CHAPTER SEVEN
I Could Kill Her, Ya Know

After tucking Chloe into her bed—she'd somehow made it to noon before nodding off on the couch—Lucifer returned to his penthouse, whistling energetically as he crossed to his personal bar. Though he'd gone to her apartment hoping to find answers to how he could be hurt by a mid-range sedan, he found that answering her questions had quite thoroughly distracted him.

It was fascinating to watch her mind at work, most of her queries surprising him. They'd been fueled by the rest of their conversation, as if she were putting together a puzzle with every piece he gave her. Had there ever been a human aware of his existence that had been so ready to learn all things pertaining to him?

"Why does everyone think you're so evil?" she asked past a yawn, her eyes drifting closed. She tucked her head more comfortably against the arm of the couch, one hand tucking beneath her cheek. "Honestly, you're just a too-rich man-child."

He wondered if she'd fallen asleep listening to him chuckle.

Taking a sip of his freshly poured vodka, he couldn't hide the grin that came to his face. It was strange to think that something so simple as the detective calling him immature managed to make him smile at all. Hadn't he done so much else in his long life? But he couldn't call to mind anything that had given him so much pleasure; she really was an intriguing little miracle.

"What's got you all smiley?" Mazikeen asked disdainfully as she appeared in the archway that led to his bedroom. "Finally get in the miracle's pants or something?"

"No, actually," he answered, gently shaking his low-ball glass. "Though we did have a pleasant enough day of explaining divinity. Should I be worried that you've returned so quickly?"

Arms crossed over her chest, she pushed away from the door, stalking towards the bar. "Well, there's no demons topside, so we've got that going for us," she said coolly, snatching a beer and cracking the cap with her teeth. Spitting the bottle cap to the floor, she took a hefty swig before continuing. "And I talked to Amenadiel; he hasn't sensed any of your siblings. If it's one of them, they're flying under the radar."

Raising an eyebrow as the demon chugged most of the bottle, he returned, "Though the pun is appreciated, I don't know what that means for me. Besides, it's not as if my eldest brother has much say in anything from the Silver City."

"That's true," she allowed with a tilt of her beer. Her eyes locked on the balcony across the room and unnerving silence reigned. Finally, she glanced back at him, her Hellish face appearing briefly over her features. "But who's to say this doesn't have something to do with the miracle?"

Taken aback, Lucifer immediately flung the thought away. "Every time I've been around the detective, I've put myself in harm's way; what would have changed with the car?"

Shrugging, Mazikeen said nothing, silence filling the space around them once again. Whatever the demon was thinking, she wasn't going to share without a direct question. But what could she be plotting in that head of hers? It wasn't as if—

"I could kill her, ya know," she offered brusquely, setting the now-empty bottle down. They locked eyes from their respective spots at the bar. "The way I see it, I'd be killing two birds with one stone. No more deal with your Dad, and I get to go home. Win-win."

Fury filled Lucifer at the thought, his Devil Face threatened to burn through as the glass in his hand shattered. "You will do no such thing," he snarled, a rasping echo following his words threateningly. "I do not renege—"

"But you wouldn't be the one reneging," she answered thoughtlessly, though she slowly put some distance between the two of them. "And who knows? Maybe you getting hurt was proof that you aren't supposed to protect her anymore, that Daddy dearest is done with her."

His mind raged at the idea. "So, Father sent me to Earth for a few years just to have her get hit by a car?" he scoffed angrily, his patience all but worn thin. "Besides, my Mark…." His voice drifted off as he thought back on the moments before he'd been struck by the car. He'd watched in abject horror as the car barreled towards her, almost not making it to take the hit because his Mark hadn't been itching. Just before he'd gone to her, he'd felt for the brand, briefly wondering what it could mean when he'd had to move.

Was that just some sort of plan to have her die in the right place at the right time?

"Who knows?" Mazikeen shrugged her shoulders once again, reaching for another beer. "God is supposed to work in mysterious ways, right? Who knows why He might have wanted her dead then?" She took another healthy swig. "It was just a thought. Besides, wouldn't it be like Him to punish you for something you didn't know you were doing wrong?"

He pondered that for a moment, wondering at what game his Father might be playing. Just like his companion had said, who knew what was going on in God's head at any given point in time? He was omniscient; her dying from a car accident might have been what He was intending. She had been accident prone for the first thirty-odd years of her life. But if she was meant to die so simply, why make a deal with the Devil to protect her? What could his Father be planning?

No, he thought darkly, barely keeping a snarl from his lips. That isn't how she is meant to die. There has to be something more important she's meant to do.

"We could just test the theory," the demon continued idly. "I pick a random time, go to her place. If you're sent to protect her, we'll be able to cross it off the list. If not, we right the universe. Another win-win."

Why did he feel sick at the insinuation that Chloe's life was worth the coin toss? Why did he get so angry over one human life? Perhaps he was growing too attached to the woman; was that part of being a Guardian? He would need to speak with Amenadiel. He hadn't exactly been completely filled in on all the Mark would mean.

Clasping his hands together, Lucifer prayed to his brother, asking him for help. In a whoosh of wings, he heard the First Angel's boots hit the marble of his balcony.

Mazikeen reached for one of her knives, twisting it in her hands absently. "You could have warned me you were inviting the bird brain over for a drink," she grumbled as Amenadiel crossed the room.

"Asking for my help? You must be in desperate need," the Angel taunted, his face seeming to be set in disapproving stone. "And where is the miracle Father entrusted to you?"

Lucifer waved him off with a smirk, always happy to annoy his older brother. "I tucked her into bed and returned here. I believe Mazikeen already asked you some questions?"

With a roll of his eyes, Amenadiel crossed his arms over his chest, the cheap T-shirt he wore threatening to pop its seams. "Yeah, but she didn't exactly tell me why you needed to know whether our siblings had come down with me. I suppose you've encountered some problem that has to deal with my studies?"

The demon snorted, finishing her beer in a rush. "If you want answers outta me, Bird Boy, you can come and get them."

He pointedly ignored her, keeping his eyes locked on Lucifer, an impatient light gleaming there.

With a sigh, the Devil raised his hands—as much as he would like to watch his brother get his ass kicked by a demon, he needed to pick his brain, metaphorically, more. "I wouldn't call it a 'problem', per se, but I am in need of your more…traditional studies, yes." Motioning for Amenadiel to sit, Lucifer grabbed himself another glass, this time reaching for the whiskey. "You see, I was just thinking about the Mark and how very little I was told about what this deal would entail, so—"

"You don't know how to be a Guardian."

Jaw clenching, the younger brother said through gritted teeth, "I'm well aware of my duties pertaining to that, brother: keep the mortal alive. Hardly a Herculean task." Suddenly not wanting to look his brother in the eye, Lucifer poured two fingers of whiskey before thinking better of it and doubling that. "I would just like to know a bit more about the Mark, itself, seeing as I wasn't around to educate myself on it."

The subtle accusation hung in the air and both Angels allowed it to remain there.

And wasn't that just like Amenadiel and the others, to so quickly forget that he had been one of them once upon a time? That all it had taken was one act of youthful rebellion for him to be stricken from the "family" forever?

"While this is super cozy," Mazikeen said suddenly, grabbing the remainder of her six pack from the bar, "it also looks like you two've got it handled. I'm gonna go see if Patrick wants to head for the walk-in."

The two men watched as the demon crossed to the elevator, already working on another beer.

"Does she plan on drinking those while in the walk-in?" Amenadiel asked dryly as he finally sat down on the couch, shrugging his wings away.

"The walk-in?" Lucifer chuckled, crossing to the armchair. "Those won't even make it to the dance floor." Getting comfortable in his spot, he gestured vaguely towards his brother. "Now, you were just about to fill me in on all things 'Mark'."

-.-

An hour later, Amenadiel was leaned forward, fingers rubbing his temples intensely. The conversation had quickly diverted from the Guardian Mark after Lucifer had been forced to explain how the car crash had come about. "So," the elder Angel started, exasperated. "Let me get this all straight. You 'accidentally' showed not just the mortal you're supposed to be Guardian of your Devil Face, but also a murderer you had thrown through glass. I'm guessing that's when she ran into traffic."

Groaning at the bar, Lucifer took another swig from the bottle of whiskey, hanging his head. "No, she didn't run into traffic; we returned to the precinct—"

"She went with you to her job after she saw your face?"

"It would appear so!" the Devil answered, affronted. Even though he understood how terrifying his face could be to humans, the insinuation that he was some sort of an abomination…. "In fact, she mostly had questions about her being a miracle and how my deal with Father—"

"You told her she's a miracle?" Amenadiel asked, jaw nearly hitting the floor. "Do you know how dangerous that is when she's part of Father's Plan? What if she tries to change her destiny?"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "How would she know anything about her destiny? It isn't as if Father has shared His plan for her with me!" Chuckling, he exclaimed, "If I don't know why He's chosen her, how can I ruin the great reveal?"

The older Angel stood, wings unfurling threateningly. "If she was supposed to know that she's a miracle—"

"Dear old Dad knew what He was doing when He asked me to protect a mortal! He's supposed to know everything all the time!"

At a stalemate, Amenadiel fumed as Lucifer mockingly raised his bottle for another drink. The Devil could practically hear the furious thoughts rolling through his brother's head. He knew he wanted nothing more than to call out the Lightbringer for the blasphemy he dared to spew about their Father, how he always insisted on questioning their Father and His Plan.

But didn't he grow tired of following orders he didn't know the reason for? Didn't he want—for once—to know why things were happening?

What if Chloe was supposed to die in something as middling as a car accident? Why create a miracle just to destroy it? What was the point in bringing the Devil to Earth if not for something that actually mattered?

Finally, after long moments of silence, Amenadiel returned his wings to his shoulders, rolling his neck. Striding to the bar, he said, "We've gotten off topic. Why are you worried about the Mark?"

Shrugging lightly, Lucifer started to speak, only to stop himself. Did he dare to tell his brother that he'd been injured by something from the mortal realm? Could he trust that Amenadiel wouldn't use the information for himself? If he wasn't sure why he'd been hurt, who was to say that it wasn't a permanent development?

As he shifted in place, he heard the crunch of glass beneath his feet and glanced down before looking to his hand. He'd crushed a glass in his palm, but there was no blood to be found. Had it simply healed too quickly for him to notice? But he'd been regenerating from the car accident for the entire day; was it because he'd tucked his wings away before they'd mended completely?

Deciding quickly to give his brother none of that information, he answered slowly, "When the car was headed towards her, I had to check that the Mark remained; I didn't get the usual warning. I was wondering if that was normal."

Amenadiel clearly noted the side-step, warily answering, "There are any number of reasons a Mark might not burn." Crossing to stand on the other side of the bar from Lucifer, the Angel sat on a stool, looking cool and collected. "Maybe she was going to jump out of the way in the knick of time; we can't know what would have happened."

"That's what I thought at first!" Lucifer agreed, swirling the nearly empty bottle of whiskey. "But there was no way, brother. And I find it hard to believe that Father called me up here to have the detective get hit by a car at the right time."

"If that was part of His Plan—"

"Then why not have you or one of our other siblings who are true Guardians protect her? She hasn't exactly been in insane situations where one of you wouldn't have sufficed over my particular brand of protection!" He leaned on his elbows on the bar, bringing himself face to face with Amenadiel. "Why, after so many eons, would He want me here if she was just to die in some random hit and run?"

The Angel pondered that for a moment, eyeing the younger one as if putting pieces into place. "If she was meant to die there, brother, repercussions would be felt throughout all of Father's Creation," he answered slowly, mimicking his brother's stance against the bar. "You know that if one thing diverts from His Plan, it will work to right itself. If that's the case, the woman—"

A sudden, burning pain exploded between his shoulder blades, making it nearly impossible to keep himself from hitting the floor. His wings erupted from his back, knocking over several hundred dollars' worth of booze in their wake.

-.-

Chloe opened her eyes slowly against the waning sun that shown in her bedroom. Before, she'd thought it a comfort to have west-facing windows; she'd always preferred sunsets over rises. Something about the day ending, no matter what had happened, put her at ease.

Now, though, it was burning against her eyelids.

With a groan, she sat up, expecting her neck or back to hurt; the last thing she remembered was leaning against the arm of her couch.

Instead, she was fighting her comforter, which had literally been tucked in around her. Suddenly, the day before raced into her mind, making her groan. Had she really asked Lucifer—her civilian consultant/the Devil—if Angel's wings were modeled after doves? He spent the entire day laughing at me, she decided, feeling her cheeks heat. Why didn't I ask real questions, like 'what's the meaning of life?'

She was beyond saving, she decided, sighing as she stood. Looking to the clock, she knew it would be another sleepless night, though she also knew that she wouldn't call in the next day. The lieutenant barely puts up with me, as is; if it weren't for Lucifer—

Cutting that thought off at the knees, she told herself that she wouldn't think anything more about the cosmos or whatever greater scheme was out there. Instead, she was going to make herself some dinner, call her daughter to say goodnight, and maybe take some Tylenol PM to fall asleep in a few hours. That was it. She didn't need to worry about what was happening in the outside world; everything could wait until she got real sleep.

It took her a few minutes to find her phone, but it was nice to see that someone who would not be thought about had kindly plugged it in beside her laptop. As she picked it up, she took note that there were several texts from other officers—insincere expressions of relief that neither she nor her consultant had been hurt, that they would do everything to find the culprit—but decided against responding, finding Dan's number at the top of her contact list.

Holding the phone to her ear, she went to the fridge, searching for the half of a footlong sub she'd put in there the day before.

"Chloe!" Dan breathed in relief through the phone. "Thank God! With everything happening last night, I was worried when—"

"I'm okay, Dan," she answered before he could get himself too worked up. "Lucifer…pushed me out of the way. But he's okay too," she added quickly, as she decided against the sandwich and instead turned towards the pantry and a box of Kraft Mac N Cheese. "I think the adrenaline got to me; I crashed really hard. I'm sorry for not calling you before this." Not necessarily a lie, but it still saved him from what he would construe as her going even crazier. "I'm actually calling to see if Trixie is still awake; I could really use her voice right now."

There was a pause before her ex-husband responded dejectedly, "Of course. I didn't tell her what happened, didn't want to scare her."

"Thank you," she said with a sad smile, hoping he could hear it through the phone. "I don't want to worry her when I wasn't hurt."

He gave a small grunt in what she supposed was agreement, before she heard him call for their daughter. "Well, I'm glad you're okay," he said quickly, no doubt before Trixie hit the room like a tornado. "I was worried, even if Joan told me that Lucifer was the one hurt."

Deciding against responding, she just waited for her daughter to take the phone, forcing her thoughts away from the accident. She didn't want to think about anything other than her child; she wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

As she waited, she filled a pot with water, turning the burner on high. As the phone was turned over to Trixie, she pulled the strainer out of the cupboard, putting it in the sink.

"Mommy, you didn't call me to say goodnight last night!" the seven-year-old accused in lieu of a greeting. "You didn't even text to say that you were still working!"

Immediately filled with regret, Chloe stared into the water. Despite everything going on, she made a mental note to never again forget to call her daughter. "I'm sorry, Monkey; I was working late and lost track of time. I promise it won't happen again."

"It better not," her daughter grumbled before her mood immediately swung as she filled her mother in on her day at school.

Absently watching the water slowly coming to a boil, Chloe couldn't help grinning at the excited way her daughter discussed everything under the sun in the most second-grade way. From recess to her class's bean plant science project, there was nothing that wasn't exciting in her world. Briefly wondering where that sense of wonder went when you grew up, the mother in her couldn't help her heart bursting at the excitedness in her daughter's tone.

Just as the water turned to a full boil, Trixie said, "Well, Mommy, I think it's time for bed. Daddy's going to find my Coraline book, so I'd better go brush my teeth. I'm coming home tomorrow, right?"

"Yes, Monkey," she murmured around a smile. "I'll pick you up from school and we'll do a game night. Maybe I can get Grandma to swing by."

"Or we could just do movie night!" the girl suggested. "I know it's hard to get enough players now that Daddy has his own apartment, but movies are easier for the two of us. We can make sticky popcorn!"

Heart-breaking, Chloe answered, "Whatever you want, Monkey. I love you."

"Sweet dreams, Mommy!"

Before she could respond in kind, there was a click. She kept the phone to her ear for just a second longer, like it might bring her daughter back for a moment, before she put it down on the counter.

She hated that she couldn't give her daughter the nuclear family she clearly wanted. But could she be a good mom if she was faking a relationship with her ex?

Before she could fall too deep into her personal reverie, there was a creak behind her. Suddenly, the panic over the last few days of her life overtook her, and she grabbed the pot of boiling water, spinning around and flinging it towards the intruder without a thought.

"Son of a bitch!" a feminine voice growled from the shadows, the dark figure rubbing harshly at its eyes. Before Chloe could even think to move towards her service weapon, a small, toned woman stepped out from the shadows. "I haven't been hit with scalding water since childhood; you're just lucky you caught me by surprise!" The woman snatched knives from her sides, spinning them threateningly. "Let's see what a miracle can do."

That was the only warning before the leather-clad brunette threw herself at Chloe, making her duck and dodge as quickly as she could against the edges of the knives. As she was accosted, she suddenly realized that it was Lucifer's psycho bartender that had broken into her home, that was attacking her with wicked looking blades.

After what she'd seen, she knew that this woman—Mazikeen, she reminded herself—had only ever answered to her boss. Had he sent her to attack Chloe, to kill her after all she'd found out? Was he trying to send a message that, despite his friendly demeanor as he'd answered her questions, she was a liability that he needed to be rid of?

With nothing else at her disposal, she tossed one of her dining chairs at the intruder, hoping it would be enough to stop her.

But she tripped as she threw it, falling to the ground, knowing that it was the end. All she could think of was why he would have done this; why would he have made sure she made it to bed, tucked her in, if not out of some place of guilt for what he was about to order?

With a violent grin, Mazikeen leapt past the chair and towards the fallen detective, brandishing her knives in a victorious show of strength.

Clenching her eyes shut, Chloe thought of her daughter, remembered how she'd felt when her father had died and languished in Trixie feeling the same.

Then there was a burst of white, making her raise her arm against the onslaught.

And the blow never came. Instead, there was a breaking of glass, a thump followed by a grunt, and then silence reigned outside of harsh breathing.

As she was about to open her eyes to investigate, she heard a lightbulb shatter and sensed the darkness. She knew that this might be the only chance she could take, so she flipped to all fours, moving as quickly as she could towards her service weapon. Mazikeen might be a demon, but a few bullets might give her a better sense of respect….

Snatching her gun off the counter, she whipped so her back was against the cupboards, eyeing the two shadows as they fought, forcing herself to fight back her panic at the blurred movements.

But before she could line up her shot, it was over. Despite the pure white feathers that fluttered all over her kitchen floor, Lucifer stood with his back to her, an imposing figure amongst the carnage of the dining area. Mazikeen was breathing heavily on the floor, nearly growling as she glared up at him, but he was unfazed.

It was a show of power, she knew, of a strength incomprehensible to her as a human.

I just wanted to let you all know that I do have a couple more chapters that I just need to fine tune, so there should be less sporadic updates.