The silence of the empty house was perpetually jarring, no matter how many months Chloe had tried to grow used to the wool blanket of solitude. She had never thought that she'd miss Maze and her blades and all of her hell-tainted chaos, but even the coldness of a demon's heart had brought Chloe comfort on long, sleepless nights. Ever since Maze had left, Chloe had relied on the nights each week where her daughter was present to fill the rooms with light, drinking in the love that Trixie seemed to spill effortlessly with every fleeting smile.
But whenever her daughter left to stay with Dan, and Chloe was alone again, all of that brightness leaked out of the house. Suddenly it was just four walls and a roof once again, rather than a home where there was light in every toy discarded on the floor, every meal shared over the same old table. It was a place far too large for Chloe alone, sitting at the brightly lit counter in her pajamas, flipping through case files over a mug of chamomile tea. No amount of blankets, slippers, or tea, could make her feel the kind of warmth she felt in a shared place, one where a laugh or a smile was waiting just around the corner. Solitude was also a curse in that the quiet let her thoughts run wild, like hungry ghosts out to steal away the last shreds of her sanity.
Over and over she saw Lucifer's face, his earthly face and his demonic one, each blood-red crater of skin seared into her memory like a photograph that had become a part of her soul. She also remembered the crimson of his blood, the blood that he only spilled when she was near, the blood that revealed even the devil himself could be vulnerable. In an empty home, Chloe could see nothing but the red of pain, the red of evil, and the red that made up the roses of a love she feared to speak out loud.
On this particular night alone, Chloe was sitting in the clinical white light of her kitchen, squinting at the recipe she had pulled up on her flour-dusted phone. It never hurt to give a recipe a dry run before she attempted to feed it to her daughter, and on nights like these, she was glad that she gave it a try on her own first. The recipe had seemed clear enough at the outset, but now Chloe had a teaspoon of lemon zest on the countertop, and no indication of when or where she should have added it to the nearly completed dish. No matter how much frustration was mounting in her exhausted body, the prospect of spending a night cooking was better than mulling over her own tumultuous emotions until it was time to turn in for the night.
The detective was so overwhelmed in her self-made disaster that she hardly heard the gentle thumping on her roof at first. It distracted her just enough for her to pause mid-sentence, but when it didn't recur, she chalked it up to one of the many mysterious sounds the house made every night. Even in the beautiful California home, the aches of adjusting beams and stretching foundations were inescapable. Being alone, she had been forced to grow accustomed to the groans of the building, as though it itself were alive. As such, she continued to trouble over the zest's intended location, until the thumping came again, louder this time.
This time Chloe actually stopped what she was doing, looking up from her phone and focusing her senses entirely to the gaping chasm of potential sounds. There was silence again, the weight of an empty household hanging over her in a familiar stranglehold. For a moment, she questioned if she was hearing things, finally driven to madness, when it came again. It was a sound nearly like that of footsteps, coming from the roof overhanging the back of her house. The ingrained instincts of a cop ignited in her blood in a split second, and she was instantly moving on tiptoes from the counter to her bedroom, where she had her service weapon locked away.
The thumping came twice more while she was retrieving her gun, cursing each spare second it took her to get to the safe and unlock it with her fingerprint. While it would have been much more practical in theoretical emergencies to leave a loaded weapon lying around in a common area, Chloe knew better than to leave unsecured weapons in reach of her daughter, no matter how often she had told Trixie to hever touch a gun without one of her parent's explicit supervision. No matter how those safety procedures impeded her now, Chloe knew that she was right in protecting her daughter before making her weapon easily accessible, even at her own detriment in the current situation. The safe beeped open a second after her fingerprint hit the scanner, and in another heartbeat her weapon was in her hand, clip inserted in a fluid motion that she had practiced thousands of times before.
Still in nothing but her socks and pajamas, but now with a gun in her hand, Chloe crept towards the back door of the house, swiveling her upper body from side to side as she moved. Each of the rooms inside were cleared with the tip of her weapon, yet another series of intentional thuds sounded from the ceiling as she moved. Heart reaching a cacophonous thunder, all but threatening to leap from her ribcage, Chloe arrived at the back door. She could see her own reflection as she drew back the curtain, but no monster leapt at her from beyond the glass. Whatever was making those sounds must truly be up on the roof, or already escaping off into her backyard.
Chloe was well-aware that the sound of the door unlocking and then sliding open would alert whoever was out there to her presence, if the light from inside hadn't already but fear was replaced with the drive to protect her home. For the first time in the night, she was glad that her daughter wasn't home to witness this, to be at risk of whatever threat was lying in wait beyond the threshold of what had once been her safest place. One hand on the door, the other on her gun, Chloe slid the glass open and stepped outside, sweeping the pistol from one side to the other as she took a few steps out.
There was no one there, and the thumping had stopped entirely. Still under the shelter of her porch, she noticed a few drops of darkness on the cement of her back stoop, glimmering in the light that poured out from the house. As she studied the small puddle, another drop fell from above, causing more droplets to go splattering outwards into the rough grit of the pale grey cement. As they splashed up and caught the light of the porch lamp, Chloe realized that the liquid wasn't black: it was a deep, arterial red.
A few quick steps outwards into the yard and Chloe brought her gun up to bear, pointing it towards the low-hanging roof of the home. There was a man sitting there, his silhouette still and black as her eyes adjusted to the faint orange glow that made up California's night sky. Her finger moved towards the trigger, ready to shoot if the figure so much as moved a muscle, up until he called out to her, a broken, fragmented greeting.
"Good evening, detective. I didn't mean to disturb you."
It was a voice that could have called her out of a dead sleep, one more familiar to her than almost anyone else's. Instantly her gun was back down at her side, finger off the trigger, a rush of anger-tainted relief flooding through her dilated veins as though it were ice.
"Lucifer, what the hell are you doing on my roof?" She was feeling nearly pure rage as she stared up at her partner, thinking of how terrified he'd made her, but the scream came out as a plea. Of all the anger that she had directed at him and at the world, somehow, this latest invasion of privacy couldn't tempt any more grief out of her. The realization that her home was still safe somehow rose to the top among the storm of negativity that had all but enveloped her, which was saving Lucifer from the brunt of her rage.
"Nothing, really," he said, the usual self-assured tone wavering in the dark. His feet were nearly at the lip of the roof, his legs crossed, and his back straight with his typical impeccable posture. Now she could see the curvature of his perfectly groomed hair, and the squareness of his muscular shoulders. However, without his suit, they lacked the typical form that she was accustomed to seeing in the devil's silhouette.
"No, seriously, why are you here?" Her tone reigned in more, she stepped up closer towards the edge of the roof, craning her neck to get a better look at her partner. Of all the bullshit that Lucifer got away with regularly, scaring her half to death wouldn't be one of them without a damn good reason. No matter how much pain he had been in, and no matter how angry she had been with him, there were some lines that she had expected even the devil wouldn't cross. Her heart hadn't even stopped racing as though her life was on the line, and there was still sweat on her neck from the incredible scare he had given her.
Instead of making some sharp reply back, Lucifer just sighed, barely audible to Chloe's ears. She watched his eyes slide shut for a few moments as his chest rose and fall, and for the first time, she noticed his left forearm draped near the edge of the roof, dark liquid spilling down his fingers, a few drops escaping the leaf-clogged gutter to fall on the ground. It seemed like his whole arm was drenched in liquid darkness, dripping from an endless well. Chloe couldn't suppress a gasp as she remembered the crimson that had drawn her out into the backyard in the first place.
"I'm sorry, detective." His voice was weak, and Chloe swore she heard the slightest hint of a tremor. Now her heart was speeding up again, as uncertainty never played well with the devil. He didn't speak as she walked closer, and was able to see his forearm clearly in the low light of the evening's rising stars and glowing light pollution.
"Lucifer, what did you do?" She cursed the concern that infected her tone, a poor mask for her affection. Lucifer made a loose fist with his soaked fingers and stared down at his arm after she spoke those words, finally opening his eyes ever so slightly. They seemed to shimmer in the low light, though they were swimming in darkness, rather than the red embers of hell that often ignited in them. She could all but smell the copper hanging in the air, watching the rivulets of liquid spill faster towards the ground now, renewing as Lucifer balled the once relaxed hand up into a fist.
"You should read what the stories say about the blood of angels," he finally spoke, voice barely louder than a hushed whisper. The husky rasp that had once been so seductive was now sliced to ribbons with unseen agony. "Some say that it can heal any wound, others say that it's too pure for human tongues, killing any that dare to drink it. I wonder what they say about the blood of fallen angels." He trailed off there, as though the words weren't meant for her at all, but for the narrator of some unseen tragedy. The tone Lucifer was using was more flighty and distant that Chloe had heard since she had learned who he truly was. In a way, it was far more unsettling than the rage he had expressed for his own existence had ever been. Chloe could juggle anger: pain was another matter entirely.
Despite him sitting out of her reach, Chloe could now see clearly what she had been trying to deny ever since she laid eyes on him. Reality was arriving in the form of deep lacerations leaking blood, spilling freely down his forearms, and even down his naked chest. Shifting her weight slightly to the side, she saw the familiar shimmer of a blade clutched in Lucifer's right hand, the edge stained in red. It was wavering in his uncertain grasp, as though it were threatening to leap free from his bloodstained fingers.
"Put down the knife, Lucifer," she commanded, trying to muster her authoritative voice from somewhere. But now she was shaking, unwilling to comprehend what she was seeing. Still, the blood dripped freely, as though his body were weeping for his temporary humanity. The devil picked up the knife ever so slightly, as though he were contemplating letting it taste flesh again. Instead of lashing out, he sighed in resignation, and let it slip from his fingers and clatter against the roof with a dull reverberation. To have had no resistance from him was a first: in a way, it reminded Chloe of the gravity that faced her now. Choking back a cough, Lucifer spoke up again, meekly.
"You don't know what it's like," he whispered, and Chloe could hear the tears in his voice, even though she couldn't see them in the twilight. "You don't know what it's like to be able to only escape for a few moments at a time. Water or alcohol, it hardly matters, I can't tell the difference. You could pump me full of morphine and I'd hardly feel a thing. But you make me feel so many things, detective, both joy and pain."
"You don't have to do-" Chloe stuttered, searching for a word, and failing. "You don't have to do this," she spit out finally, gesturing up at his bleeding body. Her stomach was churning at the sight, and she could feel her eyes burning. Ever since learning that her presence made Lucifer vulnerable where he was otherwise impervious had dug thorns into her psyche, a more intense care for the man blossoming from those very wounds he created.
"I truly believed that once I realized that I hated myself, that all my problems would be solved. It turns out that it's not that easy," Lucifer lamented, finally unfolding his legs. He dangled them over the side of the roof, staring down the few feet that it would take to close the distance between himself and Chloe. Frozen where she stood, Chloe couldn't even think of reading his mind, what was going on in the mountainous terrain of his tormented mind.
After a moment of silence, he slid from the roof, and Chloe gasped in spite of herself. But his fall was controlled, and he hit the ground on two steady feet, though he staggered when he tried to stand. His right knee dipped so low that it almost touched the ground before he was able to right himself. Blood was still pouring in a steady stream from his left arm, already having soaked his pants, and now dripping onto the ground around him, drop by drop from each of his fingers. The sight of it nauseated Chloe, and she swore that she could see the muscle beneath layers of skin in the deep gashes that had been gouged through his flesh.
The angel was usually magnetic, but right now Chloe could only feel fear and revulsion. She knew that this blood was only because of her, the only reason his flesh had been torn was because she had sat below him, unknowingly, baking in peace. He'd chosen this place because this was the only place he was able to feel pain. Each breath he took was shaking, and he took half a step back, the perfectly sculpted hair falling out of shape and in front of his eyes. There was a fogginess in his eyes, as though he were about to fade into unconsciousness. She'd seen proof that he was fallible before, and now fear stripped away the uncertainty that had been holding her back.
It took her a mere second to empty her weapon and secure it in her waistband before she rushed forward to Lucifer, draping his right arm around her shoulders to steady him. He didn't waste a second in leaning his weight into her, and for a moment she thought the added burden would make her legs buckle, but she held steady. Now that she was pressed up against him, she could feel how hot his body was burning as it bled, a sickly sheen of sweat over his bare upper body as he spilled the essence of his mortal life.
"C'mon, let's get inside," she said, though more for her benefit than his. It seemed that as usual, even in the state he was in, Lucifer was never one to follow suggestions. But as she pulled him along, there was no resistance, nothing more than a slow shuffle after her carefully placed footsteps. She almost wanted him to say something just for the sake of hearing his voice, hearing some kind of justification for why he would do this to himself.
Instead he just staggered through the open doorway without more than a few sighs, staring at his wounded arm with a clouded fascination. The blood dripped onto the tiled floors, but Chloe couldn't care less about the floor, or the rug, or the couch that she draped him onto. As soon as he had collapsed into the cushions, she turned on all of the lights in the room, trying to illuminate the gashes as well as she possibly could. Smears of blood from her fingertips adorned each of the switches, sticky and pink as she went.
Her heart sunk as the room lit up white, and Lucifer looked at her through half-lucid eyes, peering out from a face that had taken on a garish pale grey. Before looping back to him she grabbed as many towels as she could from the kitchen before rushing back to him, hoping that they were enough to staunch the tidal wave of red.
Once she dropped on her knees next to him, and dabbed desperately as the steady streams, her heart retreated further into her stomach. The gashes were deep enough that she could have stuck her finger into them, and they were weeping blood over exposed muscle and fascia. These wounds were far too deep for her to treat here, at home, with whatever first aid kits she had stashed in her bedroom. These kind of injuries needed stitches at the very least, and there was no telling how much blood he'd already lost into the gutter before she had ventured outside. Even if she called for an ambulance at that very moment, as long as she was nearby, Lucifer would continue bleeding.
It was as though a lightbulb went off in her mind at the realization. She was the problem, it was her very presence that wounded him, allowed him to become more human than celestial. That's why he was here, trying to feel pain, trying to punish himself for whatever evils plagued him. To save him, she had to abandon him, at least for the moment. His eyes were closed, and his breathing ragged, but a few words slipped past his lips in a slurred mumble.
"I didn't know that pain could feel so good," he said, eyes flickering open for a moment. "But I'm sorry that you had to be here, Detective. I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to feel something, something as penance for the pain I bring others."
The burning in her eyes renewed, and she fought tooth and nail to keep her composure, just for a little while longer. Out of instinct, she reached up and rested her hand along the side of his face, feeling the bite of his stubble into the tender skin of her palm. The contact was enough to make him look at her for a moment of clarity, and she did her best to blink back the tears just long enough to hold his gaze.
"I promise, I promise you I'm going to be right back." Now her voice cracked, and the first tear spilled down the side of her face involuntarily. Empathy for Lucifer was splintering the shell that surrounded her heart, the love for him that she felt pouring like water from a broken dam, but in his state, he couldn't see it. Somehow, the bleeding hadn't slowed yet, pouring onto the upholstery of her furniture without discretion. His eyes had slid shut again, which was her cue to stand, and pull away from him.
Without a moment to waste, she bolted to the table beside the front door, and grabbed the keys to her car. The first shoes she found she slid on before running out to her car, barely pausing to lock the door behind herself. Instinct and habit fueled her forward as the turned the keys in the ignition, feeling the car roar to life like a beast beneath her seat. Seconds later she was tearing out of her driveway, far surpassing the residential speed limits, navigating towards the highway with a soul full of pain and desperation.