Afterglow (Choice Millionaire)

Author's Notes:

This is a 6 chapter piece that serves as a follow-up to And There Was Light. If you haven't read ATWL ... you're probably going to be pretty confused about some things in this story, particularly regarding the Demiurge mythology and Michael himself. You can sure as heck try to read this as a standalone, but I don't really recommend it. You've been warned.

This started as one scene where Michael pops into Chloe's car to ask about cake. Given the positive response to the scene on my Tumblr when I posted it, I decided to write a short story to explain it. Except the short story ended up being a freaking 30k word novella. Isn't that fun when that happens? ;p

I hope you guys enjoy this. I had a lot of fun writing it, particularly the humor, which I didn't have as much of a chance to use in ATWL, as I did in this fic.

Thank you so much to my lovely beta readers, Pellaaearian and Wollfgang, for helping me polish this story. If you haven't read either of their stories, might I recommend checking those out next? :)

Chapter title credit goes to Poets of the Fall.

Cheers!

Lucifer lies along the length of her, naked, singularly intent.

"Is this your favorite?" he croons, dragging the strawberry lazily around her navel, meandering along her torso, through the gap in her cleavage, along her throat and chin, to her mouth. A wooden tray covered with cuts of fresh fruit and still warm croissants rests beside the bed.

This is the porniest breakfast Chloe's ever eaten.

"I like blueberries, too," she says as she bites off the tip. The strawberry bursts in her mouth as soon as she closes her teeth on it. The sweetness is divine. "And … raspberries."

"Mmm," he says, and then he dips low, licking along the same line the strawberry traveled.

"What's your fav-?" She doesn't have a chance to finish her question as he captures her mouth with his own and slips his hand between her legs. She moans against his lips. His body is a line of warmth against her. Her world in this moment doesn't extend beyond the bed.

His eyes are dark with hunger as he pulls away, but only to watch her as she unravels for him. "Oh, my Gggh-fuck," she can't help but moan as he plays her like his violin. Fuck. "I mean …."

He laughs, dark and throaty, fingers stroking. "We really must fix your compulsive exultations to you-know-who." He kisses her. Once. Twice.

"I've said it my whole life," she replies breathlessly. "I can't help it."

His smile is a show of teeth. "Perhaps … you require correction." He swirls his thumb in lazy circles between her legs, and she can't help but push into his hand. "I'm good at correction," he continues as he brings her to the cusp. To the cliff. So close to the edge that she can't stop herself from raking her nails down his chest in the vague hope of grabbing onto something. "I'm good at a lot of things."

"Oh, my Go-" He pulls his fingers away, eyes gleaming, and she kicks the mattress in frustration. "-ooh-no."

"Case in point," he purrs.

She laughs, unsatisfied, dying a slow death. "Come on!"

"Oh, you will come," he tells her. "Coming is entirely the point, after all. But … not just yet."

"What," is all she has a chance to gasp. He gives her a little button press, just enough to keep her dangling at the pinnacle. So close, and yet … not. "Holy mother of … LUCIFER."

"Better." His mischievous grin widens as he spares a glance at his watch. "Ever heard of edging, darling?" He kisses her. "Shall I give you the tour? It's-"

A familiar ringtone pops the bubble she's been luxuriating in. Her phone vibrates loudly as it skips across her nightstand an inch and smacks into the spine of the book she's been reading. She winces at the intrusion.

"Bloody hell," Lucifer grumbles, mirth bleeding away. "What's he calling about?"

"Probably Trixie." Chloe sighs and rolls to make a grab for the phone before it leaps onto the floor. At least, Lucifer didn't tell her to let it ring, this time. He's learning. She hits the little green phone symbol and raises the speaker to her ear. "Dan, what's up?"

"… Mommy?" says a teeny tiny warbling voice on the other end of the line.

Lucifer's irritation shifts to concern as he inches closer across the bedspread. "Is it the spawn?"

Chloe's heart clenches. Trixie's tone is one no mother could ever mistake. All thoughts of orgasms and edging and naked Lucifer evaporate out of Chloe as though her brain were a teakettle set to boil. Pushing Lucifer away as she sits up, she grips the phone so hard her knuckles hurt. "What is it, babe? What's wrong?"

Lucifer's concerned expression becomes an alarmed one.

Trixie bursts into tears.

"Baby, where are you?" Chloe demands, already out of bed, rifling through her drawers for clean clothes.

Trixie replies, but the only words Chloe can glean in the distorted, wailing, grieving mess are Daddy and ambulance and prayed and something that sounds an awful lot like "die" but who knows and Chloe's trying not to panic and-

"Yes, hello, Ms. Lopez," Chloe hears Lucifer saying in the background, murmuring into his own cellphone. "I need the department's assistance in locating Daniel's cellphone. I believe it may be urgent."

Chloe gives Lucifer a grateful look before she returns to the task of soothing her daughter into some semblance of coherence.

With persistence and patience, Chloe manages to glean that Dan had been feeling sick and tetchy all day yesterday, and then collapsed early this morning. Thanks to Lucifer's quick thinking, before Trixie can even warble that she called 911, Ella has the address of the hospital where Trixie and Dan ended up.

"Collapsed?" Chloe asks Trixie from the passenger seat as Lucifer slices through traffic. "Collapsed how?"

"He fell," Trixie sobs.

Chloe wants to ask for more details. But all she can hear at this point are Trixie's high-pitched gasps for breath as she fights with her grief. And then the call drops when they drive under an overpass, and Chloe can't get Trixie to answer the fucking phone again. Damn it.

A horn honks, and Lucifer jams on the brakes, barely avoiding a collision.

"Lucifer," Chloe snaps as she picks herself up off the seatbelt, "if you kill us on the way there, you're only going to make her cry more."

"Apologies," he replies through clenched teeth as the other car clears out of the way.

He lifts his foot off the brake, and they proceed at something almost resembling the speed limit.

"I'm sure Dan's fine," she says. She rubs her tired, hurting eyes, trying not to think too hard, yet, about what situation might be greeting her at the hospital. "Collapsing isn't necessarily dire. It could just be exhaustion. Or dehydration. Or …."

"Yes, he has been working hard, as of late, what with his reinstatement to Detective," Lucifer says in a neutral tone. The way his fingers clench the steering wheel belies any sense of calm he's trying to exude, though.

She pinches the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut. "I'm sure he's fine," she repeats. "I mean, he's only forty, and he's more fit than most twenty-year-olds."

"Quite right," Lucifer adds.

But what if he's not fine? her tiny voice says.

A lump forms in her throat.

But she refuses to dive down that rabbit hole until the situation warrants it.

She refuses.

Neither Dan nor Trixie are anywhere to be seen when Chloe bursts through the sliding doors of the emergency room. A long line of malady and injury sufferers winds like a snake through the large room, and aside from a triage nurse, only one administrative assistant is present at the front desk to wrangle it. Heart pounding, Chloe steps into line behind a silver-haired man holding a dirty, bloody rag to his nose. She's resigned to the idea that she's not going to know what happened to Dan for at least another forty-five minutes, if that.

But then Lucifer says, "Allow me," quietly behind her, and he sashays past her toward the reception desk, grabbing her hand as he goes.

She lets herself be dragged along.

One flinty, devilish look from Lucifer, and not a single person in line complains when he cuts to the front.

The poor administrative assistant is a frazzled, overweight, rubicund man in his fifties - name tag: Edward Garland.

"Hello again," Ed says cautiously as he looks up at them.

"Yes, hello," Lucifer replies, "we're looking for Daniel Espinoza. He was brought in via ambulance sometime in the past hour."

At first, Ed looks like he's going to protest Lucifer's blatant line jump. But then Lucifer smiles. One of his flirty, devastating smiles that tends to flay alive any form of coherent thought. The kind that makes Chloe's heart skip and her breaths go shallow whenever he directs one at her.

"Has anyone ever told you how lovely your eyes are?" Lucifer says, charm dial turned up to eleven.

Ed blinks. "My … eyes?"

"Yes," Lucifer says with a nod, leaning closer, staring with singular, bespelled intensity. "They're gray in this light. Like the ocean fog in June. It's quite striking, really. I could just … dive right in."

What little of Ed that wasn't already red turns the color of a beet. He melts into an obsequious puddle of marshmallow fluff in the moments that follow.

"Dan …?" Ed says, trailing off with an awkward cough. He pulls at his shirt collar like he's trying not to choke. "Daniel Espinoza, you said?"

Lucifer nods. "Yes."

The keyboard clacks as Ed types something and then squints at his computer screen. "I'm sorry," he says after a pause. "I don't have any information on Mr. Espinoza, yet, other than that he was admitted. The doctors are probably still evaluating him."

"O … kay," Chloe says slowly. She swallows. "Well, can I see him?"

"Not until I get more information," Ed says. "I'm sorry."

"Surely, you can make an exception," Lucifer purrs beside her. "It's not as though the Detective would get in the way."

"Detective?" Ed says.

Lucifer nods. "Why, yes. My intrepid partner works for the LAPD. So, if there were ever a trustworthy reason to break the rules …."

Ed bites his lip. "I …." He directs a panicked look to the computer screen, and then back to Lucifer. "I can't. I'll get fired."

"Oh, come, now," Lucifer says. "You don't trust me to smooth things over?" A smile oozes across his face. "Tell me the name of your supervisor, and I'll work my many wiles, I assure you."

"I can't," insists Ed.

Silence stretches for an interminable moment.

Lucifer's gaze darkens, and all hints of flirtatiousness bleed out of his expression as he abandons his catch-more-flies-with-honey approach. Menace starts to swell, thick in the air like a tornado spinning up. But Chloe rests her hand on his forearm, staving him off.

"Stop," she says, taking a hitching breath, and the maelstrom fades. "It's okay. I can wait." She can live without seeing Dan right now. At least, he's alive, and he's in good hands. What she really wants to know is, "Where is my daughter?"

Ed smiles. "Oh, she's …." His chair squawks as his ample weight shifts. He twists to point behind him, at the desk crammed into the corner, where some paper and colored pencils are spread. His smile melts away, replaced by an intense frown. "… Not … there anymore."

Chloe grinds her molars. "You lost my kid?"

"Lost is a strong word," Ed replies with a helpless shrug. "I'm sure she just went to the gift shop or … something."

Chloe slumps against the edge of the reception desk. He's right, of course. Trixie wouldn't wander off without a reason. She's too responsible for that. But Chloe's tired. And stressed. And she just wants to hug her baby.

Lucifer puts a warm hand on her shoulder and squeezes. "Go look, if you like. I'll wait here with Mr. Garland in case the spawn returns, or there's word about Daniel."

"Thanks," Chloe says, looking up at him. "I love you."

His gaze softens, though he doesn't reply. And with that, she sets off on her search.

"It seems Daniel is suffering from something called kidney stones," Lucifer texts her in a matter of minutes. "Quite painful, I'm told, but not life threatening at present."

Chloe blinks. "What'd you do, threaten a doctor the second I left?"

"I didn't need to threaten him," Lucifer replies.

"What does *that* mean?" She suspects it means Lucifer proved himself scary enough that he didn't even need to utter an explicit threat. But ….

"Have you found the offspring, yet?" Lucifer texts back, ignoring her.

She rolls her eyes and sighs. "Yep," she types. "In the cafeteria."

And with that, she dumps her phone back into her purse.

The cafeteria is large and warm and filled with the sounds of clinking dishes, crackling fryers, and conversing diners, though the smell of food does little to conceal the pervasive "hospital" smell. The table where Trixie is sitting resides in the corner, half-concealed by a hulking ficus. Trixie is leaking tears all over a plate covered in black crumbs. She clutches one dirty fork in her hand, and another dirty fork already rests on the plate. Stress eating at its finest.

"Hi, monkey," Chloe says as she sinks into the chair beside her daughter.

Trixie looks up. Her eyes are wet and rimmed with red, and her lips and chin are streaked with chocolate. She sniffs, and a fresh wave of tears spills down her face. "Mommy," she says, and she drops her fork onto the plate with a soft "tink" noise.

"Daddy's fine," Chloe says, pulling Trixie into her arms. "He's got kidney stones."

"What're those?"

"They're kinda like sand," Chloe says.

"In his kidneys?" Trixie says, making a face.

Chloe nods. "Yeah. And they hurt when they come out."

"Oh." Trixie sniffs. "Daddy fell. And he threw up. And he couldn't talk to me."

"Yeah," Chloe says, nodding again. "That happens sometimes when something really hurts. And I know it was really scary, but he'll be fine once the stones are all out. I promise." She kisses the top of Trixie's head and pulls her fingers through Trixie's messy hair. "You did great calling 911."

"I was really scared."

"I know," Chloe says. She pulls Trixie closer and rocks her back and forth, lump in her throat. "I know it was scary. But everything will be all right. I promise."

"That's what he said, too," Trixie mumbles into Chloe's neck.

"Who?" Chloe says. "Mr. Garland?"

Another chair pulls out from the table. Trixie perks up in moments despite her upset. "Lucifer!"

"Offspring," Lucifer says with a nod as he sits across from them. "Daniel will be fine, as I'm sure your mother's told you."

Trixie nods tearfully as she slides out of Chloe's arms, trudges around the table, and tries to climb into his lap. He makes a panicked noise, deep in his throat, and he scoots back an inch, quickly enough to make the metal feet of his chair squeal against the floor in protest. "Wouldn't you rather sit on your mother?" he says, looking down his nose at her.

Trixie shakes her head. "No. You."

"Come on, Trix, leave him alone," Chloe says dutifully, holding out her hands. "He doesn't want you in his lap. C'mere."

But that just makes him scowl and say, "Bloody …." As his voice trails away, his glare at Trixie and then at Chloe is a full on missile strike, like he's saying, How dare you play that card? Though Chloe's not sure what card he thinks she's playing.

Trixie pouts and says, "Please?" in a tiny, sad voice.

The fire in his eyes blooms into an apocalyptic mushroom cloud.

With a swift motion, he reaches forward and grabs a heaping pile of paper napkins from the table's dispenser. Then he guides Trixie in front of him and proceeds to roughly wipe down her face, and her hands, and anywhere he can see skin. "Really," he mutters as he swipes behind her ear. The napkin comes away with brown streaks. "How does one get icing here unless it's sex-related?"

Trixie accepts this treatment with a perplexed frown, shifting and swaying at Lucifer's forceful decon procedures. "You use icing for sex?" she says in a scandalized tone, nose wrinkling, and Chloe wants to die on the spot.

"Sometimes," he says.

"Lucifer …," Chloe cautions, glaring.

"What?" he says primly. "You want me to lie? She'll grow up repressed and die a lonely Puritan."

"What's a Puritan?" Trixie wants to know.

He ignores her and throws a whole pile of crumpled, ruined, dirty napkins onto the table. Makes one more disgusted why do I let you do this to me sound. And then he pulls Trixie into his lap and says, "Happy?"

"Can I get more cake?" Trixie asks, sniffling.

Lucifer glowers. "Don't push your luck, urchin."

"What's an urchin?" she says.

"You are, clearly."

And she giggles despite her tears.

The sound is music. Chloe sighs as the tension drains out of her. "Let's go say hello to Daddy before we get more cake, okay?" she says, looking across the table at Lucifer.

He nods and mouths Room 212.

Chloe continues, "And we'll go for ice cream and cake, after. You can have as much as you want."

"Yes," Lucifer says. There's a long pause. He gives Trixie an unhappy look, and he reluctantly adds, "… My treat."

"You mean, you'll come, too?" Trixie says in a small voice.

He sighs, visibly ruffled, like he doesn't enjoy being caught sentimentalizing, least of all with a "small human." Nevertheless, he replies, "I'm a Devil of my word, am I not?"

"You'll have cake?"

"I love me a good sugar rush," he replies, prompting another giggle.

Trixie seems to find the promise of future ice cream and cake an acceptable state of affairs and climbs off of him. They all rise to leave. Much to Lucifer's continued chagrin, Trixie grabs not just Chloe's hand, but his hand, too.

He looks at her fingers as they mash his knuckles together. "Must you, offspring?" he gripes, irritation pinching at the corners of his eyes, though his protest seems to be token more than anything else.

Trixie grins at him with a mouth full of teeth and says, "Uh huh."

"You're still … sticky."

Trixie gives him a helpless I'd fix it if I could look.

Lucifer arches a judgy eyebrow at her, but the effect of his disdain is sabotaged by encroaching amusement. His lip twitches, and his eyes twinkle, like he might gift them with a genuine smile, but he doesn't. He looses a dramatic sigh instead, and he rolls his eyes. "Very well."

So, they walk up to the second floor together. Lucifer, Trixie, Chloe. All in a line, Trixie swinging like a happy monkey between them, Lucifer giving her irritated glances at regular intervals.

The Devil, a cake-loving eight-year-old, and a workaholic divorcee.

Probably the weirdest family on Earth.

But it works, Chloe thinks.

It works just fine.

Room 212 is a small shoebox of a room, barely big enough to fit the narrow hospital bed and all of the monitoring equipment. But at least the room is a solo unit, so Dan has some privacy, and at least it has a window, which some don't.

"Enjoying Mr. Blue, Daniel?" Lucifer says with a snort.

Trixie lies on the bed, curled up in Dan's arms, and Dan has lost the conversation … yet again. He blinks sluggishly, holds his hand limply in the air, and gives the snaking intravenous line a lazy smile. "I can see whyou do thistuff recraationly, maaaan," he says, the words stretched and not entirely formed. "I feel fan … fnast … fantastic."

"Um …," Dr. Weller says.

Chloe rolls her eyes. "Guys," she says, shooting a pointed look at Trixie, "let's not discuss this 'stuff,' now, okay?" She puts the word stuff in air quotes.

"Right," Dan says with a blink, "ssorry." He turns to Dr. Weller. "I don' do drugz." He points at Lucifer. "Only he doesz drugz."

"Not usually of the opioid variety," Lucifer pipes in. "They're all quite messy, after all. I prefer coke."

"I like Coke," Trixie says.

Chloe can only sigh. She gives Dr. Weller a look that she hopes reads as I swear, I'm a qualified and sober parent; please, don't call CPS. Lucifer, in a rare bout of empathy, jumps in with, "Offspring means the fizzy drink. Nothing untoward, I assure you."

"Riiight," Dr. Weller says slowly.

"So, this shockwave lithotripsy … th-thing," Chloe grinds out, trying to steer the conversation back into safe territory. "It's scheduled for tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dr. Weller says.

Dan winces, squeezing his eyes shut as a fresh wave of pain overwhelms him.

"Daddy?" Trixie warbles.

"He's okay," Chloe assures her. "This is normal."

The fact that he's still suffering, though, even doped up on a truckload of morphine, makes her heart constrict.

Dr. Weller adds softly, "Breakthrough pain is normal. We're doing what we can."

"I know," Chloe says. "Thank you."

Lucifer turns away and stalks with a put-upon sigh to the little reading chair by the window. Sunlight frames him in sharp relief, painting him as divine as his wings once did. He looks beautiful and terrible all at once. Definitely not human. The chair squeaks in protest as he clutches the back of it a little too hard.

"Uh …," Chloe says, frowning at Lucifer's strange display, "so, when do I need to pick him up?"

"The nurse will go over the details with you," says Dr. Weller, who doesn't seem to have noticed that something weird just happened. "Do you have any questions about the procedure itself, while I'm here, though?"

Chloe shakes her head.

"Okay then," Dr. Weller says. "Looks like everything is settled." He gives them all a smile. "We'll have Mr. Espinoza on his feet again in no time."

"Byyyyye!" Dan says with a dopey grin. He gives Dr. Weller a wave that almost looks like a muscle spasm.

Chloe turns to Lucifer, who already has his mouth open for what she can only assume is a blistering heap of snark. "Don't you even start," she says, before he can make another crack about Dan's flying-high routine.

Lucifer settles on a smirk, instead.

He's making a good show of being nonchalant about this whole thing. Amused, even. Except for that weird little slip with the chair. The back of which, she now sees is definitely snapped in two. What in the hell?

She doesn't press it, though.

Not when they have an audience.

"Ready for some ice cream, babe?" she says to Trixie. "Let's let Daddy get some sleep."

That night, long after Trixie falls asleep, Chloe leaves Maze to babysit.

Chloe finds Lucifer sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the long primary feather she'd given back to him. He strokes the feather absently along the rachis, from the end of the shaft, where he'd broken the feather away from his wing, to the off-kilter, bent tip, which had been caused by the violence of the wing's removal. The soft glow of his former plumage bathes his face, giving him an otherworldly appearance, but his expression is distant and blank, like he's looking beyond the feather in his hand, and into a void.

She hasn't seen the feather once since she gave it back to him weeks ago.

"Hey," she says, sitting beside him. The mattress dips as her weight settles. She wraps an arm low across his back and rests her head on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"A miniature rock collection has incapacitated poor Daniel, and you ask me if I'm all right?"

She nods at the feather. "You just seem … not all right." When he doesn't speak, she adds, "Are you thinking … about falling?"

He shakes his head. "Just that you humans are …." He clears his throat and looks at her. "Well, you're terribly fragile."

"Well, yeah," she says. "Compared to you."

"No comparison needed," he says with a sigh. "All it takes is a calcified deposit the size of a poppyseed getting stuck in your plumbing, and you're writhing on the ground like you've had a scrub and bubble in a bath of Hellfire. It's …."

"Scary?" she says, rubbing his arm.

He snorts, looking up from the feather at last. He gives her a humorless, dark look. "Very little frightens me."

She doesn't see much point in noting that he didn't answer her question. His non-answer answer is answer enough, she thinks. She kisses him.

"It's just kinda … how mortality works," she says.

"How on earth do you sleep at night?"

She laughs. "I think it's a combination of denial and resignation. I mean, there's not much we can do about it. So … why worry?"

He scoffs. "You really are terribly designed."

"But you love us anyway," she counters.

He looks at her. "Well, I love you, at any rate."

She smiles at him. He speaks of love with the rarity of red beryl, and each moment shines just as bright. She reaches for the feather, careful to avoid the razor-like edges. He lets go without hesitation - his trust is absolute once given. She gently sets the feather on the nightstand. Its divine light quickly overwhelms the glow emanating from his digital alarm clock, blotting out the time.

"Show me," she tells him.

A sly gleam enters his expression as his dark eyes narrow, and then with a graceful extension of his arm, he pulls her close. He flops onto his back, bringing her down onto the bed with him. The covers rustle. The world shrinks to a pinpoint.

He reaches up, pushing his fingers through her hair with a soft, stated sigh. She wraps her fingers around his bicep as it bulges. "You are exquisite," he says, looking up at her with hunger. The ferocity of his adoration is overwhelming.

Her heart starts to thump in her ears.

"Do what you will to me," he says, giving her the reins.

She sinks into the moment like it's quicksand.