"Love doesn't make you vulnerable Lucifer, it makes you stronger."

Her words had been echoing in his head for weeks now. Love was a subject he'd danced around for the most of the time he'd known her. The devil didn't do love. That had been something he was sure of. Love was a human experience, and something that in his opinion tended to render one quite stupid. And he was anything but stupid.

Or so he thought, until he'd started to fall for Chloe Decker. It had started out as fascination, the desire to have someone able to resist his many charms. A trap designed for him by his father no doubt. That had almost been enough to make him stay away from her, if it hadn't proved to be so bloody difficult. Resisting temptation had never been his forte.

Over time their partnership had grown into something... more. A friendship, unlike any other he'd ever experienced before. She genuinely cared for him, as did he for her. He missed her when she wasn't there. He felt lighter around her somehow. There were times he would swear he could almost sense when she was near. Seeing her was the brightest part of his day. Out of the thousands of kisses he'd enjoyed over the years, it was hers that he still dreamt about.

It had taken almost losing her for him to tell her how he felt. But still, even then, when he confessed his feelings he'd done exactly that, admitted that he had feelings, but not what the nature of those feelings were. He assumed she knew. As it turns out, apparently it was important to actually vocalise it at some point. She had, and then he... well he just couldn't say it. He never thought he would have to. It had been eons since those words had left his lips.

Love was weakness. Admitting love was weaker still. Actions were supposed to speak louder than words, weren't they? So why weren't his actions enough? In the end though, none of that had made the slightest bit of difference. It had slipped out one day as naturally for him as any other term of endearment. It wasn't until he noticed the joyful tears in her eyes that he'd realised what he'd said. And he couldn't take it back. Didn't want to take it back. Not when he knew right down to his very soul that it was the truth. After all, he had never lied to her, and he would never lie to her.

Looking down at the sleeping woman beside him he smiled. Even with bed hair and the remnants of mascara smeared across her eyes she was beautiful, the soft light of the sunrise beginning to illuminate her features. He spent most mornings like this now, watching her sleep while more than often being used as a pillow. He'd even gotten accustomed to the snoring after a while.

A supernatural constitution meant he didn't require as much rest as humans, but he was under strict instructions to stop wandering around the apartment in the middle of the night. One too many times the detective had arisen to find her daughter fast asleep on the sofa tucked into his side, or worse, having been up half the night playing monopoly. It wasn't exactly his fault if her progeny slept lightly and had excellent hearing. Or if he occasionally got bored and threw something in her direction to wake her up.

So that left him here, forced to lie in bed while the detective slept next to him. There were worse places to be. The only downside was that it gave him far too much time to think, something he wasn't overly fond of. He had been tempted to wake her, to make the most of their time together whilst her offspring was with Daniel, but he knew if he did that she wouldn't have time to eat before they had to leave. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, or so he'd been told. He shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself. Somewhere along the line caring for his detective had become more important than having sex with her. Who'd have ever thought that would happen?

With Chloe he'd found love, peace... and acceptance. He still couldn't quite figure out how she'd managed to get her head around being in love with the devil himself, but he thanked his Father every day that she did. Which in itself was something completely unexpected. She never failed to tell him though, every time he doubted, every time he questioned, that it wasn't what he was, but who he was to her that was mattered. That it was the only thing that did.

It hadn't always been smooth sailing of course, after all he'd never been in a relationship before so he was bound to make mistakes. Linda tried her best to offer him advice, but she had an awful habit of sending him down the wrong path half the time. At least judging by Chloe's reactions to his efforts anyway. It was a good job the doctor was a friend really, because as a therapist she seemed to do nothing but try to give him the wrong impression. Luckily he was able to figure things out for himself these days. Sometimes he wondered if he even needed therapy at all; he had understanding humans down to a fine art by now, surely?

As for being with the detective, there had been some drawbacks. She'd wanted him to play it safe before, but that was now on a whole other level. He thought with distaste about the bulletproof vest waiting for him downstairs along with the rest of his clothes, the aftermath of an adrenaline fueled evening spent closing a case that had left neither of them patient enough to make it to the bedroom. He hated wearing it, a reminder of what had become his near constant mortality. Still, the vest was what she wanted and he'd found he could rarely deny her anything she asked. Even if it did ruin the line of his suit.

Turning his head to face the nightstand he waited as the clock ticked over one more minute. Time for freedom. Gently he slid out from underneath the detective, intent on making it to the kitchen without waking her. He couldn't help but smile as he watched her reach out to the empty space in her sleep, her body instinctively missing his warmth. Grabbing a pair of pajama pants he silently made his way out of the room. Making breakfast for the Deckers had become one of the highlights of his day. Cooking was an act of creation after all, an area he excelled in. There was no company for him this morning though, no excited shout of his name as the spawn emerged from her room.

To his utter amazement he found he'd actually begun to miss the little urchin when she wasn't around. When he wasn't busy taking advantage of alone time with her mother of course. He hadn't missed the knowing looks Mazikeen had been giving him either, as if he was only just now realising something she'd known all along. Never more so than at a recent family day out where he'd chosen to hoist the child up onto his shoulders. There was a crowd, she couldn't see. It had been practical. And her squeal of delight certainly hadn't given him a warm glow inside that had nothing to do with hell fire.

Family. The word was foreign to him. It was something he had thought that for the devil would never apply, had never applied. He turned his attention to the wall, examining the photograph of the three of them the detective had hung there recently. Their first family photo she'd called it. Because that's what this was. Not a multitude of siblings who despised him. Not a father, distant and domineering, or a mother, controlling and overprotective. Just the woman he loved and her daughter. Occasionally a douche and a demon too. There was a strength and security in that, the likes of which he'd never felt in all his time.

It wouldn't last. Good things never did for him. But he would treasure this moment while it was here. He rolled his shoulders as he busied himself about the kitchen, feeling the empty space where his wings used to be. He'd already learned his lesson about valuing the gifts in life, even those he thought he didn't want. It was a mistake he wouldn't willingly make twice. He still felt a pang of guilt every time he was reminded about being unable to protect Chloe in the same way again.

Guilt, love, empathy, fear. All emotions he'd had to come to terms with over the past few years. The detective had been the catalyst, the beginning of the change. Something his brother had realised even before he did. Maze had just told him to stop caring, like it was the easiest thing in the world. For her, at one time, it would have been. And he'd tried, he really had. But what had started as a spark of humanity over Delilah had grown into a forest fire within him that he couldn't control. That he didn't desire to control. Because that would have meant staying away from Chloe, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed when he brought the knife he was using down over his own finger. He pulled his hand away reflexively as soon as he felt the blade, shaking it as he chastised himself for his carelessness. It had been a good few months now since he'd been injured in such a way, his body finally developing a sense of self-preservation after spending so much time with the detective.

Reluctantly he made his way over to where he knew the band-aids were stored, shuddering at the thought of having to have one of the multitude of garish colours that the small human preferred placed upon his skin. Grabbing a pile, he lifted his hand closer to assess the damage, only to stare at his finger in confusion. No blood. No cut. That was odd. He could have sworn...

Oh well. Perhaps his knife skills weren't that shoddy after all. Not quite up to the level of a certain demon, but nothing to be sniffed at either. Emotions had been one thing both he and Mazikeen had agreed since arriving on earth. They were inconvenient, a nuisance, something to be avoided at all costs. Feelings, to put it frankly, sucked. But last year, his partner in sin had changed her tune. Emotions made you strong, she'd said, something that the doctor had apparently convinced her of. He'd thought the idea ridiculous. He didn't feel strong around the detective, he felt vulnerable. Both literally and figuratively.

Recently though, his opinion had begun to change. As their relationship grew stronger, so did the depth of what he felt for her. And he didn't feel weak because of it, in fact he felt more sure of himself than he could ever remember being. He was confident in their love, in the strength of what they had found together. Yes it had taken time, but eventually he had realised just how wrong he had been. When she smiled at him in that way that was reserved only for him, he felt invincible.

Invincible.

Invulnerable?

He froze. Surely not. It couldn't be, could it?

The memory of the therapy session he'd had with Linda before he'd bled for the first time washed over him. They'd spoken of Chloe, her resistance to him, the giving and taking of power. But although the doctor had provided valuable insight as usual, it was his words that suddenly struck him as prophetic.

"It's not her, it's me."

He picked up the knife in front of him from the chopping board, bringing it slowly to rest in his palm. He took a breath, and...

"Good morning."

He whirled around to face her, his hands behind his back as he clutched the blade. He smiled at both her and the sensation of déjà vu. She leant against the door frame, her long blonde hair cascading around her shoulders as she stood wearing only his dress shirt. He felt his blood rush southward at the sight. It always had this effect on him, seeing her dressed in his clothes. Something that hadn't gone unnoticed on her part, he was sure, considering how often she did it now.

She gave him a knowing smile and he watched her as she started to move around the room, tidying up the scattered clothing they had thrown over various bits of furniture. He was particularly proud of the undergarments that had somehow managed to find themselves hung from the ceiling light above. He very nearly lost it as she bent over to pick up something from the floor, clenching his fists as he struggled with the effort to remain in the kitchen. He was supposed to be dealing with ravishing hunger, not thinking about ravishing her.

It wasn't until he felt the blade pressing into his skin that he remembered he hadn't been holding the knife by the handle. He let go and heard it fall back down to the counter, too distracted by her to notice any pain. "Something smells delicious," she said sleepily, abandoning her pile of clothes on the sofa.

His voice came out lower than he'd intended. "Something looks delicious," he replied, eyes raking over her body. He felt his heart stop as she walked over to him, rising on her tiptoes to press her lips against his. That was it. His self-control snapped and he lifted her up onto the side effortlessly, kissing her thoroughly as he did so. The breakfast he'd prepared was burning on the stove behind them but he couldn't bring himself to care. Buttons flew to the floor as he tore the shirt she was wearing open, before slowly slipping it from her shoulders.

As he went to toss it away though he paused, pulling away from her. The shirt balled up in his hands was white. Pure white. No blood to be seen. It should have been there. This time he had felt the blade, he was sure of it. There was no possible way that it couldn't have cut into him, gripping it as tightly as he was. Which could only mean one thing.

"Lucifer? Is everything ok?" Her hands were on his face, tilting him back up towards her as she looked at him with concern. The smile he gave her in return could have lit up the room.

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all love. Everything is absolutely bloody perfect."

And with that he pulled her from the counter into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried them back towards the bedroom. He couldn't help but give the bulletproof vest a swift kick as they passed, before turning his attention back to the detective, unable to keep the grin off his face as he kissed her.

Well that made working with Chloe a lot less dangerous.

For both of them really.

...never mind how much better his suits were going to look.