those thoughts on the backburner before she sees the effect they’re having on him...

“Hi, Lucifer,” she says softly. The smile she gave him last night, that affectionate one that tugs at his heartstrings, has returned yet again. Only this time, he doesn’t bother trying to restrain himself from moving closer to her.

“Hello, Detective,” he says, his voice just as soft, taking a few steps towards her. “You look...” All the words he thinks of to describe how incandescently gorgeous she looks don’t quite express it properly. Which is incredibly frustrating, as he speaks every language that exists, has existed, and will exist for the rest of time. He huffs, smiling. “Beautiful.”

It must be good enough for her, because her smile widens and her eyes glitter as brightly as her sweater. She’s toying with her fingers, lacing them together and releasing, then repeating. A nervous gesture of hers. Knowing she’s as nervous as he is sets him a bit more at ease. After all, they’ve been here before, ready to have dinner with one another only to be interrupted by a bold, stripping flight attendant. 

RIP Jana Lawrence.

He clears his throat, gesturing towards the coffee table. “Um, please, come in,” he says, finally remembering his manners rather than just staring at her. “May I get you a glass of wine?”

Biting her lip—which is coated in a dark red lipstick he wants staining his neck—she nods. Lucifer rushes to pour them each a glass. “I, um, hope this is all right,” he waves at the table and pillows, “I know you prefer simple to fancy-schmancy, so being the gourmet chef that I am...” He hands her one of the glasses and lifts a cloche. “I made you grilled cheese, which I believe is a favorite of yours. And not the smelly, fancy stuff. Just the yummy, orange kind that you like.”

“It’s perfect.” She’s looking at him in a way that makes his heart beat even faster than it already is and when her eyes dart to his lips, the breath hitches in his chest. “Thank you, Lucifer.”

Swallowing hard, he nods. “Of course, Detective.” Why is his voice all husky? 

Perhaps it’s because she’s standing right beside him. Her eyes flash as though she’s made a decision and she leans up, her free hand on his cheek, and places a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips. Biting back a groan with immense difficulty, Lucifer gives into another desire. Reaching out, he gently tucks her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trace the contour of her earlobe, then along her jawline before he forces himself to drop his hand. He could touch her all night. He wants to touch her all night. 

Not until she knows.

“Um, please, have a seat. I also put together a playlist for this evening—all your favorite sweet 90s jams,” he tells her with a grin that she returns. Sliding a hand into his pocket, he presses the button to start the music playing on shuffle. More Than Words by Extreme begins playing softly as Lucifer sits down across from her and removes both covers from their plates, setting them aside. 

“I’m, um, really glad we’re doing this,” Chloe says softly, looking between the flowers and the candles and the food, then at Lucifer himself. “I wasn’t sure you would, you know, want to.”

Brow furrowing, in bemusement, Lucifer shakes his head. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

She gives him a look that is so familiar by now—an are you serious? look—and he realizes he’s missing something. “You made it pretty clear we were just...” she swallows, looking down at her plate, “friends.”

Oh. Right.

“Detective, I...” He sighs in frustration that is aimed entirely at himself. “Believe me, when I said that, it was the last thing I desired, but...”

She frowns. “But, what? I thought you never lie.”

“I don’t,” he says quickly. Firmly. “But when I said that to you, I'd convinced myself that friends was all we could ever be. I had my reasons at the time and they had nothing to do with...with how I feel about you. That entire Las Vegas jaunt, it was...a mistake. An error of judgment made without thinking through the consequences or trying to find a more reasonable solution. After all, I’m not exactly known for being reasonable, am I?”

Chloe is watching him closely, trying to figure him out. Another expression he’s familiar with, as he’s been seeing it from the day they met. “I don’t understand.”

He really didn’t want to start here of all places, let alone this early in their dinner. “Detective, I told you last night there are things you don’t know about me. Things that will change how you feel. This is one of them. I also promised you that I would tell you this evening; however, I rather hoped that we could at least have dinner together before I shattered the illusions you have of me. If you insist that I explain, then I will, but...” All he wants is a couple more hours of enjoying her company before she leaves his life completely. And takes her light along with her.

Intently studying him, as if she wonders whether he’s deflecting the conversation, her ocean blue eyes dart between both of his, searching for something. She must find it; she nods. “Okay. Later, then,” she agrees.

He lets out a breath that feels like relief, smiling at her with gratitude. “Thank you. Please,” he gestures at the grilled cheese on her plate, “wouldn’t want it to get cold and for the processed cheese to congeal.”

Rolling her eyes at his teasing, she smiles back at him. “You’re such a snob.”

He sniffs primly, reaching for his wine. “I prefer to call it refined tastes, thank you.”

“Not sure how you can call Cool Ranch Puffs refined, but okay.”

“I’ll have you know those little beauties are the height of puffed foods.”

“Do you even hear yourself?” she asks, cocking her head to the side. 

“I’ll not be insulted and mocked by a woman who regularly eats vending machine sandwiches that are bound to one day give her food poisoning.”

She laughs and his heart soars. He loves making her laugh. “Well, let’s eat our non-vending machine sandwiches, then.”

Lucifer watches anxiously as she takes the first bite. It’s ridiculous, just a toasted sandwich with melted, processed cheese in the middle, but he wants her to like it. He wants her to like every aspect of this evening so that when she leaves his life for good, perhaps one day, she’ll look back and remember him fondly. Once she gets past the mind-numbing terror and resenting the day he ever came into her life, of course.

Her eyes widen and she makes a throaty moan that makes him incredibly relieved there is a table between them—even if it is a glass top. Lucifer subtly reaches down to make a slight adjustment to his trousers. “Lucifer,” she says, covering her mouth as she chews, “that is amazing.”

Pride swells within him. “You like it?”

She scoffs at him, then takes another hasty bite. “I love it! What did you even do to this?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets, Detective. Or rather, a chef never reveals his culinary magic.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes a third bite. “Well, whatever you did, it’s probably the best grilled cheese I’ve ever had!”

High praise indeed, coming from a woman who practically lives on the things. Lucifer takes a bite himself, feeling his own eyes widen. Yes, he sees what she means. The truffle oil added something to the taste that takes the sandwich to another level. He moans, as well, and takes another hasty bite, barely noticing Chloe pause in her eating to stare at him briefly. 

Apart from their appreciative noises, they finish their sandwiches in silence. He almost wishes he’d thought to make them each a second one, but then again, dessert is cooling in the kitchen and they should probably leave room for that. 

As they enjoy their wine, they talk about the previous evening’s game night. Chloe teases him relentlessly about his lack of skill at Monopoly. 

“Yes, well, I was slightly distracted,” he says without thinking as he sips his wine.

“By what? It was literally me and Trixie there, no shiny objects to catch your attention.”

“Well, it wasn’t the Urchin, that’s for sure.”

She blinks at him, the teasing glint leaving her eyes, replaced by something softer. “Oh.”

He gives her a half-smile. “Yes, oh. I find you incredibly distracting, Detective. In the best way possible, I mean,” he adds quickly. “I have for some time.”

It feels as though they’re talking about something else entirely rather than his distractibility. And he isn’t certain what that something else is. 

“You’re...kind of distracting, too,” she admits softly. Shyly.

“Well, I am me, of course,” he says, his usually smugness softened out by that same shyness. “But about what you were saying earlier...how I told you we could only be friends. It thought it would change how I felt about you.” He’s tracing the rim of his wine glass, staring at the burgundy liquid within. “That I could hold to it and not want...this anymore.” He shakes his head, because he was an idiot. “I failed in that regard.”

“How do you feel about me?” Chloe asks him, her voice barely audible over the music.

He pushes out a breath, meeting her gaze. “I feel...everything for you, Detective,” he admits in a murmur. “With you. When you’ve spent as long as I have feeling nothing at all, not caring about anyone or anything, to suddenly feeling...this... It’s overwhelming. I’ve tried to deny it. I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried everything I could think of. It’s never changed a single thing. If anything, it’s only gotten stronger the longer I spend with you. It isn’t even something I can describe because I’ve never felt it before; I simply don’t have the words to explain it.”

Her mouth falls open, her eyes glisten with amazement. “Lucifer...”

He shakes his head, taking a quick sip of wine. “The last time we were meant to have dinner together, it was an attempt to make up for your leaving you sitting alone in a restaurant,” he says in a low voice. He can’t quite meet her gaze, so he stares at the bullet hanging around her neck—his necklace, the one he gave her that he’s yet to see her without. “I never really explained why I left you sitting alone in that restaurant.”

“No. You didn’t.” There isn’t any accusation in her voice like there had been back then. Just curiosity. 

“I wasn’t with anybody else that night, Detective." That feels incredibly important to tell her. "In fact, I was sitting alone, in the dark, wishing I wasn’t so much of a bloody coward and hating myself every time my phone chimed with another message from you. You see...after you saved Lux, saved my home, I was so thrown by the fact that you did so without expecting anything in return that I went to see Dr. Linda. We’d been discussing the different meanings of home, incidentally, and how the places I’ve lived in the past were not it. I never had a home until I came to Los Angeles. To Lux.” He hesitates, forcing the words out when they get lodged in his throat. “To you, Chloe.”

Her mouth drops open again. “Me?”

Lucifer nods, smiling slightly. “Dr. Linda suggested that I came here, to Los Angeles, looking for something. And that I’ve since stopped...because I found it. It took me five years, but I did. You’re my home, Detective. Our partnership. Our friendship. All of it. That is my home.” He looks at her again and freezes when he sees her eyes are wet. “Oh, no. Detective, I didn’t mean to upset—”

She shakes her head hastily, wiping beneath her eyes. “No, Lucifer. I’m not upset. I’m...” She laughs wetly, shaking her head again. “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“Yes, well,” he murmurs, relieved he hasn’t already fucked it all up. “The fact is, I do. And I always have. I know I’ve a...a shit way of showing it, but... You must understand, Chloe, I've literally never experienced anything like this. Anything this...terrifyingly amazing. Three-quarters of the time, I’ve no idea what to do with it—with you. And so I end up doing things that result in hurting you, which has never been my intention. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Her brow furrows, old hurt flashing through her eyes, probably as she replays every time he’s hurt her. “But you left,” she whispers. “Lucifer, I wanted you, too, and you left.”

“I did,” he sighs heavily, not missing her use of the past tense in regards to her own feelings. “And I’ve regretted it every day since. To understand why I did what I did, however, there is something you must understand first. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so hesitant where you’re concerned; it doesn’t feel...right pursuing something with you when you don’t know the full story. And it isn’t fair to you that I continue keeping it from you.”

“Keeping what from me?”

Anxiety screams its way through his body, klaxons sounding in his brain, screaming at him to Abort! Abort! Abort! before he does something he can’t take back. He’s spent all day preparing for this conversation, even planned where to have it. Originally, he thought out on the balcony, but then that dream he had where Chloe went crashing through the guardrail and plummeted to the ground reminded him why that’s a bad idea. At least they’re both sitting down. 

“Who I am,” he says quietly. “What I am. Detective, you’ve denied it for years and I don’t blame you for that in the slightest. You wouldn’t be you if you simply accepted something without evidence, especially something of this magnitude. I’ve never lied to you, Chloe, not once; I may not give you the entire truth, but everything I’ve ever told you...it is the truth. I am the Devil.”

Lucifer expects her to roll her eyes or get frustrated and annoyed with him. But maybe there’s something she’s seeing in his eyes that stops her; she furrows her brow as she looks at him. “That isn’t...Lucifer...”

“I know. I know it isn’t something you believe in, Detective. I’ve tried showing you before, but I was always thwarted—the first time, I was kidnapped; and the second...well. I literally could not show you what I intended to show you.” She looks incredibly confused; he doesn’t blame her for that, either. “It doesn’t matter. There is another sort of proof that I can show you, if you still wish to know. I’ve only hesitated to reveal this to you in the past for...well. A couple of reasons. The primary one being, they aren’t me. They represent something from a past that is so long ago even I barely remember it at times. At least in detail. They represent somebody I once was; since then, however, I’ve changed. Drastically.”

He swallows, looking at the crumbs on his plate. “I’ve...done things, Detective. Terrible, awful things. I’ve hurt people, manipulated them, cheated them, stole from them...I’ve overseen acts that would horrify you beyond measure. I’m not evil, but I do punish it, and I have for eons. It was a job, my job, to do so, one which I was forced into by my father as punishment for rebelling against Him. And I was good at it,” he says shamefully. He was the best, really; there’s a reason the demons respect and fear him, after all. Before he looks up at her to gauge her reaction, he expects to see revulsion and disgust in her eyes; his breath catches in his chest when all he sees is compassion. Sympathy. Not pity, he’s learned to tell the difference. Chloe has never pitied him the way some might. 

Chloe reaches across the table and rests her hand on top of his. He stares at it for long moments, wondering why she would touch him after what he’s just told her. But then, he wondered the same thing the first time she kissed him on the beach. “Lucifer, I can’t pretend to understand what you’ve been through,” she says softly, her thumb stroking alongside his. A shiver runs down his arm, starting where she’s touching him, then throughout his body, warming him. “But if you’re trying to change my mind about how I feel about you,” she shakes her head firmly, “it isn’t going to work. Whoever you were, whoever you had to be in the past...I know that isn’t who you are now. You’re a good person, Lucifer.”

“I’m not, though,” he chokes out. For crying out loud, he isn’t even a person. “Detective, I’m not speaking in metaphors. When I tell you I’m the Devil, that I’ve done terrible things...it’s true.”

Lucifer doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know she doesn’t believe him. He’s seen the same expression on the face of every human to whom he’s ever told the truth. And he’s seen it on Chloe’s face every day for the last two years. The only way she is going to believe him is for him to give her something she can’t possibly deny any longer. 

But with that comes the fear he’s about to lose her and it’s nearly enough to stall him. For him to find something else for them to discuss. Or to retrieve dessert and suggest they eat it out on the balcony. There are a thousand distractions he could devise to avoid this.

Last night, however, he thought to himself that it’s gone on long enough. And he still agrees with that. What he isn’t ready for is to lose Chloe Decker. Then again, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready for that.

With a resigned sigh, Lucifer pushes himself to his feet, walking around the table to hold out a hand to help her up, too. When his fingers close around hers, he never wants to let her go. He wants to lean down and kiss her, then to take her into his bedroom where he can lay her out on his bed and worship her. The way she deserves to be worshipped. Somehow, he doubts anybody has ever shown her what proper pleasure is supposed to feel like. 

Shaking himself, he guides her until she’s sitting on the sofa. The expression on her face is still one of confusion. “Just...sit there, Detective.”

“Lucifer, what...?”

Backing away from her, assuring that she has a clear path to the elevator, Lucifer stands back near the entrance to his bedroom. “You’ll see in a moment. I want you to understand, Detective. I want you to know the truth of what I am; it is long past due for you to be aware of what you have allowed in your life—”

“Who.”

Lucifer blinks at the interruption, tempted to make an owl joke. “Sorry?”

“Who you are, Lucifer. Who I’ve allowed into my life,” she corrects firmly. “You’re not a what. You’re a who.”

“O...kay.” He isn’t entirely certain he understands the distinction. “Nevertheless...it’s time. Understand that I never wanted to keep this from you, not really, but I’ve been...” He has to swallow his pride on this one. “Well, I’ve been afraid, Chloe. Afraid that when you see who I am, you’ll not want anything to do with me. And I could bear quite a lot—I have borne quite a lot—but one thing I could not, is watching you fear me.” 

Humans have feared him for the entirety of their species’ existence and he’s dealt with it. He hasn’t liked it, and in the very early days, he tried to change it with mixed results. But the overall perception they have of him is the root cause of evil; the monster in the shadows; the Father of Lies; Satan; Beelzebub, and all the rest of the names they have for him. There is a ninety-five percent certainty in his mind that one or more of his siblings has popped down from the Silver City at some point and spread some creative lies about him. 

Looking at you, Michael. You bastard.

It’s all amassed to a reputation he never wanted. One he will never shake. One he’s embraced, more or less—the Father of Lies is the only one he truly reviles. After a while, what else can a Fallen Archangel do but take the hand he’s dealt and make it his own? 

“I could never fear you, Lucifer,” Chloe says without guile.

And oh, how he wants to believe that... His heart aches with how much he wants it to be true. But she doesn’t have all the facts; she is saying this because she doesn’t know. 

“As you can see, Detective, there is nothing between you and the elevator,” he says, keeping his voice even. He doesn’t want her to hear how bloody terrified he is about what will shortly happen. He doesn’t want her to know that when she leaves, it will break him. “And you have my word that I will neither follow nor contact you unless you’ve said otherwise.” Her brow furrows deeply and she looks as though she wants to say something; she remains silent. Good. He’s barely able to do this as it is; if she continues to tell him how good a person he is or how she could never fear him, et cetera, he’ll drop this whole bloody thing. “Whilst I will not ask you to not be afraid, I will say that you’ve nothing to fear from me—I shall never harm you or your offspring, or anybody for whom you care.”

Chloe’s silence breaks. “Lucifer, I know that,” she says emphatically. “You’ve saved my life...I don’t even know how many times.” He’s lost track, too, actually. “There’s no one I trust with myself or with Trixie more than I trust you.”

Lucifer feels his mask falter. The ache in his chest tightens even further, spreading with the desire to just kiss her again. And this time, to never stop. “Thank you, Detective,” he murmurs, unable to speak any louder around the lump in his throat. “That...means more to me than you could know.” 

But she also doesn’t know how misplaced her trust is. How better off she is without him in his life. He, who has caused nothing but chaos from the moment she stepped up to his piano and uttered, “Lucifer...Morningstar. Is that, uh, a stage name or something?” Without him on Earth, Amenadiel never would have revived Malcolm Graham. Mum would still be in Hell. Uriel would still be alive. 

Jimmy Barnes would have killed her if you hadn’t been there. She wouldn’t have survived the poison without you retrieving the antidote.

Forcing back the voice in his head that sounds like his therapist, Lucifer focuses on his current task. “As I said, you are free to go whenever you desire.” As if proving a point to him, Chloe settles back into the cushions and gets comfortable. He has to suppress a smile at the move. And stop himself staring at her legs as she crosses them when her skirt rides up. “Very funny.” She smirks at him. The minx. There’s one last thing he wishes to say to her before the finale, though.

“Chloe...” Her name falls from his lips and even to his own ears, it sounds like a prayer. It’s a word that means so much to him. There’s a reason he always calls her “Detective”. Part of it is, he needs distance between himself and her, and using her title has been the best way to achieve that. But then, it turned into an endearing nickname, and, well...so much for distance. “It has been an honor and a privilege to get to know you these last two years,” he says softly, allowing her a glimpse into what he feels for her. Her smirk slowly drops from her lips as they part in surprise. “You have been the most wonderful partner and friend a Devil could ever have.” And so much more besides. “That I could ever have. I wish you nothing but health and happiness.” Barely managing to cover the break in his voice, Lucifer clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “And I hope...well. I hope for so much, but mostly that one day, you may look back on our time together and perhaps remember me fondly.” He wonders if that’s too much to ask for. “For I shall always remember you in the same way.”

Chloe shakes her head, leaning forward again. “Lucifer, why does it sound like you’re saying goodbye?” Is he imagining the panic in her voice?

Because I am, Detective, he doesn’t say aloud. Once this is all said and done, and she’s plenty terrified of him, he suspects he’ll be headed back to Hell. Perhaps Mazikeen would be willing to join him. Anything would be preferential to remaining on the same plane of existence as Chloe, knowing she doesn’t want him. Will never want him.

Giving her a sad smile, he slowly sheds his suit jacket. She blinks several times in bemusement, but doesn’t say anything. “For what it’s worth, Detective, I am sorry for any and all hurt I have ever dealt you. And for how your world is about to change.”

“Lucifer, what are you—”

With a shrug of his shoulders, Lucifer manifests his wings. 

Chapter Text

For the longest moments, Lucifer keeps his eyes clenched tightly shut. At the last second, when his wings hit the atmosphere, the thought of seeing fear of him on the face of the person who means most to him in the history of the universe was too much, and he slammed them shut. Since then, there is a stopwatch ticking away in his mind to the moment he hears the elevator doors shut with her behind them, never to return.

33 seconds...

He’s holding his breath. Strictly speaking, he doesn’t need to breathe; after all, Outer Space and lungs don’t mix, and he was created to paint light across the cosmos. There have been long stretches in Hell when he wouldn’t take a single breath. Typically, when he gets too close to the Lake of Fire and the lingering stench of his own burning flesh reaches his nostrils even after billions of years. Or when the demons are mating; for some reason, their pheromones tend to be overwhelmingly, noxiously pungent. According to Mazikeen, it’s a “pleasant” scent, arousing, sensual. It makes demons want to fuck until their hearts explode—a rare phenomenon, but it has been known to happen. 

45 seconds...

Is Chloe okay? Has she somehow snuck out without him realizing? Did she—

Fuck. She didn’t go over the balcony railing? Focusing his senses, Lucifer can hear a second heartbeat in the room. He relaxes, just a smidge; she didn’t go over the railing. Thank Dad. Her heart is beating rapidly—again, he wonders if it’s possible for hearts to burst from one’s chest. For humans, that is; he knows it’s a possibility for demons in mating season. There's accelerated breathing, as well. He thought he heard a soft gasp about three seconds in, but otherwise, there’s been no reaction from her. 

Oh, no. She hasn’t gone catatonic like Dr. Linda when she saw his Devil face, has she? He isn’t sure he can deal with that. Perhaps he should have asked Linda to be here when he showed Chloe the truth—another human whose life has been unwittingly entwined with the Devil’s, and a trained therapist to boot, Linda would know how to guide Chloe (and Lucifer, too, for that matter) through this situation. 

69 seconds... (Normally, he would smirk, but he’s never felt less amused.)

He’s forced to take a deep, stuttering breath; as it turns out, his vulnerability in Chloe’s presence means he can’t hold his breath as long as normal. For a bit, he focuses on his breathing mixing with hers...and why does it sound like hers is nearer than it was before...?

89 seconds...

“Lucifer...”

Lucifer startles, feeling the feathers on his wings puff up along with him. She is much nearer than she was before. In fact, it sounds as if she’s standing just a few feet in front of him. Why would she come closer? The elevator is the other way. Why did it sound like she smothered a laugh when he startled?

“Will you open your eyes, please?”

He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to see the fear and hatred in her eyes for hiding the truth from her for so long—for lying to her. He wants to remember the way she looked at him last night and earlier over dinner. That soft expression she gave him, full of warmth and affection. A look that made his heart soar and made him believe he could have had more...if only he’d been somebody else. 

A soft, warm hand touches his cheek and he sucks in a sharp breath. His eyes snap open in surprise. Chloe is standing directly before him, her hand on his face, her thumb stroking his cheek...with that soft look in her eyes. 

“What...” How is this even happening? She should be...something else. Shouldn’t she? “Why aren’t you afraid?”

Chloe gives him a smile. “Because you don’t scare me. I’m confused as all Hell. And I have no idea what I’m going to do when it all sinks in that the rest of it is real, but you...?” She shakes her head and her eyes drift to either side of him. “They’re gorgeous.”

She said the same thing about the fake ones at the auction. “I hate them,” he says in a low voice, the words leaving his mouth without permission. 

She blinks in surprise. “What? Why?”

“They’re a tie to my father, one which I cut, literally, more than six years ago. But He slapped them back without my permission. I don’t want them, but I can’t be rid of them.”

Her brow furrows as she studies him the way she would a tricky case. “You said...they aren’t you.”

Lucifer shakes his head slightly. “They aren’t. I’m no angel, Detective. I’ve not been one since Dad kicked me out. I am the Devil. But He took my other face, my...my Devil face, which is what I would have shown you, otherwise. You wouldn’t be standing here, touching me like this if you’d seen that.”

Blue eyes narrow and glaze over as though she’s reliving a memory. “It’s...red?” she whispers, focusing on him again. “Scarred?”

The shock of her words has him jerking backwards from her touch. Lucifer stumbles and trips over the bottom stair of his bedroom and falls backwards. The wings try to catch him but gravity is faster; he winces as he hits the marble floor. 

“Oh, my...Lucifer! Are you okay?” Chloe rushes towards him, stopping suddenly when he holds a hand up to keep her back. 

“Y-you’ve seen it?” he says in a strained whisper, staring at her with wide eyes. “H-how? When?” He's always been so very careful to keep her from seeing that face, that side of him. When could she possibly have...?

Her expression is still one of concern, but understanding dawns in her eyes. Understanding of what, he doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter right now. She holds up her hands, showing she isn’t coming any closer to him. “Our first case,” she answers, her voice quiet and soothing. “When you had Jimmy against the glass? I saw a...a reflection, but I was sort of passing out from blood loss at the time and told myself it was a hallucination. It wasn’t. Was it?”

Lucifer stares up at her, feeling colder and more terrified than he’s ever felt in his life. It used to be that the Devil was the apex predator amongst humans—everyone else was terrified of him, and he feared nothing and no one. Now, though...well. Now it feels as if he’s at the very bottom of the food chain whilst Chloe Decker is at the top. 

“Detective, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

Chloe frowns at him. “Lucifer, I know that. And you’ve said it, like, three times now.” She crouches so that they’re eye level to one another and she holds his gaze. Lucifer struggles  to not look away; if she looks too hard, she may see the darkest parts of his soul. And he never wants her to see those. “I’m not afraid of you,” she says deliberately and gently, as if speaking to a child.

He wants to scoff, to snap at her to not bloody patronize him; he's older than the entirety of her species combined, for crying out loud! But he doesn’t. “You saw that,” he whispers shakily, “you saw me, and you’ve still been my partner all this time?”

Telegraphing her movements slowly and carefully, Chloe reaches out a hand, resting it gently around his ankle. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Her thumb strokes gently through the material of his Italian wool trousers. It feels bloody marvelous. “I guess it’s because...even then, I knew there was something about you,” she murmurs. “I mean, don’t get me wrong,” she adds, tilting her head, a glint in her eyes, “you were incredibly annoying and I wanted to strangle you half the time.” He cracks a small, hesitant half-smile at her (mostly) teasing. At least, he thinks it’s mostly... “But yeah...I’m glad I didn’t fight harder against you being my consultant.”

The sincerity in her voice matches what he’s seeing in her eyes. Along with the honesty and certainty—it’s all there. She means every word she’s saying to him. “Detective, I...” He shakes his head, trailing off, because what can he say? Well, other than... “Thank you.”

She shakes her head, bemused. “What for?”

For not running. Not being afraid. Not leaving me in the dark. “For being you, I suppose.” Tentatively, he reaches down, covering her hand with his larger one. When she doesn’t pull away, he begins to relax and sits up straighter— 

His wings rustle behind him. Bloody hell, he forgot about the feathered nuisances. Shrugging his shoulders, he furls them away to the metaphysical plane. Chloe’s jaw drops and her eyes widen comically large. Lucifer stifles a smile. 

“Where did they...?” She points with her free hand over his shoulders (her other one is still beneath his, on his ankle). 

“How familiar are you with Quantum Physics, Detective?” 

She shakes her head. “I’m...not...?”

Lucifer knew that already, of course. “In that case, the only answer I could give you that may meet your satisfaction is: Away. They don’t exist on the Earthly plane.”

Looking as if he’d given her the actual answer (which would require bringing out his whiteboards and possibly an abacus), she nods slowly. “Oh...” She shakes herself, nodding to the spot beside Lucifer on the stairs. “Can I sit with you?”

Still uncertain any of this is real (did he accidentally drink that everclear on the bar instead of his whiskey earlier?), he nods. “Please.” 

He expects her to sit so there’s a foot or two of space between them; to not want to be too near him despite her kind words from before. To his utter astonishment, though, she plops down directly beside him as she did last night in her apartment on the couch after the Urchin went to bed, their sides touching from shoulder to thigh. 

“This okay?” she asks, her eyebrows rising hopefully. He nods dumbly, making her lips twitch. “I have so many questions for you.”

That makes him smile. “Detective, I would be deeply concerned if you didn’t have questions. You are the Detective, after all.”

She hums a light laugh while he just stares at her in utter astonishment. 

“And I am happy to answer any and all questions you may have in that clever brain of yours. I’ve always been honest with you, Detective. And I always will be.”

“You really have been, haven’t you?” She laughs a little. She turns, looking out into the penthouse, her eyes wide, and shakes her head. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Lucifer takes a breath. “Well,” he exhales, “most people want to know who’s in Hell. Or what I did to get yeeted out of the Silver City—Heaven, that is. Or whether I’m going to steal their soul or bring about the apocalypse.”

Chloe looks at him sharply. “People ask you that?” she says incredulously. 

He blinks bemusedly, cocking his head at her offended tone. “Well, yes. Those are some of the nicer questions people ask me.” He won’t repeat the other ones to her; the ones that make him shudder just thinking about. Or the prayers he's received in the past, before he learned to block them out. “But then, I am the Devil, and most humans believe I don’t possess a heart or feelings, or any of that rubbish.” And to be fair, he didn’t think he possessed them either...before her. “They aren’t bothered by whether I take offense to their questions.”

The sound she makes in her throat is one of disgust. “Well, I don’t want to know any of that. And as for stealing souls—you’re richer than anyone; why would you need souls?” Lucifer laughs. “The apocalypse? Lucifer, you won’t even help me do paperwork.”

“Chloe Decker...” He stares at her in amazement. "You are remarkable." She’s just found out the celestial world exists, that the world as she’s known it her entire life is wrong and she’s teasing him. There are no words to describe what he feels for her. “Truly, the single most amazing person I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.” Or perhaps there are words. Her lips part in surprise, her eyes softening in that way that tugs on his heartstrings. “What are your questions, then?”

She purses her lips, pushing them to the side as she tilts her head—and all he can think is how bloody adorable she is. “What’s your favorite color?” she asks seriously.

He blinks at her, then answers the question. “It used to be red, for the longest time. Now...there’s this particular shade of blue I’ve become quite partial to.”

“What shade?”

Holding her gaze, he smiles. “The closest I can come to describing it is—when you’re looking straight down into the clear, ocean blue water...at a certain depth, it shifts from lighter blue to nearly black. This shade is right on the edge of that.”

She smiles, completely oblivious. “Sounds beautiful.”

“It is. I could stare at it all night.” He’s stared at it more than he would ever be willing to admit, to be honest. She’d probably run from him on that fact alone. “I imagine you see it fairly often; any time you look in the mirror, really.”

Realization strikes and her ocean blue eyes widen. She looks speechless, then her eyes drift down to his shirt, which is the same color. “Oh...”

“Yes. Oh. And of course, your favorite color is dark purple.”

Biting her lip to hide a smile, she nods. “Why do you work with me? And you can’t say ‘punishment’.”

The question startles him. He cocks his head at her. “How do you not know the answer to that one?” he says incredulously. Her brow furrows. “Because I can’t bloody well get enough of you, Detective. I had to find some way to keep you in my life after those first few cases we worked together, didn’t I? I told your Lieutenant I wanted to explore my mortality; it was an excuse to continue working with y—”

The rest of his sentence is cut off when Chloe crashes her lips to his, curling her hand behind his neck to hold him close. Once his initial surprise and shock wear off, he kisses her back, unable to resist her. In the back of his mind, a voice is screaming that he needs to pull away; she must not understand what he truly is if she’s bloody kissing him. He needs to explain better, he needs to—

She groans into his mouth when he tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth, scraping lightly. Everything rushes out of his mind in an instant at that sound. Their tongues meet, tangling and dancing as though they’ve done this a thousand times before; in reality, less than a handful. It’s like when he first met her, it felt as if he’d known her his entire life; as if his soul had known her his entire existence. He once told her they have a connection; that wasn’t merely a line. He felt connected to her from the get-go. And perhaps it’s because she’s a Miracle placed in his path, but he doesn’t bloody care anymore. He’ll give her the chance to decide for herself...right after this kiss.

But then, the little minx is twisting around, pulling herself into his lap whilst never once removing her lips from his. One of his arms snakes around her waist; his other hand cradles the back of her head. She’s sitting on his thighs; he can feel the heat of her inches from his straining co—

“Detective, wait,” he breathes against her lips. She stops immediately and he uses every ounce of strength he possesses to not chase her; instead, he rests his forehead against hers. “You’ve not heard everything yet.”

She shakes her head. “Later,” she whispers breathlessly, leaning in to kiss him again. 

It physically pains him, but he holds her back by the shoulders. “There’s something you must know,” he insists. “About yourself.”

That gets her attention. Her brow furrows as she sits back on his legs. “Myself?” she says doubtfully. “What could you know about me that I don’t know?”

He hesitates, trying to find a way to phrase it that doesn’t make it sound as bad as he initially believed it to be. Because he’s thought on it more today, and...well. He may have been a bit hasty in leaving her when he had for Las Vegas. 

“To start with, I did not know about this when we first met,” he begins quietly. He never would have gone near her if he had known, so it’s a good thing he didn’t. “And I do not approve of any of it.” Her brow furrows more deeply and she nods that she understands. “There is only so much of this I can explain, because the only being in the Universe who knows the full story doesn’t speak to anybody.”

“Then tell me what you do know,” she urges, her hands on his shoulders. Her thumbs, currently stroking along his neck, are incredibly distracting.

He nods, taking a breath. “This is what I know as fact: Before you were born, my father, God, sent my brother Amenadiel to Earth with a task. That task was to deliver a blessing to a couple struggling to conceive a child. Amenadiel met the mother in a dive bar out in Brentwood. They chatted for a bit, he delivered the blessing by touching her shoulder, and he left. Nine months later, the woman gave birth to a baby girl. They named her Chloe Jane Decker.”

When Chloe starts to lose her balance on his lap, he’s quite relieved that he has an arm around her. “W-wait...that’s...what?”

Tucking some hair behind her ear, Lucifer cups her cheek. “You’re a Miracle, Chloe,” he murmurs. 

She shakes her head. “No, I’m not...I can’t...”

“I always knew you were special. And whilst my definition of special had nothing to do with this, I was right—on both counts.”

Taking a shaky breath, Chloe’s eyes dart back and forth, processing. “Okay, and...does, um...does God do this often? Send Amenadiel to deliver...blessings?” It sounds as if she can't believe the words coming out of her mouth. And...well. He can't blame her for that.

Lucifer shakes his head. “As far as we know, this is the first and the last time something like this has occurred.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “And...you...I mean, you don’t know why?” She immediately latches onto his hesitation. “Lucifer. Tell me.”

He sighs, but concedes at the pleading in her voice. “I can only make educated guesses based upon eons of manipulation and being used as a pawn myself,” he says grimly. “You’ll recall, Detective, that you’re immune to my...mojo, as you so charmingly refer to it?” She nods, frowning. “You are the only human in the history of your species to be immune. Some humans are more difficult, but I always succeed in finding out their desires.”

“But not me.”

It isn’t a question; he answers it, anyway. “Not you,” he confirms. “My theory is that, for reasons unknown as of yet...you’ve been placed in my path. You see, my father is omni-everything. He Sees and Knows all. He knew that I would be leaving Hell when I did and He knew that I would come to Los Angeles. So He ensured that you would be here at this point in time so that we would meet.”

Her mouth opens and closes a few times as if she’s trying to say something, but no sound comes out. 

“You also make me vulnerable, Detective. Literally, physically vulnerable,” he says quietly, needing to get all of the information out. “The first time I ever bled from man-made weapons was when you shot me in the warehouse.” His fingers locate the bullet hanging around her neck, holding it up for her to see. “That’s what this is; why I gave it to you. It’s a symbol of my vulnerability in your presence as well as our partnership.”

She goes abruptly pale and scrambles off his lap. He nearly reaches for her to pull her back; without her there, he feels colder. “I’m sorry, I’ll...I-I’ll go,” she stammers, backing away from him.

“What? Detective, no, don’t go! Please!” Of all the bloody things to leave him over... “Just listen to me a moment, okay?” She stops, biting her lip and not meeting his gaze. “I’m okay with being vulnerable near you,” in more ways than one, “I have been for a long time.”

“But...” she sighs. “Lucifer, you’re telling me that without me around, you’re...what? Immortal and can’t get hurt, right?” He nods warily. She swallows hard, her eyes growing wet. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Lucifer. I don’t...I don't want you to die!”

His heart aches at her obvious pain, her fear. And that she’s fearful for him...she’s remarkable. Nobody fears for the Devil; just of him. “I’m not going anywhere, Detective,” he promises her softly, getting to his own feet. “Vulnerable though I may be, I am still the Devil and not easily defeated.”

“Malcolm...” she whispers, her eyes narrowed as she tries to work him out. It's the only word she can choke out.

Ah... “Yes, that was...a complicated situation. Detective, I swear to you that I am fine.”

“How, Lucifer? I know he shot you, I thought you were...”

There are moments when Lucifer wishes he could lie. This is one of them. But he doesn’t and he won’t; especially not to his Detective. “I was,” he admits softly. “I died that night, Detective, and I briefly returned to Hell.” Her jaw falls open. “But I made a deal, with my father, and he brought me back.”

Chloe looks stunned. “You made a deal...with the father you can’t stand and regularly call a bastard to...what? Come back to life and he just...did it?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “No. I thought that was the end for me. But I wasn’t concerned about that; returning to Hell was nothing new. My only priority at the time was the safety of you and your offspring, Detective. I knew that I would be leaving you unprotected whilst Malcolm hunted you, so I asked my father to protect you. In return I told him I would do whatever He desired of me—” Chloe crashes into him again, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Tentatively, he hugs her back.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his neck. “You saved us that night, Lucifer—Trixie. And me. Thank you.”

Relaxing into her embrace, he rests his cheek on her hair. “You’re most welcome, Detective,” he murmurs. He'd do it all over again. Any of it. All  of it. Even killing Uriel, if it meant protecting her.

When she pulls away, he wipes away a stray tear on her cheek with his thumb; she smiles in response, but it falters a moment later. “Why would you even risk it, Lucifer? Why wouldn’t you just...leave?”

He tried that once. It didn't pan out. He came right back here—to her. “Don’t you know the answer to that, Detective?” he murmurs, his palm on her cheek. He smiles a little when she nuzzles into it. “You’re worth anything. Everything, really. There isn’t a thing in this universe that I wouldn’t do for you, Chloe Decker.” Or that he hasn't done for her.

It’s been ages since he’s seen his stars up close, but the stars that erupt in her eyes are far better than anything he ever put in the sky. “What am I going to do with you?” she murmurs fondly, her fingers in his hair. And it feels divine.

He gives her his usual leering smirk. “Oh, I can think of several things, Detective.” He bites his lip and gives her a thorough once over, mostly playfully.

Rather than rolling her eyes, scoffing, and saying, ‘In your dreams, Lucifer,’ she stands on her tiptoes and brushes her lips across his. “So can I.”

Lucifer stares at her. “You, what, now?” 

She chuckles, biting her lip. “Well, we were on our way that direction before you dropped the Miracle bomb...”

“Yes, about that... Detective, the reason I’ve been...reticent about, well, us, is because for a time, I believed you didn’t have free will to choose. To choose me,” he murmurs. “So...I left.”

Her eyes widen briefly, then narrow as she thinks. “Vegas,” she gasps.

Lucifer nods. “Yes. I left to give you back your life, your free will.”

“And that involved marrying a stripper?” she asks acerbically. 

This is the part where he’s worried he’s going to lose her. Because he made such an error in judgment—the biggest mistake of his life, the one for which he will always feel ashamed—that broke her heart. He recalls dragging his feet from the precinct elevator to the stairs, telling himself he had time to change his mind, that he didn’t need to go through with his plan. At the time, he didn’t realize just how badly it would go, but he knew Chloe wouldn’t be pleased with him. Instead, he nearly lost her then. 

“Not...exactly, no.” As he explains, he feels her fingers pause in his hair. Then, gradually, she removes her touch altogether. When she wraps her arms around herself, as if she’s cold, he awaits her judgment. For her to tell him she’s done dealing with his bullshit shenanigans.

“Lucifer?”

“Yes, Detective?” He winces in preparation.

Chloe shakes her head, blinking away her tears. “You’re an idiot. Why didn’t you just talk to me?” she demands.

“Would you have believed me?” he murmurs, slipping his hands into his pockets to avoid reaching for her. “Or would you have thought I was speaking in metaphors?”

She stammers for a few moments, trying to come up with an honest answer that’s still an argument for his idiocy. Then her shoulders sag. “Okay, fair, but...you could have shown me who you are.”

“Yes, well, I was still smarting from Dr. Linda’s reaction at the time, and I feared showing you would be even worse, Detective. I could bear a lot, but not you fearing me.” Or losing you.

“Wait.” She holds up a hand to stop him. “Linda knows?”

He nods. “Hmm. A little over a year ago, she demanded I show her my true self.  And I’d hoped that with her psychology degrees and training she may react differently than other humans who have seen the same thing. Suffice to say, she did not. It took her two weeks and Mazikeen speaking with her to so much as answer my calls.”

Chloe’s brow furrows in thought. “When you said you thought you broke your therapist.”

“Indeed. It took some time, but she’s now, more or less, back on track with the occasional slip-up.”

Slowly, she nods. “And you thought you’d lose me if I saw.”

“I did.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere.”

The smoldering ash of hope that has been present in him since he showed her his wings and she didn’t run screaming flickers then flares into a roaring fire. “You’re...not?” he checks, hardly daring to hope this is real. 

Chloe shakes her head, giving him a half-smile. “Look, I don’t like how you handled Vegas. But I forgave you a while ago, Lucifer; knowing the truth behind it isn’t going to change anything for me. In fact...” She uncrosses her arms and takes a step towards him. “I’d say you’re stuck with me.”

All of a sudden, he feels like he’s falling. Not the Fall he once took from the Heavens into the Infernal plane, but a much more pleasant one. Yet at the same time, he feels like he’s flying—soaring high above the clouds, no wings required. And he never wants to touch the ground ever again. 

“No one I’d rather be with, Detective.”

Never once, in all the time he’s known her, has she ever looked at him so shyly. “You mean that?”

He nods, reaching for her hands. “I’ve never meant anything more.”

She bites her lip briefly. Lucifer swallows a groan, so badly wanting to do the same. “Is there anything else I need to know? I mean, like, right this minute, that pertains to me directly?”

He considers telling her about Cain. But the Ham-Handed Neanderthal isn’t here and has no bearing on what happens in the next few moments. “I don’t believe so, no,” he murmurs. “Why, Detective? Was there someth—mmm...”

She’s kissing him again, fingers in his hair, her soft body pressed right up against his. His own arms wrap around her, holding her, and kissing her back. There’s still some part of his mind telling him she doesn’t fully understand; he silences it. Chloe has made her decision and unless she tells him otherwise...well. He’s hers, fully and completely. Honestly, that has been the case right from the beginning.


A tale as old as time
A song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast