Okkkk, guys, fair warning, things get a little… steamy… and that's a pun so, sorry not sorry. I've never written anything like this before, so let me know how I did. Good luck! (TW: allusion to suicide)
Chapter 12.
He held her as tight as he could against the chilling wind that caught in their dripping clothes. He'd never felt so relieved. Right now, it didn't matter how it happened or why, only that she was returned. Perhaps he held on so strongly just to make sure the delicate shaking figure in his arms was really real, and he didn't notice when she'd begun to cry.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He gripped her shoulders and pulled her off of him to examine. There were no signs of physical damage. He should've thought of it sooner, though. "Did they hurt you?"
She scarcely shook her head and let her forehead fall forward into his shoulder.
"Okay, it's okay, it's okay…" he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and slowly reached to stroke her hair, not quite sure what to do. "You're safe now. You're safe."
He dug his phone out of his pocket, having forgotten that it was immersed in water along with him. The screen was distorted with gradients of green and purple, but miraculously, it seemed to function fine. He dialed 911 and gave them the location. Chloe continued to sob into his chest, which was rather uncharacteristic of her and therefore made him quite worried. What happened while she was gone? She was ice cold, shivering, and obviously quite distressed. He had no idea what to do about it, which only made him more uneasy, as he'd never really been in this position before. He was used to inflicting pain, not comforting. What happened to her? His anxious mind went to dark places, but he knew she was in no condition to be questioned, so he rocked with her gently while the paramedics arrived.
They bustled around, asking a million questions and trying to peel her off of him.
"What happened?" One of them asked.
"She fell off the bridge." That was a lie, she was nowhere near the bridge, but he couldn't very well tell them she appeared and fell out of thin air. Humans were such sticklers for their understanding of physics.
They'd now sat her back and instructed him to move away. Someone was shining a flashlight into her eyes. Another one continued to question him and scribble in a little notepad. "Does she have a history of mental illness?"
"What? No! You weren't listening, I didn't say she jumped, she fell."
"Sir. I'm gonna need you to calm down. We deal with this kind of thing all the time."
The men behind him were loading her into a gurney and getting a syringe ready.
"You're not listening! What is that you're giving her?" Lucifer asked, growing impatient.
"Just a mild sedative, it's standard procedure—"
Lucifer pushed the man aside as Chloe flinched and reached for him. He ran over and grabbed her hand while the paramedics yelled at him to step away.
"Don't leave me alone!" she pleaded.
"I won't."
She clung to him until they let him ride in the ambulance with her. She stopped sobbing quickly when they gave her the tranquilizer and just looked vacantly at the ceiling. He pressed her freezing fingertips to his lips and could've sworn she quivered.
For the second time now, Chloe woke up in the hospital with Lucifer waiting at her bedside. He smiled when he saw her eyes open.
"Detective, how are we feeling?"
She made a pained grunt and closed them. She was still sedated and disoriented, and her fragmented memory didn't help the overwhelming anxiety rising through her chest.
"They've notified your family and the department," he continued. "Not to worry, the little human is being taken care of by her grandparents, I believe. They'll want to see you when you feel better."
She shook her head, "I can't…" Her voice came out raspy and she stopped to clear her throat.
He waited for her to continue. "You can't what?"
"I don't… want to see them, yet."
He watched as she pulled the blanket up to her throat and slid down lower into the hospital bed.
"Very well. What do you want?"
"Take me home," she muttered, barely above a whisper.
He tilted his head. "Fine, if that's what you wish. As soon as the doctor says you're free to go."
She sat up and raised her voice slightly, like a child threatening to throw a tantrum. "I want to go home now!"
He smiled politely like he tended to do when he was about to disagree, "I'm not sure that's the best idea…"
"They're just keeping me here because they think I'm gonna try to hurt myself."
"Are you?"
"No!"
It was true, they were keeping her under observation because they were convinced she jumped off the bridge. He knew that wasn't what happened. Her chart, which he'd nosed around in, reported that her physical condition was perfectly fine. "Okay, tell you what, detective, we can go home in a few hours when the drugs wear off. Let me just go get your paperwork."
He stood up to get the nurse when she grabbed his sleeve and turned him around. He looked up from her hand and found her staring helplessly into his eyes.
"I'll be right back, don't worry," he reassured with a perplexed smile.
By the time they released her, it was morning. She was much more alert as she followed him to the car. He was tired, too, having stayed awake for several days now, which was one of the reasons why they rode in silence. When they pulled up in front of her house, he jogged around to the other side and helped her out of the car. She froze for a moment when he shut the door behind her, then continued walking. He was starting to notice that she was unusually easy to startle, though that was not altogether unusual after having been abducted… by angels… shit.
At the steps, she fumbled with her keys for several minutes. He watched her patiently, gathering his observations together to try to figure out what's going on. She finally sighed in frustration and he took the key ring from her. "Please, allow me." He had no trouble unlocking her door and ushered her in.
The house was bathed in brash daylight. He followed her upstairs and closed the blackout curtains in her bedroom while she kicked off her shoes and slumped down on the edge of the bed. The brightness in the room died down and the atmosphere suddenly felt less strained. When he turned around, she seemed to be looking at the floor.
He approached her cautiously. "Are you alright? Ah, sorry, stupid question…"
She didn't respond, but looked up at him. Her expression was uneasy and she seemed to be struggling with something. She reached out her hand and he noticed that it was trembling. He knelt down in front of her so that she was now looking down at him. His curiosity was killing him and he knew they'd have to talk about it eventually, but she looked so worn out that he couldn't bring himself to start that conversation. Instead, he said, "You ought to get some rest."
"Will you… umm, will you stay with me?"
"If that's what you wish."
"I don't want to be alone…"
"You don't have to explain," he shook his head and got up, eyeing her. She was still wearing her clothes from the other night, which now smelled faintly like seawater. Her hair was tussled. She looked a bit like a mermaid distraught about being on land. "You must be uncomfortable. Come on, then."
He tugged on her hands and pulled her up. Walking backward and occasionally glancing behind himself to see, he walked her to the bathroom. She seemed too much in a stupor to question it. Once they were inside, he let go of her hands.
"Right! So then, in you go," he gestured toward the shower.
She stood staring blankly at him.
"What?"
Her glance wandered away toward the mirror, but remained indifferent to her surroundings.
He frowned. "Look, detective, I am more than happy to jump right in there with you, but I thought perhaps you'd appreciate some privacy. Go on then, I'll be outside. Are you feeling up t—"
He stopped mid-sentence as she reached under her black turtleneck and, in one smooth move, whipped it off of herself and tossed it onto the ground. She had a funny way of drifting in and out the whole night. One moment she was herself, and the next she was completely detached. He stood there contemplating this and staring at her black lace bra like a deer in the headlights. Though he didn't have to imagine what was under it, it was an image that had already burned into his memory, and he couldn't look away until she started to unzip her pants. The sound of the zipper broke him out of his trance and he cleared his throat, hoping to remind her that he was still there if she'd accidentally forgotten.
But she was already turning around to walk to the shower and the only word she said was, "Out."
He obeyed.
He wandered down to the kitchen and stared blankly into her refrigerator. Before him was a sight of complete and utter monotony: fruits, vegetables, basic dairy products, all piled neatly side by side. Not a trace of dessert or anything exciting at all. He sighed. But of course the detective would keep a healthy diet in her tediously organized kitchen. Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind and he took out an egg and a carton of whipping cream. He rummaged around her cupboards, taking out some sugar and praying to find dark chocolate. He grinned at his success, extracting a Ghirardelli bar hidden in the back of the top shelf. Yes, this'll do.
Meanwhile, Chloe let the water run over her head, hoping it would clear away some of the bewilderment. Fragments of the night at the docks kept flashing in her head, but what was perhaps more disturbing was that she remembered nothing after that until she awoke on the shore with Lucifer leaning over her. At sunset. She didn't know how long she was gone. She had no idea what happened in that time. A cap suddenly popped off a bottle of shampoo and ricocheted off the ground as she realized she'd been squeezing it.
Downstairs, Lucifer loaded all of the ingredients into the mixer and was humming to himself as he added a splash of Amaretto before turning it on. Its hum melded with the distant sound of running water to form a mind-numbing euphony of white noise. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the counter. It's likely that she won't want to eat, but there's no way she'll be able to resist chocolate mousse, strawberries, and wine. He mentally patted himself on the back and imagined bringing these upstairs. Perhaps he'll find her waiting in her bedroom, in front of the mirror again with that yellow dress… his hand slipped off the counter and he barely caught himself. Oops. Back to the present, then.
He arranged the mousse neatly into 2 martini glasses and set them on a tray next to the wine glasses and bowl of strawberries. It had been quite some time. Did the detective always have a propensity for taking such long showers? He carried the tray upstairs carefully and set it on her nightstand. Then, he sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a suit and it suddenly seemed stifling, so he took off his jacket and set it on the back of a chair, then looked around the room awkwardly, no longer having a way to entertain himself. Perhaps he should go check on her, he thought, loosening his necktie and kicking off his shoes.
He stopped at the bathroom door, in the middle of rolling up his sleeves halfway, and knocked. No answer. "Detective, are you still in there?" There was the sound of running water, so yes, it was a safe bet that she was still there. Idiot, he mentally scolded himself. "Is everything alright? Do you need anything?"
There was still no answer. He looked at his watch. It had been almost an hour. "Detective…" he bit his lip, "Could you just tell me you haven't drowned, please?"
Still nothing. Wait. What if something did happen? She almost drowned earlier today, what if the water reminded her of it? What if she slipped and fell and cracked her fragile little skull open? He mentally kicked himself for both worrying and not worrying soon enough and made up his mind. "Okay, seriously, I'm just going to come in and make sure you're—" He opened the door and found her sitting on the shower floor hugging her knees.
"Oh dear."
She didn't look at him, but continued to rock slightly back and forth. Oh no. The poor thing. The realization suddenly hit him. He could only imagine what she might've seen. It must be so frightening for a human, like he felt when he first woke up in LA. He closed the door behind him and slowly strode toward the shower.
Barefoot, but fully clothed, he stepped into the water and knelt down beside her. She grabbed on to his arm. They sat in silence like that for a while, letting the water run over them. Finally, he spoke in a soft tone, "Chloe, what happened?"
She sighed. "I have no idea."
"It's alright, you can tell me."
"I wish I could, but I don't remember anything."
He looked at her incredulously as she continued.
"I remember waking up soaking wet, and I remember the docks the night before… Was it the night before? How long was I gone? Where did I go? How?"
She was starting to get worked up and he silently hoped that she might've forgotten that one moment right before they took her.
"I just… the last thing I remember…" she hesitated. His breath caught in his throat. "There were two men… They had no weapons, no guards… I thought they were so stupid. I ran out to apprehend them and then…"
He waited anxiously. She seemed to be searching for words. Suddenly, she laughed. "I must be losing my entire goddamn mind."
He didn't know whether to be disturbed or relieved until she stood up and burst out crying.
"I don't know what's happening. Lucifer, I think I might be crazy! I have no idea what happened to me!"
He followed her up, trying (not too) carefully to avoid looking below her face. "Shh, it's okay."
"It's not okay! I'm… I must be insane!"
"Why?"
"Because the last thing I remember, oh, you're gonna think this is hilarious. The last thing I remember is seeing you on the other side with glowing red eyes."
There it was, the thing he dreaded most, yet he couldn't bring himself to lie and deny it. Perhaps he couldn't bear to deceive her anymore, or maybe he really wanted, needed her to know him. Either way, his next words spilled out before he could think them through. "No, you're not crazy."
"…This isn't funny."
"I'm not joking."
Now she looked at him like he was crazy.
He hesitated. This isn't a good decision, his mind protested, but he'd always been drawn to the bad ones anyway. Before he could overthink it any more, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he let just a faint aura of red glow around his pupils. It swirled like hazy smoke.
She shrieked and stumbled backward. He blinked back to his normal eyes and caught her by her elbows. Her eyes were wider than he'd ever seen them. He searched them for clues to what was going through her head.
In reality, her mind was completely blank. She couldn't even begin to wrap her head around what she'd just seen and everything that it necessitated. She put her hand on his chest, staring with her mouth gaping open. The sound of the water finally broke through the tension between them and her questions began to pour like a waterfall. "Wait, so… so you're not shitting me, you're actually…"
"Afraid so."
She laughed, "Which means that…"
"Yep."
"And… I mean, my Judeo-Christian mythology is rusty, but…"
"Yyyyeah, that's not really how it works anyway…"
"But… you're…"
He cocked his head to the side, waiting for her to formulate a complete thought.
"You're… oh God, I'm going to hell."
The corners of his lips curled into a grin. "What, because of that thing with Nina in 8th grade?"
She gasped.
"Oh yeah, I know about that," he winked. Now it was his turn to burst out laughing. He found her innocence particularly ironic. "Ohhh, detective, no. No, no. Although," he looked her up and down, "there's still time."
The color drained from her face and concentrated in her cheeks.
"I'm kidding! Oh, bloody hell, it's just a joke. Mostly."
Alas, she was already lost in thought and her face had grown serious and distant again. She turned away, murmuring under her breath as her thoughts worked to untangle the mess.
"No, no… Chloe, come on, stay with me!" He turned her cheek back towards him. It was a moment of vulnerability for both of them and he desperately needed her to be there in it with him. It had possibly taken the last of his bravery to share this with her and he didn't know if he would do it again.
She put her hand back on his chest, slowly feeling for a heartbeat under the clinging wet button-down. He had a heartbeat. It was there. He was real. She wasn't sure what exactly he was, or what she just saw, but—
"I'm real," he reassured, almost like he'd read her mind. Oh God, could he read her mind? Could he tell what she was thinking about right now, how she wanted to take that shirt off of him? Did he hear every dirty thought that bounced around her head?
He didn't answer, but covered her hand with his. She glanced up to find him searching her eyes and she was caught, caught in his stare. She couldn't look away. Neither could he, it seemed, as he slowly reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his wet shirt. The water ran over his shoulders and down his collarbones, which she could tell the outlines of underneath as he undid the next button just as slowly and wordlessly as the first. She could see, now, that the water gathered into a single stream that ran down the middle of his chest and disappeared in the place where the third button was until he undid that one too, and the next, and the next. She couldn't restrain herself any longer and snaked her hands into the opening, running them apart toward his shoulders. He breathed into her touch. His skin was smooth as velvet. His muscles were perfectly toned. The little bit of his body that was open to her right now was so sinful, she wasn't sure she could handle more.
He stood still and pliant and allowed her to slip the shirt off of his arms and onto the floor. She then slid her hands up his biceps and back toward the middle of his chest. It felt like the shower had turned hotter. The steam was gathering around them and had clouded up the glass and mirrors, locking them into the middle of its mist. She could feel energy radiating off of his skin and it drove her crazy. All of her questions had at once been replaced with a single thought, the impression of his presence. It flooded all of her senses. It was the only thing she could feel. She just wanted him closer, closer, everywhere, all over her. Why was he standing still? Why weren't his hands on her? And if he could read her mind, why hadn't he—
"Your thoughts are safe," he cut them off, "I cannot read your mind. I mean, I guess I could if I really needed to, but most of the time I find that it's… unnecessary…"
His voice prompted her to look up at him again and find that he was regarding her face carefully. His words echoed like layered chants, like the devil whispering in her ear. They seemed to come from everywhere at once. He looked into her eyes, then at her lips, then at her eyes again, and his own seemed to be daring her to act, watching to see what she'll do.
She couldn't take it any longer. She dug her nails into his skin and reached for his lips. He took a step backward, unprepared for her sudden forcefulness, and allowed her to kiss him. The second their lips touched, it was like a paralyzing surge shot through their bodies. He felt it too. It stopped them from moving, breathing, even their hearts from beating for a moment. Then, time seemed to resume and he took a step toward her, cupping her cheeks in his hands. He kissed her softly, gently, but hungrily, giving her just a taste but holding back the flood. One of his hands slipped behind her ear into her hair, through which the water flowed like a river. The other found its way down her throat, then just his fingertips traced down between her breasts and wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He kissed her harder until she moaned into his mouth. He carefully curled his hand into a fist and pulled her hair back, exposing her throat. The scent of her skin spun his head as he traced her artery with his teeth, then his tongue.
She ran her fingers through his silky hair and pulled him closer, harder into her skin. He seemed to smile against her neck. She could barely breathe. His hold loosened on her hair and this hand, too, slid down her shoulder before tracing over the outline of her breast, his ring finger just barely brushing her nipple. She inhaled into this sensation, hoping that he would go back. He seemed to read exactly what she wanted him to do, as his palm now slid from her abdomen up to her chest. He gave it a firm squeeze and rubbed his thumb over the center, quickly replacing it with his lips. She thought her breathlessness might cause her chest to implode. She was helpless in the best way. She never wanted it to end. He was never allowed to stop.
She tugged impatiently at his belt, but he brushed her hand away and pinned it to the glass above her head. "Uh-uh-uh," he muttered, smirking into her lips before capturing them again in a kiss. She protested, now reaching for his belt with her other hand, but he caught this one too and laced his fingers through it. He nipped at her bottom lip, drawing a satisfying whine out of her. Meanwhile, she brought his hand up to her mouth and broke away to place two of his fingers inside. He uttered an amused mmm and let her tighten her lips over them for a moment before drawing them out and running them down her mouth in a shush motion. Ignoring the pouring water and gazing directly into her eyes, he put the fingers in his own mouth, then led his hand down. Her breath quickened as he slipped them inside of her. She uttered a faint "ahh" and he closed his mouth over hers. There would be no more words, only a few minutes of her holding on to his shoulders for dear life. A few minutes, that's all it took for her to dig her claws so hard into his skin that she nearly drew blood. He swallowed her high-pitched whimpers and held her closer until she stopped holding her breath. Then, he released her and stood grinning in the running water. Just for show, he placed his fingers back in his mouth as she watched him, panting and grabbing on to the walls behind her.
"Okay, detective, I do believe that's quite enough for today," he finally spoke, still grinning.
She couldn't find it in herself to summon any words, so she just watched as he picked up his shirt and stepped out of the shower, leaving her to finish her routine.
