Two weeks since she last heard from him.
When he staggered away from the last case they'd worked together.
Her calls and texts unanswered. Maze suggested she leave him be until he emerges. "Trust me, Decker. You don't want to see him right now."
But I do...
Undoubtedly, the case had been particularly difficult. A father crucified his son because he thought the teen was possessed by The Devil. He was unapologetic and insisted it was the right thing to do to save the boy. The young man obviously struggled - the flesh around the nails pounded into him was ripped and gaping. He didn't die quickly. The mother was found upstairs in the bedroom, rocking back and forth while she prayed her rosary. She did nothing to stop it.
Chloe recalls the ashen hue of Lucifer's face as the facts of the case presented themselves. She looked away discreetly when the self-proclaimed Lord of Hell inelegantly lost his lunch behind a nearby gardenia bush.
"I...this isn't...no..." he protested weakly as he struggled to control the tremors. "Why...?" he begged her with impossibly dark eyes. Tentatively raising his face to the sky, he held himself as a bird preparing for flight, tentative and strung tight. Ready to launch himself from this fresh agony.
She shook her head, speechless in the face of such raw pain, "I don't know, Lucifer." Still uncertain why she did it, she found herself apologizing for the grotesque scene in front of them, "I'm so, so sorry." The urge to reach out to him was overwhelming but she held herself back in fear. Chloe mentally shakes herself to let go of the image of wings springing from his back and whisking him away.
The moment passes in the sharp intake of his breath.
And he runs.
Fourteen days she waited. Catching herself in breathless moments remembering his light.
His laugh.
The stroke of his gaze when he thinks she isn't looking.
A drug dripped so slowly into her bloodstream she didn't notice until it stopped.
Withdrawal is a painful thing. Insomnia. Aural hallucinations. The empty, gaping wound left when something so integral to one's Self is abruptly ripped away.
His warmth.
In spite of the hour and the biblical torrent pouring from the sky, she grabs her car keys and bolts out the door. Unaware of the dark eyes watching from one of the apartment's windows.
The demon bows her head and turns away. Nothing for it now.
The tug in her chest can be ignored no longer. And so she drives. The only sound is the rumble of thunder and the slap of water on the car. If she didn't know better, she'd swear to the salt in the rain. Somewhat typical for a city on the coast, but even this is a bit much.
No matter.
Chloe parks her car in the garage and notices the VIP spots are all empty. Lux is apparently closed.
She uses the key to the lift he gave her some time ago. "The door is always open, Detective," he quipped. Ghost of a smile evaporates as she slides the key into the lock then selects the floor. Her stomach drops in shocking correlation to the compartment's gain in elevation. Please be okay...
The door opens and she steps into darkness. No light save the occasional flash of lightning.
The flat is empty. Piano is closed. Nothing disturbed.
Not even a recently-drained whiskey glass. No cigarette smoke hanging in the air.
His bed is still made and tells no tales of either sleep or the more typical debauched joy in which he engages.
The closet is immaculate as the man himself. But where is he?
The silence is crushing. The air is heavy in addition to the humidity from the storm.
She notices that one wall of windows clearly stands vigil over the city. The view is spectacular as she watches the occasional strike of lightning on a distance tower.
The other wall of glass is less clear. Condensation drips as if it faces a sauna.
She cocks her head in curiosity and walks forward.
Chloe silently looks outside to see Lucifer standing in the rain. He is barefoot and shirtless. His sodden dark trousers and dripping hair cling to him as he stands with his face to the sky. Broad shoulders catch the rain then send it cascading down the expanse of his naked back like a waterfall. Some of the water streams down his legs to the floor of the balcony. The rest of it rises like steam as a testament to the heat rolling off him in waves.
His arms are straight and extend like tension wires to the glass wall that surrounds his balcony. Long, elegant fingers grip the thick glass, forcing cracks beneath the tips. As she watches, the cracks begin to run red and she hears a supernatural hiss of pain.
She can hear him clearly, even through the glass, "Wondered when you would arrive." He doesn't turn toward her. How does he know I'm here?
Chloe opens the door to the balcony and steps into the deluge. Without a thought, she removes one of his hands from the glass and turns it over to examine the gouges in the palm. She brings the damaged flesh to her lips, closes her eyes and lays a gentle kiss on it.
She looks up as she feels a violent tremor travel up his arm. Her breath catches and tears stream down her face to mingle with the rain, washing his blood from her lips.
Lucifer looks down at the detective. Rigid. Silent. Lips parted slightly.
Eyes aglow.
"Don't...please," he whispers in anguish.
Chloe's eyes soften as she steps closer. Her hand travels the length of his arm to his shoulder.
To hold the side of his head where she buries her fingers in his soaked locks.
Lucifer closes his eyes as a ragged breath tears itself from him. As if in slow motion, Satan Himself drops to his knees and wraps his arms around the detective as if she is the one thing in an ocean of torment that can keep him from drowning.
It's likely that she is.