Linda ushers the pair of them into her "office" and closes the door. There's no couch here, only chairs, so Linda chooses the one situated alone, and Chloe and Lucifer sit in the others.

"Lucifer, I really wanted to do your single session before this one," Linda begins without preamble, "but after what I just witnessed upstairs, I thought we should probably get this one started right away."

"It was only a little kiss, Doctor, I really don't see what the fuss is about?" Lucifer tilts his head, confused, but Linda notes the red flush creeping up Chloe's neck and face.

"I'm not talking about the kiss, Lucifer," Linda shakes her head slowly, "I'm talking about the slap that preceded it."

"Ah!" Lucifer's face relaxes and he leans back in his chair, glancing sideways at Chloe, whose gaze is fixed on her fidgeting hands in her lap. "Yes, we haven't had a chance yet to discuss exactly what I've done to deserve that. I'm rather curious to know, actually, Detective."

"Let's start with everyone getting caught up on what happened this morning when Michael arrived at the penthouse," Linda interjects quickly. "Lucifer?"

"I was making Eve coffee while we waited for Daniel's session to close when he made his presence known, boasting about having his gift of Command back," Lucifer's nose wrinkles in distaste. He pours himself a glass of water and immediately empties it. "I never much cared for that one, far too close to depriving free will entirely. Poor Eve went white as a sheet and I tried to get her to run, but she seemed to be a bit paralyzed. I made sure she was hidden and went to meet him, hoping she'd take the time to get out. We traded words—I really couldn't tell you specifics, I was more focused on keeping him distracted than on paying attention to what he was saying. He threatened my friends, and goaded me about… about Uriel, and my Devil face broke free."

He laughs, but it's brittle and Linda leans forward anxiously. Chloe scoots her chair closer so she can reach over and grab the hand he's clenched on his thigh, pulling it into her lap and massaging it until his fist relaxes and she can thread her fingers between his.

"Oh, he liked that, seeing his handiwork." Lucifer growls, staring down into his empty glass. "We fought. Well, you saw the mess we left behind, Detective. Even though he's not at full strength, he has plenty of experience to draw on. Without my wings, we were pretty evenly matched."

"Why didn't you use your wings, Lucifer?" Chloe bursts out exasperatedly, "You had every right to defend yourself!"

"I brought out my wings when he pulled out a celestial dagger. I warned him that I would fight back this time, that I…" his voice gives out and he swallows hard, forcing down the lump that's trying to form. He coughs, pours himself another glass of water and tosses it back, wishing it were whiskey instead. Chloe hates the hollow look in his warm brown eyes. "That I didn't want his blood on my hands, but I wouldn't go down without a fight. I couldn't let him hurt the people I care about anymore."

"Then what happened?" Linda asks gently. She's been mentally following along and matching point-to-point with Eve's tale. Eve remembered all the things Michael and Lucifer had talked about, and her recounting of the fight was much more graphic. Linda knows what's coming next.

"He told me he was going to enjoy killing me again," he recalls quietly, and Chloe flinches, pulling his hand to her chest and gripping it tightly. "He'd told me earlier that he was going to Command one of my brothers to release my body into a star this time. He started to move toward me with the dagger, and that's when Eve struck from the hallway, just behind him and out of sight. He never even knew she was there. I didn't even realize she was there, I thought she'd run like I told her to…" He stares blankly at the floor in front of him, as though he can see his brother's body sprawled there even now. "It wasn't more than a minute or two later that Amenadiel and Arael arrived, with Gabriel on their heels summoning me to the Silver City for an audience. So I sent Amenadiel to you and tasked him with burying Michael before the Detective got back, and asked Arael to help Eve clean up—she seemed so lost, Doctor, she shouldn't have—she should have let me handle him. I hope you can help her if she feels guilty… she doesn't need to let this send her to Hell."

"You can let Eve and me worry about Eve, Lucifer," Linda smiles at him to take any sting out of her words, and he glances up at her hopefully. "I think she's viewing it less as a murder and more as an act of vengeance, and maybe a little mercy. Try not add her situation to your plate, okay?"

"I…" he trails off at her sharp look and his words die on his lips. "I'll try."

"That brings us to when Eve came down here for her session, then. Chloe, will you walk us through what happened when you came back to Lux?" Linda prompts gently.

"Dan texted me as I was picking up Trixie from school, to bring her to my apartment because Michael had gotten loose." Chloe tells her lap quietly as Lucifer turns to regard her more fully, perplexed at her suddenly subdued demeanor. She's still clutching his hand and he gently squeezes her fingers. "I practically threw Trix at Dan and got to Lux as fast as I could, and when I walked off the elevator… the penthouse was a wreck. Everything shattered, upturned, and… the body was just lying there in a huge puddle of blood, and—" her voice gives out and he feels her chest hitch against the back of his hand, which she's clutching as though it's the only thing that's keeping her from being pulled under by a crushing wave of grief. "I thought he was you, Lucifer… I… I thought I'd lost you again, and I couldn't…"

"Oh," Lucifer sighs, glancing helplessly at Linda as Chloe starts to sob. The good Doctor lifts her eyebrows back at him and waits. "Detective—Chloe, it—it didn't even occur to me that you might think it was my body—"

"You're identical twins, Lucifer," she hiccups, still trying to contain the sobs threatening to overpower her. "He was face-down on the floor, of course I thought it was you!"

"But—" he stammers, "His hair was all wrong! Those clothes were so… so… 'Heaven's Most Wanted'! And clearly I am not dead if I'm sitting right here beside you and facing your ire?"

It's the clothes comment that breaks through her building hysteria, because it had been the clothes that had tipped her off, and nearly immediately... but not before she'd had time to feel that first wave of panic. She huffs a wet laugh that's more than half a sob, but the laughter gains force once it's free, and now she really does start to cackle like the demented witch on crack Lucifer had accused her of sounding like.

"Oh bollocks," she hears him murmur beside her. "Have I broken her, Doctor?"

"Let's give her a moment to get it out of her system," Linda decides, as Chloe continues to crack up. "Why don't you tell me about your first meeting with God in the meantime?"

So Lucifer fills Linda in on their meeting with God last night while discreetly watching Chloe pull herself together.

"You really disowned God?" Linda asks reverently, and Lucifer laughs outright.

"That actually felt pretty good, Doctor," he admits cheerfully, "Nearly as good as punching him in the face would have been… but I'd like to retain my visiting rights, and that… well. It's a good thing the Detective was there to remind me to behave accordingly."

"I didn't have to remind you, Lucifer," Chloe manages, with only a single hiccup, "you did great all on your own."

"How are you feeling about that decision now?" Linda wonders, and a brief flicker of emotion crosses Lucifer's face, too fast to identify.

"I had a small revelation when I returned to the Silver City today. Gabriel took me to the Audience Chamber, and I realized I didn't know what to call the old man, so when I walked in I asked Him if I should call Him God, or El, or Yahweh, or what have you." Lucifer chuckles dryly. "He had the nerve to say He'd always had a bit of a laugh when I'd yelled at Him and called Him a bastard, so that's what I went with."

"You called God a bastard… to His face?" Linda's not sure if she's impressed or horrified. With Lucifer it's often an unfortunate combination of both.

"He had to know I'd take Him up on it," Lucifer winks at her, "and honestly, it was quite therapeutic in its own right. Not only did I get to do it, but I got to be sure He heard me."

"So it still matters to you that He listens to you." Linda's sharp insight prickles him and he stiffens.

"Not particularly," he dissembles, "but it's always nice when an insult actually gets acknowledged by the target. It's not very satisfying to scream at the sky and know you're being ignored."

"What else did you talk about?"

"He's set the date for His grand announcement," he notices Chloe's head perk up at that, and turns to face her again, "He set it for Thursday, apparently you have the day off."

"God knows my work schedule," Chloe snorts softly, "Why is that somehow not surprising, yet terrifying."

"I typically prefer to fly under the old man's radar myself, darling, I can't blame you for feeling the same."

"So that's it? He dragged you up to Heaven to give you an invitation?" Linda probes deeper, and knows she's struck something when Lucifer starts to fidget again.

"No… there was more," he admits reluctantly, sighing. "He told me… that I needed to talk to you about what happened with Michael. He told me that it… wasn't my fault."

"Of course it wasn't your fault, Lucifer," Chloe looks askance at him. "No one's saying it's your fault, Michael came after you. Multiple times. Unprovoked."

Lucifer shifts uncomfortably in his chair, but doesn't respond to Chloe's assertion. Linda watches his cagey expression and sighs.

"Oh, Lucifer," she murmurs softly, "why do you think you feel guilty for Michael's death?"

"I… I don't know, Doctor," he sighs heavily and rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "But Da—God was adamant that I needed to not let it best me, or my self-actualization is going to do something unpleasant."

"All right," Linda replies carefully. "We'll address that more in your individual session, shall we? Did you talk about anything else?"

"Yes," the confession has the feeling behind it of being pulled out unwillingly. "He said… He said he couldn't see much of what happened to me in Hell because… well, a couple of reasons: one, it's apparently difficult because of the whole no-divinity-in-the-atmosphere thing, and two, apparently he missed me, so he just… found other things to do to keep him occupied."

"He told you that?" Chloe's outraged outburst is barely more than a strangled gasp, and Linda silently agrees. What on earth was He thinking?

"Oh, He did," Lucifer assures them dryly. "In the same breath as letting me know that, even though I've disowned Him, He still considers me His son. It was shortly after that when you waltzed in to the rescue, Detective."

"And what happened when Chloe arrived?"

"Not much, He reminded me about the Announcement on Thursday, I scandalized the Detective by calling Him 'you bastard' one more time on the way out, then we came home."

"Which brings us to the scene I witnessed between the two of you on the balcony—"

"Yes, where did you come in on that little tête-à-tête, Doctor? I'm afraid I was a bit distracted."

"I arrived in time to hear you apologizing to Chloe about finding Michael's body still at the penthouse," Linda confesses unapologetically, and the embarrassed flush crawls back up Chloe's neck and face again. "And I was close enough to read the expression on your face when Chloe slapped you, Lucifer, so don't waste time pretending that it didn't hurt."

"Of course it didn't hurt—well, perhaps a little, but only because it managed to hit the area that Michael had already—"

"I wasn't talking about physical pain, Lucifer, and I think you know that," she chides firmly, "though I'm sure that that bruise is rather painful. You looked confused, and betrayed."

He manages a scoff, but since he doesn't lie, he can't argue. Chloe's seemingly insignificant slap to his face had caused an inordinate amount of pain in his chest.

"I was… just… surprised," Lucifer dissembles, not looking at either of them. Tears sting Chloe's eyes at the way he deflates, and she recalls with far too much detail the look of hurt and confusion in his eyes as he'd laid his hand carefully against his throbbing cheek. "I wasn't expecting that reaction to an apology, but then I thought maybe… maybe it was because I didn't want to report the death—but…"

"That wasn't why, Lucifer," Chloe interrupts gently, and her heart breaks a little at his suppressed wince when she breaks her silence. "Why doesn't really matter, because I shouldn't have done it—I regretted it the instant I managed to break out of my… anger, my fear."

"I think why really does matter here, Chloe," Linda doesn't let her dodge the point. "I think Lucifer deserves to know."

"I was upset because…" she keeps her gaze on her hands, still wrapped securely around Lucifer's as she struggles to put her feelings into words, and both he and Linda give her a moment to wrestle with it. "I was crushed when I saw Michael's body and thought it was Lucifer's. I figured it out pretty quickly, but those heartbeats between 'Lucifer no' and 'Not Lucifer!' seemed to last a hundred years." She turns to look him in the eye, and hers are filled with tears. "It brought back every time I've lost you—or almost lost you—again, and… and you were apologizing because you thought I'd be mad about not doing my job!"

"Your job is very important to you, Detective," he offers tentatively, "that's why you're the best."

"You are more important to me, Lucifer," she declares, and his brow furrows in confusion. "But I don't know how to make you see that, and it breaks my heart every time you can't understand that losing you—or even thinking I've lost you again—could break me beyond repair."

"So, you slapped me because I tried to do the right thing, but because I did it for the wrong reason?" He attempts, after thinking about it for a moment.

"Lucifer, you did the right thing by trying to avoid Chloe having to see your identical twin's body," Linda assures him, stepping in to give them both some time to settle down. "I think perhaps Chloe's physical reaction was based on her residual fear of losing you, and her frustration at you undervaluing the positive impact of your continued presence in her life."

A look of relief spreads across Chloe's face at hearing her emotions put into words much more clearly than she was currently capable of, but Lucifer looks (rather predictably) confused.

"But… I'm not dead, I'm right here?" His right hand moves to press against his chest, as though double-checking to be sure he was, in fact, corporeal. He pales a little, then places the hand in his trouser pocket as Linda continues.

"Okay, think for a moment about our session last week," she gives him a moment, "Do you remember what we discussed about what you felt when your friends were in danger?"

"Of course I do, Doctor, my memory is nearly perfect," he darts a look at Chloe and swallows hard.

"Chloe's alive and healthy, she's right next to you. Yet you can still feel some of that fear, can't you," it's not a question, but he nods slowly. She makes eye contact with Lucifer, then Chloe, including them both in her next words. "You- both of you- have been stuck in survival mode for far too long. In order to thrive together, we're going to need to work through those fears so you can actually start to live, rather than merely exist. Like this—" she gestures to their joined hands, each holding tightly to the other, "I'm glad to see you've adopted this technique and applied it so well that you barely even think about it anymore. Linking yourselves this way helps facilitate the communication you're working to build."

It was a suggestion she'd made to Lucifer, basing it off both of their tendencies to withdraw from the other when hurt or upset. When they come to a situation or a discussion that was likely to be stressful, revealing or painful, they would join hands, and not let go until the situation was resolved, or until they were calm enough to put the subject aside for another time. She knew Lucifer would never physically hurt Chloe, but she hadn't considered that Chloe would consider striking Lucifer. She makes a note to discuss this further with Chloe in her next individual session.

"It's time to start re-evaluating your stress responses if you're serious about rebuilding your trust, and learning to stop pushing one another away during times of stress."

"I'm a cop," Chloe argues weakly, "I have to trust my reactions to keep me alive."

"Yes, you do, but you're going to need to start differentiating between day-to-day situations and the ones where you actually need those reactions to survive. You don't pull your gun whenever Trixie makes an unexpected noise at home. You said yourself, Chloe, that when confronted with something emotionally upsetting you tend to either shut down, or run. How has that worked for you in your relationships?"

"Not great," she concedes guiltily.

"And Lucifer?"

"Considerably less than 'not great'," he offers wryly, and Chloe snorts, squeezing his hand in hers.

"The two of you react similarly to many situations—which is one reason you work so well together," Linda praises them before flipping the coin, "but it's also the main reason you are so very good at inflicting pain on each other. Lucifer, when you assume that the thought of losing you wouldn't have a lasting effect on Chloe, it hurts her. And Chloe, when you strike out at Lucifer—physically or emotionally—it can leave a far deeper psychological wound than any hell-forged blade of Maze's."

Both of them flinch back into their chairs, but their hands remain clasped and Linda smiles to herself. This is going to work out.

"We have our work cut out for us, my friends, but I think you're both committed to rebuilding a solid foundation of trust and communication. Habits are hard to break, it takes persistent effort and lots of support."

She hand-writes some notes of things for them to consider and start to work on until their next session, and feels a fierce glow of pride that their hands remained joined even as they leave the room.

Their joint session had lasted over two hours, and everyone felt mentally flayed afterward. Lucifer nobly offers to skip his individual session, but Linda isn't having any of that, opting instead for an early dinner and a break instead. Lucifer manages to convince Linda and Amenadiel to go out for dinner (his treat, of course), but it takes significantly more persuading to talk Chloe into going to spend time with her daughter.

"It will be the perfect test of your divinity, Detective!" he wheedles, "To see if it can fend off those mutant microorganisms that abound at those educational facilities!"

Finally Chloe's need to check on her sick daughter overcomes her fear of leaving Lucifer alone, and she reluctantly leaves him on his balcony with a full tumbler and a lit cigarette.

By the time Linda arrives back at Lux, Lucifer has had some time to self-medicate, and he's feeling just slightly less on-edge. She finds him on his balcony, and since there's no one else there, she simply joins him. As she approaches, he's holding out his right hand, seemingly studying his ring, but he tucks it back into his trouser pocket as she gets closer.

"I know our session earlier was a difficult one," Linda apologizes gently, "but I didn't feel comfortable putting off your individual session for another day, I feel like you've gotten spiritual beatings in addition to your physical ones recently, and I wanted to make sure we had our chance to talk."

"As I told my siblings earlier today, I make a tempting target," Lucifer grins, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Did you have a chance to think about our discussion during your session last week?"

"About letting my friends choose me back?" his lips twist a wry approximation of a smile. "Yes, I had a discussion with the Detective about that... I'm working on it."

"Good," she nods, watching him carefully, "What about what you said about God being unable to love you? Have your conversations with Him over the past couple of days brought anything new to light?"

"He admitted to listening, when I've been screaming at Him. Or about Him. He admitted to… missing me… while I was gone. He… he told me he was proud of me."

"How did you feel when he told you those things?"

"I was bloody livid, Doctor," Lucifer growls. "He'd just admitted that He'd taken literally no part in the trials and tortures I've been through, that any improvements I've managed to make have been entirely of my own doing—who is He to claim pride in what I have done without him?"

"Are you proud of Chloe?"

"What?" his anger derails at this apparent non-sequitur. "Of course I am, Doctor, you know how amazing she is."

"Do you feel that, by taking pride in her accomplishments, that you're crediting yourself for them?"

"Of course not," he scoffs, offended. "The Detective is an incredible person all on her own. But I've been with her, beside her as well as I could be, every step of the way, cheering her on and supporting her."

"Maybe," she pauses, drawing out the word carefully, "that's how God feels about your accomplishments."

"I thought you'd given up trying to figure out my… His motivations, Doctor," Lucifer sounds tired, and she notes the new stress lines around his eyes. "But I at least know for certain now that He hasn't been manipulating me for eons, which means…" he hesitates, looking up the sky uncertainly.

"Go on," she urges, leaning forward encouragingly

"If He wasn't manipulating me, with my wings, my face, with the Detective… then everything I've been blaming him for is my fault. I've done it all to myself." He tries a laugh, but it rings hollow, and she notices the hand in his pocket form into a fist. "I'm doing it all to myself."

"Don't you see? This is progress." She smiles widely, though his expression is confused. "Genuine progress. Unraveling these patterns of denial is the first step toward resolving these issues."

"No, doctor, this isn't progress. Because if I'm doing this to myself, then the real truth is..." he pulls his hand from his pocket, holding it open in front of him again, staring at the back of it in dawning horror.

"Is what? Is what?" she prompts earnestly, "Come on, Lucifer. This will weigh on you unless you face it head on. The real truth is what?"

"There is something rotten inside of me," he whispers, and the pain in his voice is so thick that it's nearly unrecognizable from his normal cultivated tone. "I'm working so hard to be better, to… to do better. All of you, my friends, you tell me that you love me, that you want me here. And yet… I find it near impossible to drown out the constant cacophony of voices whispering in my ear, telling me I am evil. I'm drowning, Doctor!" This last is shouted, and he clasps his right hand within his left tightly. "And I can't stop wondering... why do I hate myself so much?" He heaves a few ragged breaths before glancing down at his hand again, and his eyes are bleak. "And now this," he murmurs, as though to himself.

"And now… what?" Linda probes, following his gaze. His eyes dart up to hers cautiously and he slowly pulls his left hand away, reluctantly showing her the back of his hand. The skin all across the back is deep red and ridged, as though it's been melted and re-solidified. "Lucifer… is that… like your face?"

"Yes," he muses absently, still staring at it with morbid fascination. Fear creeps into his voice as he continues quietly, "I noticed it during our session earlier, but it was only a tiny patch of skin. It's been… growing since then. I don't know what to do, don't know what I need to do to make it stop, Doctor. I don't… I don't want to be a monster."

"Okay. Okay." Linda gathers her scattered thoughts quickly. "We know subconsciously... you control what happens to your own body. So, some part of you is reacting to this revelation."

"Yes, and it doesn't seem thrilled," he interjects humorlessly.

"Your, um, God told you that you needed to get a handle on your guilt or your self-actualization was going to do something—what if this is what He was talking about? Look, Lucifer, it's okay to be afraid, but… I think you need to step forward here. You need to dig deeper. If you really hate yourself... you need to figure out why."

"And how do I do that, Doctor?" he grouses anxiously, staring back at his hand again. "I… I don't even know where to begin!"

"Maybe we should start with why you feel guilty?" Linda suggests gently, "Since that's what, uh, God warned you about specifically, it seems a reasonable starting point."

"All right, Doctor," he agrees tentatively, standing up and beginning to pace the length of the balcony. "So… why do I feel guilty for Michael's death? Why should I feel guilty for it? It doesn't make any bloody sense! I didn't do anything to bring him after me, I would have been perfectly content to keep a healthy distance for the rest of eternity!"

"That's a good start," Linda allows, "acknowledging that Michael attacked you for no valid, logical reason. You've really got to accept that you had no control over Michael's actions, or Eve's. Michael made his decisions to viciously attack you on multiple occasions, and Eve made hers to put a stop to it. There was nothing you could have done to change their determined outcomes."

"Eve shouldn't have needed to act—Doctor, what if her guilt winds up sending her to Hell when she dies? For protecting me?" He shakes his head, coursing his fingers through his hair. "I should have—"

"Constantly thinking of should-have-could-have-would-haves isn't going to help you, Lucifer," Linda admonishes firmly. "It's easy to think of alternate courses of action after the heat of a moment has passed. You didn't want the blood of a brother on your hands, but you were willing to take action when required. For what it's worth, I'm glad it didn't fall to you."

"Another brother," he murmurs quietly, clenching his right hand into a fist again. "I didn't want the blood of another brother on my hands."

"I thought you were doing better about Uriel's death?" Linda probes gently, and his downturned gaze tells her everything she needs to know. "Lucifer, what happened?"

"There was… we had a case last week, we just finished it up yesterday actually. An identical twin was murdered, and the prime suspect was the twin—and I thought…"

"Of course you thought of Michael." He nods, eyes still locked on his clenched fist and the patch of skin there.

"But it wasn't the twin at all. The younger sister had stolen some money from their company and had lost it all in a scam investment, and the victim had confronted her about it, had said something about her 'ruining everything she touches', and suddenly it wasn't Michael and me, it was… it was me and Uriel." Harsh, rasping breaths whine in his chest as he grits out the next words, "Because I do too."

"You haven't ruined everything, Lucifer," she corrects him carefully. "You help put away murderers every day. You care deeply for your friends, and your family, and would never hurt them intentionally, without cause. We all make mistakes, but you're not seeing yourself clearly. Why are you still blaming yourself for Uriel?"

"I should have done something more about returning Mum to Hell. Then Uriel would never have come to Earth and he would still be here, boring the new arrivals to the Silver City with his tedious welcome speech."

"What could you have done?" Linda presses, and he gapes at her blankly. "No really, what could you have done, Lucifer? You didn't have your wings to return her to Hell. Amenadiel didn't have his wings. Killing the body would have only sent her back to Hell where she could have popped right back up—and she probably wouldn't have approached you again. She would have been free to wreak havoc and you couldn't have done anything about it! She was the Divine Goddess, one of your creators, and even more powerful than you are, what could you have possibly done to contain that? You told me that you didn't even have the option of using the blade until Uriel brought it to Earth."

"I… I could have found something, surely," he groans.

"And have you?" She waits, eyebrows lifted in inquiry. "In the months between the time you sent your mother away and now, have you managed to come up with one single realistic solution that's better than the outcome you managed?"

"No," he whispers, "but—"

"No 'buts', Lucifer," she interrupts ruthlessly, "another thing you need to start doing is acknowledging that there are some positives that have come out of these situations. Chloe and your mother are both safe, even if your mother is no longer in… this… universe," Hoo boy does that feel strange to say with a real-life context to it. "Michael can't hurt anyone else ever again. Eve stood up for herself. And you get your chance to live your life on your terms."

"Doctor, I know all those things are true," Lucifer argues hopelessly, "but I don't know how to stop feeling guilty."

"Lucifer…" she considers for a moment, taking in his broken expression. "If it were anyone else but you in this situation, would you say they were responsible for what's happened?"

"Well, you must admit that if I were not here, none of you would be in this situation," Lucifer prevaricates.

"That's not the question I asked, Lucifer," she redirects persistently. "Would you blame me, if I were sitting where you are now? Would you blame Ella? Or Dan?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," he scoffs, scooping up his glass of water and clutching it desperately. "But none of you are me."

"And why is it different for you?"

"Because… I'm the devil!" he cries, and his voice breaks. "Everything is my fault!"

"You're wrong," she tells him flatly, and he gapes at her silently. The soft alarm signaling the end of the session goes off in her pocket, and she silences it. "You're retired now, right? You wanted to stop being the devil—Hell, you never wanted to be the devil. You have to stop judging yourself more harshly than you judge others, Lucifer, or it's going to eat you alive. You can just be you now."

"I…" his face crumples and drops his glass back onto the table, running his palms up and digging the heels into his eyes. His voice is muffled by his hands as he breathes, "I don't know how."

"I want you to think about this Lucifer, very carefully over the next few days, okay?" Linda relents a little, standing to cross the room and lay a supporting hand on his broad shoulder. "I'm going to schedule you another session on Wednesday, and we'll see if, between the two of us we can come up with some ideas."

"All right, Doctor," he mumbles wearily as he stands. "Thank you for today. Now that we no longer have Michael to account for, I think we should probably all be able to make our own appointments going forward, do you agree? I know these sessions can't be easy for you."

"Whatever you prefer, just make sure you keep your sessions scheduled. I actually don't mind the change of scenery, and it can be slightly helpful for me to see all my Celestial-centric clients in succession, so I don't have to keep recalibrating my reality filter." She grins up at him and he smiles tentatively.

"Is that a real thing?" he asks, curious.

"It most definitely is."

It's nearly 6 PM when the lift deposits Lucifer back in his perpetually bare penthouse. He curses to himself at the loss of yet another piano, and just as he'd been getting to know her!

I'll have to call tomorrow to arrange another… I should consider buying in bulk.

He considers going down to Lux to play, but the spot on his hand seems to have grown a bit larger, and he opts to stay upstairs. He can't let Chloe see this.

How is the Urchin feeling? He sends the text and sets his phone down, not expecting an immediate response. He's surprised when he gets one.

She's running a fever now, but it's low-grade. She's clingy right now, I'll head back once she's asleep.

Don't be ridiculous, your offspring needs you there. I'll be fine. He sighs in relief, he's just won some time to get his guilt under control without concerning her.

You sure? He's typing his response to this when his phone rings in his hand. Seeing 'My Detective' flash across the screen makes him chuckle as he answers.

"Of course I'm sure, Detective," he says by way of greeting. "Your offspring needs you, and I have plenty here to keep me busy enough that I can grudgingly spare you."

"If you're really sure," she allows, "as long as it's grudging. Trix doesn't get sick often, but when she does she usually wants me close. She's been asking for you, though."

"Pass along my wishes for a speedy recovery, but I'll be finagling contractors for repairs and replacing my liquor stocks… again," he sighs dramatically. "This has been a catastrophic month for my favorite limited stock whiskies, Detective, truly."

"Hmm," she murmurs teasingly, "good thing you're rich."

"Indeed."

"How was your session? Are you sure you're okay to be on your own tonight?"

"Quite all right, darling," he reassures her earnestly. With a wicked sparkle in his eyes, he adds, "But if you find you're having trouble sleeping, do feel free to call, I think you'll find I'm quite good at—"

"Okay, Lucifer, you're fine, I get it!" she cuts him off, and they laugh together. "You'll call me if you change your mind?"

"I won't, but I do appreciate the offer, Detective," his voice rings with sincerity and he softly continues with, "I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmurs into his ear and he releases a contented sigh at the flare of their link in his chest. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Oooh, really?" he chirps hopefully, and her laughter rings in his ear again.

"Gross," he can almost hear the eye roll. "Just to say good night."

"If you insist, love, but the offer stands," he runs his tongue along his teeth, hoping she'll take him up on it, but knowing it's highly unlikely. A devil can dream. She's still laughing as she disconnects the call, and he looks fondly at his phone for a moment before he catches sight of the leathery skin on his hand and sobers instantly.

"Right," he says aloud. "Let's see what I can learn about guilt, then."

Three hours and seventeen Google searches later, he's about to throw his phone through the antique Assyrian wall.

"I'm abso-bloody-lutely positive that my imaginary half-brother isn't going to do a damn thing to take this guilt from me," he hisses at the tiny screen in his hand, "And God's the one that told me to work on it, I doubt He's going to help either, you wanker!" He pulls in a calming breath and takes a deep draught of scotch from one of the decanters Chloe had managed to salvage from the wreckage of his shattered shelves. "Dearie me, I knew the church was a downright guilt factory, but no wonder we had so many borderline cases with advice like that…"

He decides to put down the phone before he breaks it (or throws it and then has to have the wall repaired as well), and starts putting together his order for his alcohol. Fortunately, he has plenty of decanters from his last order— those get broken with enough regularity that he found a very nice bulk deal when Michael had destroyed his flat the last time. He goes through his ledger for contractors about getting the needed repairs done and readies his list of people to call tomorrow, then finds himself at loose ends.

He cooks for himself, finding that he misses Chloe already. Well isn't this a sad little circumstance, he thinks to himself wryly, the Devil's lonely after just a few hours alone. He puts some arias on over the sound system and pitches the volume low to give himself some background noise, and takes his dinner out onto the balcony to eat.

"All right, you bastard," the words fall from his lips without his planning to say them, and he startles a little at the unplanned soliloquy. "I've spoken at length with Linda, I've done some research and I still don't have a bloody idea on how to get a grip on this guilt. You really need to do something about the advice Your church gives people on this sort of thing, You know? It's probably going to cause a crowding problem in Hell at some point," He speaks slowly, conversationally, as he eats his dinner. Somehow, knowing He might actually be listening takes the edge off his usual ranting.

"Uriel…" he swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "Uriel I understand. My inaction with Mum was the reason he came after me, and in order to protect them both—and Mazikeen, of course—I had to kill him. Guilt 101, do a bad thing, feel bad afterward. Check. But I'd left that behind me… or… I thought I had."

"But then the case this past weekend, and it all come roaring back, full-force, and on top of Michael, I… I don't know what to do." He hates how small his voice sounds, but as it's only him here, and his… Creator would know exactly how he was feeling anyway, he sees no point in hiding behind a façade of strength he doesn't feel in this moment. "So if you have any suggestions, well, I might be willing to consider them."

.

It's weird being in her apartment with Dan rattling around like a marble in a jar. Things will feel utterly normal for a little while and then she'll come across his leather jacket slung over the back of one of the kitchen chairs instead of Lucifer's Burberry and she has a moment of disconcerting dissonance. Thankfully, he'd already been using the guest bath rather than her en suite, so they didn't have to share facilities. Chloe remembers all too clearly the annoyances associated with those rituals.

Strange that with Lucifer we never get in each other's way, even though his grooming routine is way more intricate than Dan's.

Chloe mostly hovers near Trixie's room, the door stays slid partly closed to help filter any noise from the living area, but open enough to make sure it's easy to monitor her sleeping daughter. Trixie didn't have an appetite, and with a stomach bug Chloe doesn't try to convince her otherwise, but does make sure she stays well-hydrated when she's not sleeping. Her fever is low, but enough that she's sweaty and restless, and wants nothing more than to cling to her mother when she's awake, and even for a while after she dozes off.

Dan runs interference, making supply runs as needed and taking his turn watching over their daughter once Chloe pries herself out of Trixie's sweaty grasp. She can't help but wonder how Lucifer would handle this situation, and she lets the resulting smile linger on her lips. Trixie's asked for him often enough that she has no doubt that he would be wrapped in that same sweaty embrace. She's trying to decide if he'd bear it stoically like he had when Trixie had clung to him and cried over Chloe's confession about Kinley; or if he would be aware enough of the lesser severity of this particular ailment and complain loudly while making no attempt to escape, and making Trixie giggle sleepily in the process. She supposes it would depend on Trixie's level of need. They've come to a pretty good understanding over the past few years—Trixie's gained a solid insight into what he'll tolerate, and he's learned how to tell what she needs versus what she wants. He has enough on his mind right now, it's probably a good thing he has things to keep him busy while I'm here.

She misses him in a hundred, a thousand tiny ways that evening, and she realizes how very accustomed she's become to having him around nearly constantly. She successfully fights down her smile at his imagined remarks when Dan does his evening workout in the sitting room, and her voice only chokes up a little when she hears his snarky commentary in her head as she's reading Trixie her bedtime story. Finally, her daughter slips into deeper sleep and she's able to retreat to her bedroom for the night, Dan taking up a position on the couch for the night to be close to Trixie, just in case she takes a turn for the worse.

She changes into her pajamas and picks up her phone from the nightstand. No texts from Lucifer all evening—he really must have kept busy. She pulls up his contact with the ridiculous photo of her playfully kissing his cheek as he grins proudly into the camera and presses the call button, eagerly pressing the headset to her ear.

"Hello, you've reached Lucifer," his schmoozy public voice fills her ear, and she deflates. Voicemail. "You know what to do, preferably in the nude." She hangs up, laughing. She so rarely gets his voicemail she'd forgotten about that outgoing message.

I really need to see if he'll change that.

She calls him back, hoping he'll pick up this time, but no, voicemail again. She forces herself to sound chipper as she leaves her message. "Hey Lucifer, it's me. I'm getting ready to head to bed, but I was hoping to talk to you a little before I went to sleep. I missed you tonight. Call me if you get this soon, okay? I love you, good night!"

She plugs the phone into her charger and watches to see if the screen will light up with an incoming call. Despite the softness of the sheets and the warmth and weight of the duvet (Lucifer had insisted that if he was going to be spending time in this bed with her, she was getting some comfortable bedding), she feels chilled without him there beside her.

The screen doesn't light up, and eventually her eyes drift closed.

.

It turns out that trying to disentangle oneself from unfounded guilt is rather like trying to defeat a hydra. Or so Lucifer considers, as he tries to think his way clear to his current issue. It certainly doesn't help that the more he thinks about his reasons for guilt, the more anxious he becomes and the faster the devil effect seems to spread. First crawling up his right arm, then across his back and chest until it overtakes his form completely.

He's sitting on the settee, learning forward because he's now developed brand-new monstrous plated spikes jutting from his back that make attempting to lean back uncomfortable, when he hears the familiar sound of wind rustling through feathers from the balcony.

"Lucifer, brother?" Arael's excited voice calls out, "Are you here? I wanted to—oh, Lucifer."

Lucifer doesn't move, except to curl into more tightly into himself. He doesn't ask how Arael knows it's even him sitting there. Who else would be here? Especially looking like this?

He feels the couch settle under the weight of a large body and a callused palm settles lightly on his shoulder. "These are the scars you carry with you from your descent?" Lucifer cringes at the softness in his tone, and the hand tightens in an empathetic squeeze.

"Not usually quite to this extent," he admits, his voice is low and gravelly. "I seem to be struggling with some guilt, and… it's causing my feelings of being a monster to become… well, becoming a monster as a result."

"Guilt?" Arael's tone is puzzled, but Lucifer doesn't lift his face, keeping it buried in his leathery palms. "What could you possibly feel enough guilt for to cause… this?"

"There's apparently very little that I don't feel guilt for," Lucifer barks a hopeless laugh, hunching his shoulders further. "Da—God told me that I would need to work out the guilt I was feeling or my self-actualization would make my path difficult… He certainly knows how to understate a warning."

Arael's eyebrows contract in confusion when Lucifer refers to their father by one of his names, but doesn't pursue it. "But… Lucifer, why do you feel guilty?"

"If I bloody knew, I wouldn't be in this mess, Arael!" he growls, pulling away from the gentle hand on his shoulder. He finally lifts his face and meets his brother's eyes. Their blue-green depths are filled with compassion and worry as they take in the ridged landscape of his face. "Every time I think I've managed to talk myself out of guilt for one thing, several more come popping up like daisies."

"What happened to Michael isn't your fault, brother," Arael's voice is soft, but resolute, and Lucifer winces when he calls him 'brother'.

"Oh, how I wish that Michael were my only issue at the moment," he murmurs quietly. "Michael. Uriel. The rebellion. Everything I've put the Detective and my friends here on Earth through. Poor Eve getting tossed out of the garden… the list is seemingly endless."

"Why do you recoil? Are you in pain, even now?"

"No, of course not," he scoffs, but it lacks any force behind it. "You can't truly mean to claim me – claim this as your brother, Arael."

"I see no reason not to," he replies simply, honestly, and he doesn't look away as Lucifer lifts his glowing magma eyes to watch his expression minutely, looking for any falsehood. He finds none. "All I see is my older brother, the Lightbringer, in an immense amount of anguish. Can I help you overcome this somehow?"

"I don't think you can, Arael, and quite frankly I'm beyond surprised that you're still here." Lucifer stands and crosses the room to the bar. "Did you need something? Can I get you a drink?"

"Hm? Oh. No, thank you," he replies distractedly, watching the spiny plates along his brothers back shift with his movements in morbid fascination. "I only came because some of the more difficult plants on your property have started to come 'round under my care, and I wanted to show you… but they will easily wait."

He pours himself a drink and turns, taking care to stand primarily in the shadowed areas, though with Arael's Celestial eyesight he has no trouble seeing the disturbing details written in his brother's hide.

"What?" Lucifer snaps irritably, and Arael shakes himself out of his preoccupation.

"What, what?"

"You were staring," Lucifer prods. "I suppose I can't blame you—I know I'm more than a bit of a freak show—but you'll forgive me for relating that it's really not helping."

"Oh. Right," Arael's expression becomes apologetic, his forehead crinkling in concern before asking hesitantly, "Where is Chloe?"

"The Spawn is ill with some sort of apparently-common offspring-type ailment. Something to do with bugs, I think the Detective said," he waves off the details with his glass. "She needed her mother, so I convinced Chloe to stay with her until she's well again."

"So, she doesn't know about this," Arael guesses shrewdly.

"I was hoping to resolve it before the Urchin recovers," Lucifer confirms, and Arael's eyebrows lift in surprise.

"Brother, you can't keep this from her."

"I wasn't intending to… but I was hoping to present it as a problem already solved, not something else for her to worry over…" he trails off. "Also, the Announcement for the lifting of my banishment has been scheduled for Thursday… if I don't resolve this by then—well—obviously I won't be able to attend."

"Lucifer, you can't not attend—"

"Well, I can't bloody well show up looking like the Great Beast, can I?" he rumbles, and his eyes flare brighter in his irritation.

"You need to tell Chloe," Arael persists and Lucifer grumbles some more into his glass. "She's good at getting to the root of things, brother, isn't that what she does?"

The muffled grumbling stops as Lucifer considers his brother's words, and he sighs heavily. "You may have a point," he acknowledges reluctantly. "But her offspring truly does need her now. I'll tell her tomorrow, it's late, and she's back to work tomorrow, I don't want her losing sleep."

"That sounds like an excuse, brother," Arael allows a little of his natural dry humor to creep into his tone, "but if you say you will tell her tomorrow, I know it for truth. I… I am honored that you trust me to be here with you, to see you this way."

"Honored?" Lucifer barks a harsh laugh. "I don't remember growing any perception-altering plants on that particular estate, brother, did you manage to produce some so quickly?"

"No, but I do have some starts, if you'd like me to," they exchange smirks, and Lucifer clears his throat quickly. "I told you, when you shared your experiences with us that I hoped one day you would trust me enough to allow me to see the scars you carry. It appears to be a heavy burden, Lucifer, and I don't believe you deserve to carry it. I hope we can find a way to lighten your load, my brother." He stretches out an open hand and Lucifer regards it for a moment before offering his own. Arael's broad palm clasps his brother's furrowed forearm firmly, and a very surprised Lucifer finds himself pulled into a rough embrace. Arael's coppery curls tickle his charred nose for a moment before he pulls away, his wide eyes earnest. "I have faith in you, and Chloe. I will bend my mind to this problem as well, though it's further outside my realm of expertise than I'm used to. Stay in touch, brother."

"See you soon, Arael," Lucifer replies dazedly, as the angel exits to the balcony and disappears in a flash of muted russet feathers.

He stares out the windows for a long while before he turns and heads to his bedroom, collapsing onto the bed in a fog of mental exhaustion without even bothering to undress.

.

Chloe gets the call for her next case just before daybreak on Tuesday. She texts Lucifer the barest details and sets about getting ready for the crime scene. She checks Trixie, who still has a low-grade fever but seems to be sleeping soundly. Dan's still passed out on the couch when she slips her boots and jacket on, secures her badge and sidearm to her belt and slips out the door.

She checks her phone as she slides into the driver's seat and finds a missed text from Lucifer, it must have come in while she was in the shower.

Apologies, Detective, I'm afraid I won't be able to join you today—slight self-actualization issue going on at the moment, probably best I'm not around anyone until I get a handle on it.

Slight issue? Her mind blanks as she re-reads the text. What does that mean? She pops in her Bluetooth headset and calls him, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she heads for the scene.

"Good morning, Detective," his voice is rough, as though he's only barely awake and she wishes she were there with him in bed. "I take it you received my message. I'm sorry I didn't call you back last night, darling, I'd left my phone in my jacket pocket."

"It's okay, Lucifer, I fell asleep pretty soon after I left that message anyway," she fibs. It's not a lie… an hour or two could be considered 'pretty soon', depending on the context… "I'm a little concerned about your current issue—what's going on?"

"I think it's what He was warning me about… the more I'm trying to get a grip on my guilt, the more guilt I'm unearthing, and… well, it's not pretty, Detective. My… my wings—"

"What about your wings?" she has a panicky flash of finding Lucifer's severed wings tucked away in his linen closet.

"They're… different… and they won't go back in." He whispers hesitantly. He's trying hard to hide his fear, but she can hear it nonetheless.

"Different how, Lucifer?" She demands anxiously, "Do you need me there?"

"No, Detective," he sounds more fearful now, but his voice is firm. "I'd rather not see anyone just now, its… I'm… I need to work on the guilt, and I can't do that if I'm panicking about how others will react to how I look at the moment."

"What aren't you telling me?" she hisses in frustration, considering heading for Lux right now, crime scene be damned.

"Without going into detail… can we just say that my wings aren't the only things that won't go away?" He's practically pleading with her not to make him say it, because that will make it real.

"Your face?" her breath catches in her throat as she waits for his answer, and the silence says volumes.

"It's a rather extreme case, Detective, I've… never experienced anything like it." He sounds as though he's barely holding himself together, and her heart clenches in her chest.

"I'm coming over," she flicks a glance over her shoulder in preparation to change lanes to head back to Lux.

"Detective, please do not," he pleads, and she hates hearing that desperation in his voice. "I don't want to frighten you, and I, Dr. Linda, and Arael are working to think of ways to address my guilt to help combat this… manifestation. Please, Detective… if you can think of any ways to address releasing guilt throughout the day send them along, but… I'm trying to—to not fall apart and I'm terribly afraid that if you see me like this…"

"I'm not running away, Lucifer," she reminds him vehemently, "I can't just let you—"

"I might run, Detective," he admits quietly, and her voice dies in her throat. "I would much rather run away than reveal myself to you in… this condition. It would be far less painful, for both of us."

"This isn't doing much to settle my concerns, Lucifer," she points out blandly.

"Nor mine, Detective," he assures her wryly. "Will you promise not to come?"

"I won't promise that," she shakes her head in frustration, watching carefully for the street she's supposed to be turning on, "you keep me apprised of what's going on throughout the day, but if you're no better by tonight, I'm coming over, and you will not run."

"Is your Urchin not still ill?" he asks, trying hard not to sound hopeful. "Doesn't she still need you nearby?"

"Trixie has Dan, and she was no worse this morning when I left. I'll be checking in with them today too, but don't think you're going to distract me from this."

"I know you're far too stubborn for that, but it was worth an effort," he sighs in resignation. "Very well, Detective, though setting a deadline of this evening does nothing for trying to take the stress out of this entire de-guilting process. The Thursday deadline for His announcement was stressful enough."

"It is really that bad?" she asks quietly, though from his reaction and evasiveness, she's afraid she already knows the answer.

"I'm monstrous, Detective," he murmurs, and his voice wavers on the edge of a dry sob before he clears his throat and injects a veneer of energy into it. "I'm trying not to dwell on it and focus instead on the solution, Dr. Linda says that's important. I just… need some time. So… you'll tend to your murder and do try to be safe, won't you?"

"I always do," she reassures him, and she hears his quietly relieved sigh. "You'll keep me informed of any change?"

"I will," he vows, "I'll only bother you if something does change, though. That way I won't be distracting you from the case."

"You like distracting me from cases," she tries a teasing tone, and he huffs a tiny laugh.

"I do," he admits, "very much. But neither of us can afford to be distracted today, I'm afraid. So I'll just have to distract you more on our next case."

"I'll hold you to that," she tries not to say too desperately. "We'll figure this out, Lucifer."

"I hope so. I love you, Chloe," he murmurs, and the call disconnects before she can answer him. She tries to swallow her heart, which had taken residence in her throat sometime during the call, and tries not to consider how… final… those last words had sounded. She pulls up to the crime scene just as the sun breaks over the horizon. She gets out of the cruiser to meet the uniformed officers already coming to meet her and sends him a quick text, just to get the final word.

I love you too. And next time don't hang up before I can tell you so!

She doesn't expect a response, so she pockets her phone to greet the unis and start gathering her case details, already missing having her partner at her side.