Disclaimer: All of the characters appearing in Lucifer are copyrighted by Fox Television, Neil Gaiman and Vertigo Comics. No infringement of these copyrights intended, and is not authorized by the copyright holder. I write this fanfiction only for fun and not for profit.
I love watching Chloe when she is in her element. It is strangely lovely to do what she does best. Chloe's attention to detail and intuitive deduction never fail to surprise and inspire me to see beyond myself rather than merely observe. It is her nature to precisely analyze every minute detail in a case. When she fully focused on solving the mystery, her eyes carefully survey the entire crime scene, her thoughts playing on her face when she fits the clues together to form a mosaic of confession on behalf of the perpetrator. Her eyes darken with she is intent on obtaining her goal; they glimmer with the knowledge of victory.
She sees my less positive traits, thinks I'm an ass and, yet, says that I make her a better detective. I am amazed at how she can change personas from by-the-book cop to sensual ingénue when it suits her. When I listen to her insights, not only do I understand her a little more, she broadens my understanding of humans and their emotions. When I find most endearing is when she is overcome with these emotions, she tells me, "Shut up," rather than voice them.
As she figures out the resolution, she systematically links together the evidence in the case, categorizes it logically and seamlessly fits together all of its pieces. While she says it's instinct and intuition, I secretly think that it's bloody amazing. That is why she is the best detective on the L.A.P.D. She tells me to observe and not just to look. Nevertheless, I find it agonizingly challenging to appraise a crime scene or anything else when she constantly vexes me. The best part is when everything comes together inside her mind and it she solves the case. Because of her discerning eye for detail, Chloe sees what others miss. I think I've become fond of my Detective when she looked at me with bright, wide blue eyes and told me that I'm not evil, selfish or truly the Devil.
When she puts her eyes upon me, my breath quickens and the seam of my trousers becomes uncomfortably snug. I give her my most charming smile and make sure the mask is in place, but I want it to slip . . . for her. I want her to see me as I am and say my appearance is of no consequence, only my character. If I make her a better detective, she inspires me to simply be better. My heart aches, my breath quickens and I harden in her presence. She stills me, quiets and thrills me all at once. When I am in her arms, I am accepted, forgiven and redeemed. Her smile can give a fallen angel pause.
Yes, I am addicted to my Detective and I make no attempt to hide it. At times, Chloe calls me an ass or annoying because I forget my charm doesn't mesmerize her as it does half the lackwits in L.A. I know that she is too clever and discerning to not instinctively know how I feel about when she looks to me as more than a partner, but also a friend. She is my Paradise and my redemption, my ambrosia and my opium. My Detective is my private champion to whom I joyfully surrender. Chloe is my walking heroine.
