Chapter 3/7
You trick your lovers that you're wicked and divine

Lux occupies a unique space in LA's nightlife. Though not nearly as unique as the owner himself. During the early evening hours, Lux operates as a piano bar where its king holds court in a more intimate setting. The DJ and the rest of the party crowd don't arrive until after ten. Chloe prefers the former over the latter, not only because Lucifer is more inclined to perform without having to compete with club music's thumping bass line. The patrons at this hour are older than their late-night counterparts. They're more interested in the easy pleasures of a glass of wine and audible conversation. No one demands Lucifer's immediate attention, and he sticks close to her.

They start with a drink at the bar, some hideously expensive bottle he keeps on reserve for special occasions. The bourbon goes down so smooth that she soon stops protesting the waste. Her first drink nestles warm and snug in her belly. They sit, loose-limbed and floating in each other's personal space, while the crowd trickles to fullness.

"I feel like playing a few songs. Care to join me on stage, darling?" Lucifer grabs both the bottle and their glasses before he stands. His eyes glimmer like stars in the dim lighting.

How can she refuse? Especially if he's holding the good bourbon hostage.

It's been a long while since she's sat front and center in Lux. The piano bench creaks under their collective weight. She doesn't sit pressed against his side, but close enough. He needs both arms to play effectively. He pours them another two fingers each. She cradles her tumbler, watching his throat convulse and his Adam's apple bob when he downs his in one gulp.

The urge to lick a line up the strong column of his neck proves too compelling. She drowns it with a mouthful of bourbon.

A hush falls over the bar when the first note rings in the air. All eyes are on them. No, they're all on Lucifer. He skips the chords and warm-up, diving straight into an upbeat melody at home in the Big Band era. The energy paints a smile on her lips, one he mirrors with boyish charm. The rest of the world falls away.

He performs a medley of contemporary pop and soulful jazz, his voice a soaring counterpoint to the piano. She will never compare his singing to that of an angel. Angels are aloof and removed from humanity. They can never achieve the stirring depths expressed by Lucifer's baritone.

The Devil has soul after all.

She laughs, unable to suppress the mirth bubbling up. Warmth cocoons her like her favorite throw blanket, fortified by the never-ending supply of excellent bourbon. His effortless grace, from the way he pours to the way he plays, mesmerizes her. After acknowledging the truth, she can't deny his more unearthly qualities even if she wants to. It's in his every breath, every word, every flick of his wrist, every quicksilver and razor-sharp smile, and every instance of directed eye contact. Little else can be as fascinating as Lucifer when he's in the room. Lucifer's presence burns as bright as the sun, and she can't tear her eyes away even if it blinds her.

She loves him so damn much.

But everything eventually ends. His fingers still and his voice fades into an echo only heard in her head.

He arches an eyebrow and wiggles the empty bottle in her face. "Enjoyed that, did you?"

She contemplates making a rude gesture but sticks out her tongue instead.

"Rude," he chuckles, sending a wave of vibrations through her body. "But I'll forgive you as you're having fun. I'll get us another bottle."

Chloe begrudges his departure but she'll be damned if she tells him. His ego is plenty big enough. As he approaches the bar, her eyes trace a path from the broad set of his shoulders to his trim waist and finally lands on his ass. God, his suits are really tailored to show off all his "assets." He might as well be nude. He'd probably like that. Probably has an exhibitionist streak.

The memory of Lucifer's naked body ambushes her, knocking out her reason and leaving it hogtied in a closet. She nearly passes out from the ensuing heat engulfing her and pooling between her legs. Apparently learning and accepting the truth about him hasn't put a damper on her libido. Her mind drifts back to the passionate kiss they shared earlier that afternoon. Maybe Lucifer won't object to a repeat performance.

Unfortunately, she's not the only one entertaining carnal thoughts about the Devil. At the bar, a pretty slip of a girl— Was she even old enough to be here? The girl in a short red dress sidles up to Lucifer with a coy smile on her painted lips. They're not exactly touching, but her bedroom eyes aren't any less indecent for the lack of direct contact. Chloe definitely can't hear what Lucifer's admirer is saying from this distance, but even he has to lean down to catch whatever filthy things she's whispering.

A second admirer soon joins the first, then swiftly followed by another and another until Lucifer has a veritable harem surrounding him. Every woman and man, perfect in their beauty and dress, wear the same rapturous and covetous expression. No doubt each and every one of them are hungry for the "best night of their life." Over their heads, Lucifer shoots her an apologetic look but doesn't extract himself from the group.

She picks at the hem of her twenty-dollar blouse purchased from Target on sale, unspooling more of the loose thread dangling from the hem. Her hastily redone ponytail hides how tangled her hair is. Then her hands find the edge of the piano bench, gripping the wood for dear life.

Chloe's arousal dies a swift and painful death, sentenced to the guillotine by the mental parade of his ex-lovers. Beautiful people constantly throw themselves at Lucifer. It happens all the time during cases and interrogations. The thought grips her like a riptide, pulls her under, and shreds her self-esteem on the rocky shores of her doubt.

Salt stings her eyes. She can't stay any longer, surrounded by beautiful people and their photoshoot-ready hair and makeup and their designer clothes.

Moving on instinct, she retreats to the time-honored refuge of all women three drinks too deep and on the verge of tears at a nightclub: the ladies' room. Thankfully, there's no line for the restroom at this hour, but it's far from empty. A gaggle of girlfriends occupies the sinks, fixing their makeup and chit-chatting.

She throws herself at the remaining open spot and wrenches on the faucet. The cold water is a shock to her system, but it can't dispel the cloud hanging over her head. Get it together, she berates herself. She can't cry over losing what she never had in the first place. In the mirror, her haggard reflection stares back with droplets run down her chin and gather in a growing wet spot staining her collar. The light from the bulbs framing the mirror holds a personal grudge against her, washing out her complexion. She'd be right at home in a crowd of extras in a zombie flick. No additional makeup needed.

She chokes back another sob.

"Are you all right?" asks a kind, female voice.

She jumps and spins to face the woman addressing her. The statuesque Asian woman towers over Chloe; her dark brown eyes alight with concern and her sleek black hair falling free in waves most women would kill for. Her navy blue dress is form-fitting but tasteful. She's a literal model that just stepped off a Milan runway.

"You... your dress is beautiful," she blurts out. Drunk Chloe always has less of a filter.

"Oh, thank you. It has pockets," she proudly proclaims, turning out her left pocket to reveal a wrapped chocolate chip cookie.

Mid-laugh, Chloe bursts into tears. Of course, the gorgeous model lady speaks with a refined, British accent and lines the pockets of her thousand-dollar dress with snacks. She's been nothing but kind and good-humored, but it's another slap in Chloe's face. Chloe is a single mom on what some argue is the wrong side of thirty. Lucifer has seen it all and done it all–also done it all. What can she possibly offer a man—a freaking angel like Lucifer?

"Don't cry," the stunning woman begs.

Chloe sobs harder. Her nostrils clog with snot. She can't get enough air in her lungs. The tears won't stop no matter how many time she wipes her eyes with her sleeve. She knows she's a mess. But she can't stop. She wants it to stop so badly.

Her new friend stays with her, quietly muttering reassurances and fetching Chloe wads of toilet paper to blow her nose. Under her care, Chloe's sobs eventually subside into hiccups.

"I'm Astrid," the dazzling woman introduces herself at long last. "What's your name?"

"Chloe," she sniffles.

"A pleasure to meet you, Chloe. Are you here with someone? I can get a message to them so they don't worry."

The reminder knifes Chloe in the gut. "No, not really. I wasn't. I mean, it doesn't matter now. He won't notice..."

Astrid makes a sympathetic noise low in her throat. "I'm sorry to hear that, dear."

"Forget the jerk," one of Astrid's friends, another Asian woman wearing wide-rimmed glasses and a glitzy gold dress, chimes in. Her impish face and aggressively energetic delivery remind Chloe of Ella. She wiggles her fingers in a friendly wave. "I'm Tina by the way."

Chloe bites her tongue, struggling to keep herself in check. Eventually, she forces herself to return the greeting. "Hi..."

"Don't mind her. Tina means well." Astrid shakes her head fondly.

"Tina's right," Tina grumbles before applying a layer of electric pink lipstick, then smacks her lips a resounding pop.

Astrid continues prodding with her gentle concern. "Is there someone else you can call? Family? A friend?"

"I'm fine," she insists. No way in hell is she calling Dan or letting Trixie see her like this. She'd left her car parked downstairs in Lux's garage. She can drive herself home after sobering up. Okay, she has a plan now. Sober up, get home and bury herself under a mountain of blankets. She's good. She can focus on executing that plan. "I'll be fine in a while."

Astrid's frown deepens, wearing an expression which Chloe is rarely on the receiving end of.

Chloe flashes her badge still clipped to her jeans. "Really, I can take care of myself."

"Ohh," Tina leans around Astrid for a better look, slinging her arm around the taller woman's waist. "Are you a cop for reals? Are you here to bust somebody? Is this a sting?"

"No. No. I'm off duty."

A wicked grin spreads across Tina's shockingly pink lips. "Hmmm, show that to the jerk you were crying over. Maybe arrest 'em to teach 'em a lesson."

"It's none of our business," Astrid sighs.

"Uh-huh, which is why you were mother-henning her?" Tina shoots back, raising a finely pencil eyebrow.

As Astrid opens her mouth to argue, the restroom door swings open and slams into the adjacent wall with a bang. Everyone whirls to face the man staggering into the room.

"Detective!" Lucifer shouts.

Tina jumps back, releases Astrid, and whistles. "Damn!"

"Excuse me. Sir," Astrid scolds. "This is the women's washroom."

He barely spares Astrid a glance, attention fixed on Chloe alone. He furrows his brow, sweeping his scrutinizing gaze up and down the length of her body. It's as if he's checking for injuries. He steps forward and reaches for her. Chloe ducks behind Astrid, using the taller woman as a shield. Were Chloe not inebriated, she would be ashamed of her behavior.

Lucifer falters. His hands drop limply to his side. "Detective, you were gone. I was worried when you didn't come back. What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm not," she replies petulantly, fighting back a fresh wave of tears. "Go back to your fan club, Lucifer."

"I thought you were my biggest fan," he teases. When she doesn't respond, the fragile but hopeful expression slips from his face and shatters into a thousand pieces.

By then, a curious audience gathers around them. Women are sticking their heads out of the stalls, staring at Lucifer with a familiar hunger. Another small group congregates in the doorway, tittering with excitement.

"Detective," he swallows audibly. "I've ruined it, haven't I? It was a matter of time." The agony twisting across his face tears her heart in twain. He wears rejection as well as a poorly fitted suit.

She hates herself for making him feel like he's solely responsible for all the world's ills. "No, Lucifer, you haven't done anything."

"I don't understand."

Loosened by alcohol, the words almost escape her in a screeching litany. She swallows them all back, each more painful and cutting than a bowl of broken glass. "Just forget it."

For a moment, he considers her request. But Chloe is never so lucky. She can pinpoint the exact moment he digs in his heels. But it's different from when he does it on cases. His eye contact is purposeful but calm as he dials back his usual intensity. His shoulders roll forward and present a posture that, while not subservient, comes off as acquiescent. "I can't. Please tell me, Detective."

The Devil shouldn't beg. He should beg her. She gestures to Astrid. "Look at her. Look at me. How can I compare?"

"There's no competition." His eyes never leave her face, like she's the only thing that matters. Not even when he addresses Astrid with an afterthought. "No offense, darling. I'm sure you're lovely and all."

"None taken," Astrid says in bewilderment. Sensing the conversation has taken a turn, she steps out from between Chloe and Lucifer. But she remains shoulder-to-shoulder with Chloe in a silent show of solidarity.

Chloe tries another angle of attack. "And what about all the people out there?"

"None of them hold a candle to you, Detective," he replies easily.

"Your life is a never-ending sex party with LA's most beautiful people. You would give all that up?" Her stupid drunk brain conjures up all the people she interviewed for the flight attendants case. She's fine with them. She holds nothing against them. They're in the past. But what about the future? She can't change Lucifer after all.

He takes a deep breath and straightens. He's not looming but gathering his courage. "De— Dar— Chloe," he breathes her name, and she wants to melt into him. "I desire no one but you. I want to be with you in whatever way you'll allow. Tell me, do you desire someone else? Would you expect me to share you with another person?"

Her lower lip trembles with emotions. "No."

Lucifer Morningstar, the bastard, has ruined her for all people.

"I will never ask something of you I would not reciprocate in kind. There will never be other people between us. Isn't that what it means to choose each other?"

Trust him to use her earlier words against her. He's made his feelings about them, exclusivity, and monogamy quite clear. Lucifer's word is his bond. That should be the end of that. If they were human, the matter would be settled.

Except he's not human, and she is.

"Miracle or not, I'm a divorced cop with a nine-year-old kid. You are a literal son of God," she reminds him.

Astrid and several other women gape at her. Chloe knows what she looks like to the others. Crazy. A sloppy hot mess melting down in a public restroom. Yet there's a strange power to speaking the truth even if no one believes you. Maybe this is why Lucifer never made any efforts to hide who he is.

"This..." She points back and forth between them. "How can this work out?"

In reality, they're less than three feet away from each other. But to her, the yawning chasm between them—between divinity and humanity, the eternal and the ephemeral—grows ever wider. The breadth and enormity of his experiences, his literal eons of life boggles her. He's seen entire civilizations rise and fall. He's breathed air untainted by man's progress and industry. He's glimpsed Rome's humble beginnings before the empire was even a glimmer in the eyes of its first emperor.

She has never been more aware of how small and inconsequential she is in the grand scheme of things.

"You could never be inconsequential," he says breathlessly.

She wants to believe him, especially when he looks at her like that. Like... She's seen that gleam in his eyes before, back when she'd convinced herself he was human and nothing more. Now that she knows, she's somehow less equipped to deal with it than ever before.

He takes a shuddering breath, squares his shoulder, and works his jaw in a determined set. He gets this way when he's bent on convincing her of his side. "Chloe, these last two years have been the most meaningful ones in a very long time. I found a purpose of my own choosing. Against all odds, I found a home. I've met people who have come closest to seeing and accepting me as I am. Why? Because you are good and selfless and you gather the best of what I've seen in humanity around you."

She shakes her head in denial. His praise is too heavy a crown for her brow. The pedestal he's crafted is too high. "No, Lucifer. I'm only human. I'm not some goddess or angel."

Not like him.

"No, you misunderstand, Detective! You wouldn't be half as brilliant if you were divine. I have watched you struggle when faced with the darkness inside yourself and others. You choose good despite how difficult it is. You lead by an example so bright and fierce that even the Devil thinks twice. That I might think I too can be..." He can't bring himself to voice the rest. It should be impossible for a man of Lucifer's stature to appear small. But he does. And she knows all too well how he sees himself: the Devil, a monster.

"You know I don't think of you that way. You're my partner. You're...Lucifer..." she finishes dumbly, her tongue a stupid leaden weight in her mouth.

He smiles lightly and shakes his head in disbelief. "Which is why it's unfathomable you're still here. That you would choose to be here. That you'd ever choose me. I can't fathom why you'd think I was worthy of your grace or consideration. But I want to be."

"Lucifer..."

"This is virgin territory for me. There's no telling what the future holds or what Dad has planned." The haunted look on his face ages him by centuries. He squeezes his eyes shut, burying those fears of what they can't control. Then he meets her gaze with almost begging eyes. "But there is one thing I can say with certainty: I'm the one humbled before you. Because you, Chloe Jane Decker, are the brightest soul in all of existence, and not even the stars I've fashioned can hope to measure up."

Someone in a stall sniffles loudly before blowing their nose. Chloe feels a sympathetic tickle in the back of her eyes and throat.

For once, the reminder of his divinity doesn't sting. This isn't any easier for him despite what he is. He's not omniscient like his Father. Like her, he's all too flawed and scared of this dark, seemingly bottomless abyss under both their feet. But he's willing to—no, he wants to face that together with her. Hand in hand, with their eyes wide open to the truth and all its beautiful, terrible consequences.

Even though she has no wings, she flies across the space separating them to wind her arms around his waist. He stumbles back under her tackle but quickly rights them with a steadying hand on the small of her back.

Like other times in the past, he holds her gently, curling protectively around her shorter frame and tucking her head under his chin. She wishes this embrace can be hers alone too. Maybe she doesn't have to share this with any other being, divine or otherwise.

A soft hum of approval sweeps through their audience, crash-landing Chloe back into reality. Now that she's been talked back from the figurative ledge, mortification overwhelms her. She loosens her death grip but doesn't step out of his personal space. Hiding her beet red cheeks in his shirt, she murmurs awkwardly, "Maybe we should take this elsewhere."

"Of course." Though he steps back, he keeps his hand on her back, barely grazing the fabric of her shirt. "Apologies, ladies, for intruding on your space. I'll let the bar know your next round's on the house."

She can't fight the smile creeping across her lips. It was such a Lucifer sort of apology. She sneaks a look over her shoulder, mouthing a silent "thank you" to Astrid and Tina. Astrid returns the gratitude with an elegant nod, while Tina throws up two thumbs up.

Chloe shuffles out of the restroom with Lucifer hot on her tail. Through the door shutting behind them, Chloe can still hear someone exclaim, "Well, that was legit bonkers!"

She can't agree more. But with each step forward on this strange twisting path, her footsteps grow steadier and more confident. Besides, she has the Lightbringer at her side to illuminate the dark.