Chapter 9
They quickly realize that starting with the most recent issue isn't going to work—there are too many missing points of reference in Lucifer's memories.
"I feel like we should talk with Linda before I just go… telling you things," Chloe suggests tentatively. "What if…" What if I hurt you?
Lucifer's left hand lifts to the bridge of his nose as though he would like very much to pinch it to alleviate the pain, but he thinks better of it at the last moment and simply waves his hand in front of his face instead. "Perhaps just high level then? You seem to hold the opinion that we don't have much time to deal with… whatever situation we're in, so let's get a wriggle on."
"Okay," she blows out a sigh, edging further up onto the mattress next to him—it's far more comfortable than that pitiful excuse for a chair, anyway. "We met about three years ago, when your friend Delilah was murdered outside Lux." A small sound of pain emerges from his throat, his eyebrows contracting as pain flickers in his eyes. She rests a reassuring hand on his knee and continues quickly, "You made it very clear that you didn't trust the LAPD to solve her murder, and insisted on tagging along on my investigation. That's actually how you met Linda, too—she was Delilah's therapist first. You even proved to be slightly helpful, and we caught the guy that did it. He shot me when we confronted him, but you put the fear of the Devil into him, and got me to the hospital in time to save my life." Her right hand drifts to her left collarbone, unconsciously pressing against the scar there.
Lucifer's dark eyes drift to the bullet around her neck. "Is that where your pendant comes from? A reminder of how fleeting life is, perhaps?"
"No," Chloe wraps her fingers around the pendant and laughs. If it's a little watery, Lucifer kindly doesn't remark on it. "You actually gave it to me for my birthday this past year. You didn't come to be my official partner right away, we worked a few unofficial cases before my Lieutenant brought you on as a consultant. One of them was a kidnapping, and that's when you almost convinced me you were the Devil. I saw something—a flicker or a reflection in some machinery as you were approaching a suspect, and it scared me. You… you were just exasperated at that point, I think… that I didn't believe you, so you kept shouting at me to just shoot you and prove it… and I finally did."
"Really!" Lucifer coos, delighted, "Good for you, Detective Decker! So that's when you learned the truth, then."
"Er, no, actually. That's… that's actually how you found out you're able to be injured around me." She admits, still embarrassed at having allowed him to goad her into shooting him. "I felt horribly about it, but the bullet only grazed your thigh, and you bled. You kept the bullet, and had it made into this necklace for me, as a symbol of our partnership."
His eyes widen, not only at the idea of her injuring him (he's already experiencing the effect of that, and how much sharper her presence makes the pain), but at the… sentimentality of such a gesture. He can't fathom what would have inspired him to present her with something so… personal. He can see why Amenadiel would be of the opinion that he loved this human, at least, what with witnessing sappy gestures like this.
"All right, so then we became an elite murder-solving duo, obviously," Lucifer prompts confidently, and Chloe chuckles.
"What makes you think that?"
"Well those two officers that were at the scene of my, er, vehicular incident… they knew of me, and my partnership with you. That speaks of notoriety. Obviously, I am noteworthy and you seem to have good instincts and high intelligence as well, why wouldn't we be elite?"
Her laughter makes him smile, despite his less-than-ideal situation, and he waits patiently for her confirmation of his deduction.
"Well, we do have the highest close rate in the district, so I guess you're right…"
"See? I knew it." He teases lightly, only slightly unsettled at the bloom of warmth in his aching chest as she squeezes his knee again. "So you shot me, and I bled, and you didn't believe me still. How long did that go on?"
"Too long," Chloe huffs, glaring at him lightly. "You didn't bother to prove who you were to me until recently."
"Why on Earth would you allow me to assist you if you thought I was a liar?" he wonders blankly.
"I didn't really think you were lying… I just thought you were… using metaphors. To cope with a rough childhood, a rough life," she admits, embarrassed. "And then, well, once we got to know each other, we became friends, and we started to be… maybe more than friends."
"Friends?" he asks, puzzled. "We were friends?"
"We started out that way, yeah," Chloe replies honestly. "But… something more now." Somehow it's easier to admit, since this isn't quite her Lucifer, how much more they are… were… recently.
"I've never had a friend before," he muses quietly. "You seem to be rather unique in many ways, Detective Decker."
"You have friends now," she offers, trying to offset the tight feeling around her heart at his plaintive tone. "Me, Ella, Linda. Charlotte. Even Dan… sometimes."
He shakes his head carefully. "Amenadiel spoke of a Charlotte, but none of those names mean anything to me." Somehow, the loss of these unknown friends affects him, more than he thought possible. He swallows, his throat suddenly feeling dry. "They… do they all know?"
"Linda and Charlotte do," Chloe supplies, pausing. "I'm sure Dan doesn't, and I'm pretty sure Ella doesn't—she thinks you're a method actor. Dan's my ex-husband and… I think Dan thinks you're just a jerk most of the time."
"Hm, interesting choice for a friend," Lucifer smirks. "He sounds like a bit of a douche." Chloe's gaze snaps up, sharpening on him as he stills. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing… just... that's kind of your nickname for him," she mutters slowly, "You call him Detective Douche when you want to get under his skin."
"Does it work?" his smile is mischievous, and Chloe rolls her eyes. Some things never change.
"It does."
"Excellent," he chirps happily, sounding so much like his normal self that she can't help but smile back, and the sight of it takes his breath away. He clears his throat, casting around to get them back on track. "All right, so I didn't prove my identity to you, but we became friends despite you thinking I was delusional or a liar—which doesn't speak well for your overall judgement, Detective Decker, and I had such high expectations of you—which leads us to our current situation how?"
"One night months ago, you left me a message saying you were going to come over and tell me everything… and then you disappeared for three days." Chloe remembers the cold rage she'd felt, thinking he'd run again, how angry she'd been when he'd turned up again with this tale of kidnapping and wings… "When you came back, you said you'd been kidnapped and dumped in the desert. You said then that you were pretty sure your dad was involved, because your wings were back. But more recently, you told me that Pierce was behind your kidnapping. Pierce is Cain… and he's also my Lieutenant."
"Yes, I'd noticed my wings had returned… threw me for a bit of a loop, though I can't deny they came in handy. But… Cain—biblical Cain—devil-napped me, and currently is posing as a police lieutenant?" Lucifer questions, baffled. "Why? And how did he give my wings back?"
"He, um, apparently came to L.A. because he got a report that something made the Devil bleed, and he hoped that it might also make him killable. But I have no idea about the wings. I don't think you did, either. You know, before."
"Ah, so the immortal wants to die," he muses quietly. "Poor fellow just doesn't realize how much fun immortality can be. Has he found the secret yet, then?"
"Well, he thought it was me," Chloe admits dryly, "but when he got shot right next to me, it didn't kill him. Then he decided it wasn't my presence, but my… um, affection… that caused your vulnerability."
"He… he what, thinks that you care for me?" Lucifer snorts, immediately regretting it as it sends sparks of agony through his head. "Has he had a head injury? Or… or has my father really impeded your free will and forced you to have some type of feelings toward me?" This last is said as a growl, with a dark glare thrown at the ceiling.
"Your father has nothing to do with my love for you, Lucifer," Chloe blurts, and they both go still, staring at one another for a long moment. A flush crawls up her neck, flooding her cheeks, but she makes no effort to take back her words, or alter their meaning. His mind is whirling and suddenly he tastes ocean air, feels the press of soft lips, and hears a soft whisper, "You're probably right."
"Detective?" he breathes unsteadily. His eyes are unfocused, pupils dilated as his free hand lifts to hover at his temple.
"Lucifer?" she murmurs, heart racing as she tries to stifle the billowing flame of hope that something has been remembered, that her Lucifer is coming back to her. Her heart climbs into her throat—it's exactly the way he'd said it on the beach after their kiss.
He visibly pulls himself back together, shutters closing over his expressive deep brown eyes. "So… if he thinks your regard is what causes the vulnerability, he's out to win you for himself?"
"That's what we were thinking! So the plan was to let him think I did love him, and we were hoping that when that didn't break the curse, that he'd move on," Chloe pushes forward, trying to stay on task despite her impromptu declaration of love to a man who currently barely even knows her. "But the weird thing is, it kind of worked?" At Lucifer's befuddled expression, she tries to explain. "When I tried to tell him I loved him, he stopped me, told me it was moving too fast, that it wasn't worth the trouble, and he left… but right after that his curse mark went away, so he is mortal now."
"Then… problem solved?" he proposes hopefully.
"I wish," she chuckles darkly. "As it happens, now he's decided that he really is in love with me, and he wants to win me back. And normally I'd have no problem shooting him down, or even letting him down gently… but in this case he's also a murderer, and big-time crime boss that goes by the name The Sinnerman… so we've been trying to figure out how to take him down. I think that's what Amenadiel and Charlotte started working on yesterday—collecting evidence to see if we can get him put away for life."
"Yes, Dad's pesky 'no killing humans' rule," he jokes awkwardly, "I'm a little concerned for you, Detective Decker… a douche for an ex, and now the devil and the world's first murderer at your beck-and-call… you're quite the danger magnet, are you not?"
"It seems that way, sometimes," she mutters. Her hopes that he'd recovered some memories had subsided with his return to addressing her as 'Detective Decker'.
"You said you were concerned that Cain might target me—why would he?"
"When he told me that he wanted to win me back, I basically told him no," Lucifer grins at her, somehow unsurprised at her fearlessness. "He noticed that I was wearing my necklace again… I had, um, taken it off when he objected to it… and he seemed suspicious that I was turning him down because of you. You told me before that he'd try to go after you if he felt you were standing in the way of his plans."
"Well. This is a right lovely mess we've gotten ourselves into, isn't it?" He hums in thought, eyes focused on her pendant. "It's going to require some thought, and I suppose I'll need to speak with my angelic oaf of a brother about what evidence they've been able to gather. I also truly do need to get out of here before these humans get their hands on any real proof of divinity. And I need to make a trip to Hell, as well."
"Um, Lucifer, you can't even sit up without something propping you right now, and your head—"
"Yes, I'm aware," he snaps peevishly, his hand hovering protectively over his stomach. "But this stab wound isn't going to just heal, it needs a very particular treatment or I'm afraid Cain won't need to come after me. And if my brother is truly fallen, without his wings, then I am the only one able to collect it."
"Because it's in Hell."
"Yes, Detective Decker, it is."
"Okay," she agrees reluctantly, "then we need to get you out of here, and… and I guess I need to keep away from you so you can heal up some?"
"If my brother's theory holds true about your proximity slowing my healing then yes, that would be most efficient." He finds himself strangely reluctant to part ways with her, and he pokes at that feeling warily with a mental finger, as though it may bite him. Fatigue suddenly rears its ugly head, and his eyes slide closed as he leans his head gingerly back against his pillow. "How does one go about breaking out of a hospital, exactly?"
"It's strenuous—involving huge amounts of paperwork." She smirks at his crestfallen expression. Apparently past Lucifer enjoyed paperwork just as much as present Lucifer does. "You'll have to sign a slew of AMA waivers and who knows what else."
"Fine, fine," he waves his left hand wearily, wires and tubes flapping dramatically. "Perhaps after I've had a little nap, then. I'm… not certain my eyes can focus on anything just now."
"Oh," she examines his face closely, noting the stress and exhaustion lines around his eyes and mouth. She starts to pull away from where her hip is resting against his thigh, "I… guess I should go, then. Give you a jumpstart on your healing."
"You, er," he clears his throat awkwardly, looking up at her from under his thick eyelashes "if you have the time, you could wait and speak with Amenadiel? He should be arriving again soon…"
"Oh!" Chloe's more relieved than she probably should be that Lucifer seems nearly as reluctant for her to leave as she is. "Yes, that's a good idea, that way you'll be able to rest and he'll be up to speed when you wake."
"Yes, yes exactly," a small smile flickers across his face, even as he loses his battle to keep his eyes open. "Thank you, Detective Decker."
She reaches out for his hand, wrapping her fingers gingerly around his, to avoid disturbing any of his monitors. It's warm in hers, and he manages a tiny, tentative squeeze before sleep claims him. She waits for Amenadiel, guarding her partner as he sleeps.
Amenadiel sighs in frustration when he enters the room and finds Chloe sitting on the bed, watching his brother sleep.
"Chloe?" he murmurs, his deep voice thrumming through the peace of the room. Her head snaps up, relaxing when she realizes who it is.
"Amenadiel, hey," she whispers, turning back to Lucifer and reluctantly sliding her hand out of his. "He asked me to hang around until you arrived so we could catch each other up."
"Chloe, you really need to leave so he can start healing—"
"I know—" she interrupts him quietly, shooting a furtive glance at her sleeping partner. "Let's… go down to the cafeteria so we can talk without disturbing him?"
Amenadiel nods, stepping back to let Chloe lead the way. As they travel the halls, Chloe lets him know that Lucifer is mostly aware of the situation now—at least the parts that Chloe had been aware of. Once they settle at a table—Chloe with a slightly wilted salad and an honorary pudding cup, Amenadiel with a cup of strong coffee—she asks for an update on the Cain research situation.
"He's crafty, Chloe, and we've been at it less than a day. So far, we have photos of him meeting with a known fence. He got a small envelope, but we have no idea what was in it."
"Hey, that's pretty impressive for less than a day on the case," Chloe encourages, knowing that it's going to be beyond difficult to nail Pierce down.
"Charlotte is very…. motivated." Amenadiel smiles fondly, and Chloe suddenly finds herself wondering how painful it would be, seeing someone that had been a loved one walking around every day, but knowing that it's actually an entirely different person. A chill slips down her spine as she realizes that, if Lucifer's memories don't return… she may be on the path to find out. Her breath catches in her throat, a forkful of her sad salad trembling halfway to her mouth as she tries to deny even the possibility of that situation. Though now that the thought has arrived, it refuses to be evicted.
"Amenadiel…" her voice trembles as she reluctantly asks the question, "What if Lucifer's memories don't return from the past few years? What if… what he never remembers, um, his life here?"
"His memories are still in there," Amenadiel assures her calmly. "Angelic memory is pretty much permanent. I have faith that he'll recover them as he heals. Part of him still knows you, or he would have already asked you to leave so he could be healing. He doesn't trust easily, Chloe, but he's already shown you trust by discussing this situation with you. He's still inside, and he's the most stubborn of the Host. He'll be fighting his way back."
"I hope so." A tear skips down her cheek, landing on the red plastic tray in front of her. She sniffs, then distracts herself by pulling out her phone. "Okay, so… it's 3 AM, and I need to be at work tomorrow if I want to try to keep Pierce out of the loop on Lucifer's injuries. I know I need to keep my distance for a little while—do you have any idea how long before his non-Hellish injuries heal?"
"I'm not sure—celestial injuries are really quite rare in the Silver City, except during training exercises. It could be a day, or a week," Amenadiel sips his coffee carefully, making a face at the bitterness of the beverage. "That stab wound, though…"
"Lucifer said he needs to go Hell in order to heal it?"
"He… what?" Amenadiel looks surprised. "No, that can't be right. When I got stabbed with one of Maze's blades, she used one of Lucifer's feathers to heal me—it needed divinity, not anything from the infernal plane."
"Okay, then where do we get some divinity?"
"Well, Luci's—Oh." He stops short, realization written on his face. "We can't use one of Lucifer's feathers on his own injury… that divinity is already a part of him, it won't heal him. And my wings are… gone."
"Would any of your other siblings be willing to donate a feather?" Chloe asks tentatively, "If we can keep Lucifer from going back to Hell, I'm all for it."
"None of them would," Amenadiel states with utter certainty. "When Lucifer was cast out, the entire Host severed all connection with him. I was the only one to interact with him at all, and that was only because it was my duty to ensure he was always sent back to Hell when he escaped."
"So you're telling me literally the only interaction he's had with his entire family since the dawn of human history is you coming down and truant officer-ing him back down to Hell?" Chloe asks indignantly. "For thousands of years?"
"More like billions, by the time you factor in the way time in Hell moves compared to the mortal plane," Amenadiel confesses, and Chloe thinks he might sound a little contrite, but she can't bring herself to care how Amenadiel feels.
"What did he do that was so terrible that none of you would even consider saving his life?"
"He defied our Father," Amenadiel intones solemnly.
"And?" Chloe looks at him, eyebrows raised. "Did he start a war? Did a bunch of you die? Did he… I dunno, lead an army of demons against Heaven? What?"
"No, of course not," Amenadiel seems scandalized. "He demanded what Father was unwilling to give, and refused to take no for an answer. He was stirring resentment among some of the host with his persuasion. Father gave his judgement, and Michael carried it out. He was Outcast, Fallen, Anathema."
"So he got excommunicated from Heaven and his entire family… because he tried to fight for something he wanted? Something he desired? You… you realize that's really hypocritical, right?" Chloe prods, watching Amenadiel's confused expression. "Lucifer basically is desire, am I understanding that correctly? Punishing him for desiring something is literally punishing him for doing what he was created to do."
"Father gave him a kingdom. That is hardly an onerous punishment." His tone is condescending, and it only makes Chloe angrier. She fights it down as well as she can—they need his cooperation and she already knows how touchy the relationship between the brothers is.
"Have you met Lucifer? The man runs from the mention of responsibility. Forcing him to rule a kingdom, especially one like Hell? It would be like forcing me to run a human trafficking ring. It goes against everything he is."
Amenadiel opens his mouth to reply, then appears to actually think about what she said. He doesn't respond, and Chloe's willing to take the win at this point.
"Okay, look, I've got to get some sleep if I'm going to be able function at work later. What's your phone number? I'll text you so you have mine, and you can let me know how he's doing. I'll grab his phone from Lux and drop it by after work, wherever you guys are. Just remember—Pierce has a list of nearly all Lucifer's properties, thanks to Dan's research on him, so be careful where you take him." She sends him a text, then stops, staring at her red-eyed reflection in her black phone screen. "Oh… I've just had an idea."
"What idea?" Amenadiel asks suspiciously.
"Maybe I can keep Pierce off Lucifer's trail," Chloe looks up at the dark-skinned angel, and grins. It's exhausted, but genuine. "I've clearly not slept well, my eyes are red, I'm a bit of a wreck. What if I tell Pierce that I've had a fight with Lucifer and he's run off to Vegas again?"
"Chloe, that's a big ruse to run," he cautions, but she can see he's considering it. "You'll need to keep it up to your friends as well, everyone besides Linda and Charlotte. There could be repercussions that we haven't thought of."
"But it will buy Lucifer time to heal, and keep Pierce from coming after him! If he looks for him at all it'll be in Vegas! He'll be safe!" Chloe straightens her shoulders, manic, already making up her mind. "You'll need to sign him out as soon as the office opens in the morning. In fact, I can probably stop by before work and help you with that—then—"
"Chloe," Amenadiel gently interrupts. "You need to go home and get some sleep. If you're going to play this game, you'll need to have your wits about you. Come, I'll drive you."
"But shouldn't we tell Lucifer the plan?"
"He needs rest as well, healing is strenuous work. I'll tell him when he wakes. Let me take you home." He stands and gently guides her to her unsteady feet, ushering her into the passenger seat of his—very nice—Dodge Charger.
"Did Lucifer give you this car?" she wonders distractedly.
"No," Amenadiel chuckles, "but he lets me use it, since Maze blew mine up."
They don't speak any further until Chloe guides him to a parking space in front of her apartment. She looks over at him, and reaches up to unfasten her necklace.
"I can't sell the story if I'm wearing this," she reluctantly places it in his palm, curling his fingers around it. "Will you give it to Lucifer when you tell him about the plan? Tell him it's for safe keeping? He'll know what it means."
"I will, Chloe," Amenadiel agrees, intrigued at the gesture. "And I'll contact you tomorrow with our location."
"Thanks, Amenadiel."
When Chloe falls into bed a few minutes later without even bothering to undress, she tries not to think about how naked she feels without her pendant as she falls into an exhausted sleep.
Amenadiel spends the wee hours of the morning perched precariously on the low couch in his brother's private hospital room, pondering his conversation with his father's Miracle. Her words are proving difficult to remove from his thoughts.
"Punishing him for desiring something is literally punishing him for doing what he was created to do."
He'd never really seen it that way, of course. Lucifer had defied Father, and had paid the price. In paying that price he'd been gifted a kingdom… a kingdom that no one wanted, but had been designed to only be ruled by a Celestial. Every time Amenadiel had chased, harried, thrown or dragged his bloodied erstwhile brother back to that plane, he had only been glad that it wasn't his lot to be trapped there for eternity. He hadn't spared a thought for how it must have been for a being like Lucifer—he who had been light and laughter in the Silver City—to be surrounded by nothing but darkness and echoing silence. For billions of years.
"Brother!" Lucifer had greeted him gleefully each and every time he saw him, before Amenadiel would announce his intentions to return him to Hell, again. He'd always thought he was being glib… but what if he had been actually, genuinely pleased to see any reminder of his former life? One person who had cared something for the angel he had been, before being cast down to burn in the lake of fire for millennia. Before he had been forged into the Devil in the fires of Hell.
He watches his broken and battered brother in the bed across the room, his sleep intermittently interrupted by twitches and low groans. The paleness of Lucifer's face is accentuated by the darkness of the bruising around his eyes and face that has only deepened since he's been watching. The nurses come in around 7 to perform their rounds, and Amenadiel is able to see the gut wound for the first time. He pulls in a silent breath and his abdominal muscles tighten in sympathy as he observes the damage. The wound is small… or, it had started out that way. The skin around the puncture is already beginning to necrotize from the toxicity of the metal reacting with Celestial blood, causing it to open up further, like a sinkhole. He looks on in morbid fascination, feeling the odd contradiction that the same demon that had performed the selfless act that had healed his own wound, had caused this one. Try as he might, he can't make sense of it. Lucifer sleeps on as the bandage is removed, but the nurses wake him with their prodding.
"Mr. Morningstar, we need to remove the wound packing. If it gets too uncomfortable, let me know, okay?"
He nods silently, eyeing his brother sardonically as they work, using forceps to pull the black blood-stained packing material from the deep puncture. He doesn't flinch, even as the forceps are nearly up to the grips in his abdomen. Once all the packing is removed they carefully clean around the wound itself, and re-pack it with clean material before adding a clean dressing back over the top. A few more questions and they're ready to leave, but Amenadiel stops them with a question about discharging. The nurses glance at each other incredulously.
"Sir, your brother needs professional medical care. You saw the severity of his wound just now, not to mention the broken ribs, internal injuries, and his head injury. He's going to need to be here for quite a while."
"My apologies, I should have been more clear. I need to arrange transport for him so he can be cared for at home."
The covey of nurses share another suspicious look amongst themselves before deferring to the doctor, who would be by on her own rounds shortly.
"Well, brother," Lucifer sighs once the room has emptied of medical staff. "How did your discussion with Detective Decker go? And have you found anything on Cain yet?"
"She let me know that you're mostly up to date on recent events with Cain, and… unfortunately we don't have much yet, but Charlotte is highly motivated to help us with this."
"Yes, and who is this Charlotte? Detective Decker indicated she's a friend, but how did she come about knowing the truth of us?"
"Charlotte is… unique."
"Mmhm," Lucifer hums, "as is Detective Decker."
"Um, no, Charlotte's situation is even more rare," Amenadiel clarifies Charlotte's story as shortly as he can, watching worriedly as Lucifer grows even paler as he finishes the tale. "Luci? Are you all right?"
"So… so Mum was here on Earth, in Charlotte's body while Charlotte was in Hell. I… sent Mum away, and Charlotte was revived?" Lucifer sums up, looking as though he badly wants a drink. "Brother, I think I'm beginning to understand why these memories have hidden from me, what a bloody clusterduck!"
"A… what?"
"Hmm?" Lucifer raises his eyebrows, confused at his brother's incredulous expression.
"Nothing," Amenadiel lets the odd word choice go. Probably a result of the head injury. "Yes, you've got it. And Charlotte was beginning to think she was crazy because she remembered Hell, so… I convinced you to show her your wings."
"Since yours are MIA, I presume," Lucifer sniffs, and Amenadiel nods.
"You told me yesterday that's also when Chloe saw your wings—"
"Aha!" Lucifer cries, before flinching back from the pain reverberating in his head. He takes a moment to recover, before continuing more quietly, "That little minx, I knew she was hiding something. She saw my wings, no wonder she thinks…"
"She thinks what, Luci?" Amenadiel tilts his head in query, but Lucifer remains silent, eyes unfocused as though his thoughts are elsewhere. The elder brother shakes his head and clears his throat, catching the attention of the devil once more. "Anyway, she has a plan that she wants to put in motion today, to help keep Cain off your tail while you're recovering."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Mr. Morningstar!" Dr. Shivarrah enters the room with a cheerful greeting. "What's this I hear about you wanting to leave us so soon? You're really in no condition for home care yet."
The two brothers glance at one another and with a sigh, the Devil turns up the charm.
Chapter 10
Chloe oversleeps, of course. She's finally pulled unwillingly from the warm embrace of her blankets by the incessant buzzing of her phone, which she had somehow remembered to place on the charger before collapsing. She sits up, grimacing at the grittiness in her eyes and the aching creases on her skin from sleeping in her work clothing. Her hair is hopelessly tangled, and she feels like she could sleep for another week and still be tired. She looks around dazedly for the source of the noise that had roused her. Right. Phone.
"Decker" Her voice is hoarse, raspy.
"Oh wow, hey Chlo', you okay?" Dan's concerned voice is too loud, and she holds the phone gingerly away from her ear.
"Yeah, no, I…" she gives it up, realizing she's going to be utterly useless at any kind of subterfuge today until she gets some sleep. "I think I'm sick. I just woke up, I must've slept through my alarm."
"You sound… really bad."
"Gee, thanks." She says dryly, trying to clear the roughness from her voice. "What did you need, Dan?"
"Well, you weren't here, and Pierce wanted me to check on you. Said something about a couple of unis thinking they'd had Lucifer as a victim of a hit-and-run with a truck last night? Also, we might have a lead on the LA West Ballet case, but sounds like you're down for the day."
"Uh, yeah. I talked to Officer Russ last night, but Lucifer's fine. I'll text Pierce and let him know I'm sick. I might try to get an appointment somewhere later today." Hopefully that will keep him from coming around to check up on me. "First I'm gonna try to sleep whatever this is off."
"Okay, yeah, good plan," She can practically hear Dan nodding in agreement, probably eager to take the lead on a case for once. With Palmetto and Pierce's low opinion of him, he doesn't get the chance to do that much anymore. "If you need me to keep Trix longer, just say the word, yeah?"
"I'll let you know," Chloe disconnects the call, too tired to worry about courtesy right now. She fires off a quick text to her superior officer, then forces herself up to remove yesterday's clothing before falling back into her nest of blankets.
When she wakes a few hours later she feels much more human and able to tackle the challenges the day is bound to bring. It's past mid-morning and she's had no communication from Amenadiel, so she sends a text fishing for information before moving on to her wake-up routine. First item on the agenda: coffee.
A shower and two mugs of coffee later she's feeling nearly human, and she's considering heading into the office to start the new plan. She requests an Uber to Lux to pick up her cruiser since she'd ridden in the ambulance with Lucifer last night, and makes a mental note to pick up his phone from the penthouse while she's there.
Lucifer's dreams are haunted by fragments of images. A glowing rift in mid-air on the beach, and a pervading sense of grief as a strangely familiar brilliant light flows through it.
His bloody hand gripping a short sword as anguished sobs catch on the echoing emptiness in his chest, "He was my brother!"
Dancing in Lux with Detective Decker—first happily in a crowd, then slowly, the dance floor empty of all but their bodies pressed closely together, as cheesy gold confetti falls from the ceiling.
Standing cheerfully on a rooftop with a suicidal man, a different rooftop with an unfamiliar woman looking down into a pool, then yet another rooftop with Amenadiel. "I've had my fun on Earth, and... there's no reason for me to stay anymore. You win. I'll go willingly. Please, just... take me back to Hell."
A small room full of scientific equipment and a small dark-haired woman in front of a microscope, talking passionately about her specimen as he smiles indulgently, thinking wistfully of his younger sister.
In a quaint kitchen with Detective Decker looking furious in a towel, a moderately handsome man glaring daggers at him, and a small child wrapped around his waist as he freezes and waits for it to release him.
A tall, blonde woman kissing him in his penthouse and the memory of nearly climbing over the piano in a frantic attempt to escape her.
On a beach with Detective Decker, "More importantly, Detective, you deserve someone as good as you... because... well, you're special and I'm... I'm not worth it."
That last scene had chased him into wakefulness with its familiarity, he's certain it's the same scene as the flash he'd gotten earlier, where she'd kissed him. He shakes his head, relieved that it doesn't inspire a fresh tsunami of pain. What a load of old tosh! A child embracing him? And when had he ever run from a kiss? Clearly this head injury must be more extensive than he'd thought. He must have dropped off again while waiting for Dr. Shivarrah to return with his discharge papers.
"So what do you think, Luci?" Amenadiel asks when he notices his brother is awake again, and Lucifer's scattered attention is pulled again to the conversation they'd been having when he'd apparently fallen asleep.
The Devil looks at the tiny, misshapen blob of metal clutched loosely in his hand and closes his fingers gently around it.
"Brother, this is a terrible idea," Lucifer offers honestly. "Where on Earth did she get the idea that I need to be protected from Cain? How many times did you manage to kill him when you fought?"
"Luci… I didn't tell you that Cain and I fought," Amenadiel's eyes light up, and a grin spreads across Lucifer's face a moment later. "You remembered!"
"Well, good to know that not everything got wiped away," the devil sighs in relief. "Even if I don't know what I know and what I don't… But anyway, how many times?"
"Nine," Amenadiel smiles grimly, "before he got impaled on the railing and couldn't get off by himself. I made him swear to a truce before I would help him free."
"There, see?" Lucifer rolls his eyes, "I should be in no danger at all from him. Can you contact her on your phone and call off this ridiculous plan?"
Amenadiel takes the phone from his pocket and Lucifer watches in fascination as his Luddite brother easily navigates the device. He fidgets impatiently in his bed, he'd wanted to be gone hours ago, but it's nearly midday and the paperwork for his discharge has yet to arrive.
"Oops," Amenadiel murmurs, and Lucifer's attention rivets back to his brother. "Chloe had texted me and I didn't see the notification. Looks like she's on her way to Lux to pick up her cruiser and your phone."
"Oh, do I have one of those now, too?" Lucifer's nose wrinkles in distaste. "Ugh, such annoying little buggers, why would I do that?"
"Probably because Chloe needed a way to get in touch with you," Amenadiel suggests, tapping out a reply as he speaks, "and also because now that I'm fallen, I can't hear your prayers. And so you can annoy me with messages entirely in emojis." This last is muttered, but Lucifer's ears are sharp, and his answering grin is wicked.
"Yes, since when do you actually prefer to stay in touch with me, brother?" Lucifer asks wryly. "Last I can really recall, the only times you popped in were to request my return to my bloody throne."
"Things have changed in the last few years, Luci," the former angel admits. "I realized some things about you, and about myself, and… I'm trying to do better. And you have been, too."
"You never did tell me how you managed to fall."
"I… did some fairly underhanded things, to try to get you back to Hell," he hangs his head, the smooth deep brown skin of his scalp shining in the harsh light of the room. "I manipulated Linda to try to get inside your head, I… had your wings stolen from where you'd hidden them and nearly unleashed them on humanity at large, and… I resurrected a Hellbound soul to kill you, once I realized you were vulnerable."
"Well," he draws out the word on a long exhale, "branching out a bit from your usual repertoire, I see. Still doesn't tell me why you and I would be in communication."
"We worked together to make sure the soul I resurrected got sent back to Hell. He killed several people after I brought him back, and he actually stabbed me with one of Maze's blades—I would have died if she hadn't healed me with a feather she'd kept tucked away from one of your wings."
A large building—a hangar?—he's on the cold concrete floor, a puddle of his blood rapidly spreading around him as he gasps out his final, choked words, "I don't know if this is all part of the plan. Or if You can even hear me. But if You're up there... Daaaaad... I need a favor. I'll be the son... You always wanted me to be. I'll do as You ask. Go where You want me to. In exchange, all I ask is... is that You protect Chloe."
"One of my feathers healed you?" Lucifer perks up at that bit of information, after he's shaken off the lingering memory of his own death.
"Yes, I needed a divine supplement to heal it." His phone chimes again, and he taps out another reply.
"Ah," he nods, disappointed. "Yes, I suppose that would have worked then. Pity it won't work for me. I don't suppose you held on to any of your old feathers?"
Amenadiel shakes his head regretfully. "I burned them, to avoid any issues like what we ran into with your wings."
"Damn," Lucifer breathes, though he's not surprised. "The Hell remedy it is, then. Fitting."
"I didn't know there was another remedy, Luci, are you sure it works?"
"I'm still alive, of course it works," Lucifer snorts, again feeling a surge of relief at the lack of spiking pain in his head, a good sign his healing is working. "What, you think I spent billions of years in Hell, fighting my way to the throne without ever tasting Hell-forged steel? I'm an excellent warrior, but no one is that good. Here's a tip, brother: In Hell, everyone has Hell-forged steel. If the remedy didn't work, I wouldn't have lasted a century."
"What do you need to make it?"
"Nothing rare, thankfully," he considers a moment. "Ash, which is everywhere of course. Demon blood, which is easy enough to obtain. And this lichen-moss thing that… now that I think about it… is the only thing that I've ever noticed growing down there. Aside from the briars along the river… and you don't want to go near those."
"Once your other injuries are healed, do you think you'll be able to make it in and out without getting into trouble?"
"That's certainly the goal, brother," he replies airily. "Though I know you'd just be pleased as punch if I wound up getting trapped down there again."
"Luci," Amenadiel sighs heavily. "I gave up trying to force you back to Hell after we worked together to stop Malcolm. I… I don't think you belong there anymore."
Lucifer narrows his eyes suspiciously at his brother before forcing a laugh. "You'll forgive my lack of trust, I'm sure, given my current circumstances."
"You are my brother and my test. Whatever needs to be done." No images this time, only the words wander through his mind.
"Oho, that's it, is it?" He crows triumphantly. "You think that by what… helping me limp along dear old Dad will give you your wings back? I suppose it's worth a try, hm?"
Amenadiel sits back on the couch, struck at the enormity of the bitterness there. He thinks back to Chloe's accusation and it slowly dawns on him truly how badly he'd misjudged his brother. He recalls Lucifer's reaction back when Amenadiel had casually referred to him as evil, when he'd first come to Earth to stay… Only now does he know his brother well enough to realize the amount of pain that offhanded remark had caused. And lately… he rocks back further into the seat as realizes that he's been nearly as casually cruel. Constantly referring to Lucifer as his 'test', agreeing to help him… exactly as his brother accused, all in hopes of Father giving his wings back.
"You… you're right, Luci," he declares quietly, and Lucifer's brow furrows in confusion. "I have… been trying to be a better brother to you, but—maybe for the wrong reasons. I think I am hoping that if I prove myself worthy that Father will restore my wings, but… if I'm going to do this, I need to do it because it's the right thing to do, not because I may be rewarded."
"Oh, that doesn't sound like the Amenadiel I know at all," Lucifer murmurs in disbelief. "How many years of memories did you say I'm missing?"
"Mr. Morningstar, I'm so sorry for the delay!" A tiny, owlish woman breezes into the room with a truly daunting stack of paperwork, and the devil sighs in resignation. There goes the rest of my day.
She's nearly to Lux by the time she gets a response from Amenadiel.
Still at hospital, waiting for discharge paperwork. Lucifer says plan is bad idea.
Does he have a better idea to keep Cain off him while he's healing?
Healing is already progressing. Says he can handle it. She rolls her eyes, only just managing to contain her huff of annoyance.
OK. I called out sick today, too tired to be convincing. Tell me where you are when you decide, and I'll bring his phone by this evening. If I'm not convinced, I'm starting the plan tomorrow.
Her ride drops her off at Lux's front door and the bouncer nods her through. She looks around for Lucifer's phone, trying to figure out where he would leave it while taking a 'quick trip' down to Hell. She pauses when she steps out onto the balcony, the place he had lain still marred by a dark patch of smeared blood. Stuck within it is a single, enormous, smoke-colored feather. She stares at it, wondering what kind of bird it came from. She retreats inside, spies the phone on the bar, and notices the charge is nearly gone—no surprise with the number of notifications he gets—so she tracks down his charger and plugs it in. While it charges, she grabs some towels and water and goes to mop up the grisly remnants of his injuries. She pulls the feather from the floor and is about to release it to the wind when it catches the light and something makes her pause. It really is enormous, nearly as long as the ones she'd seen on Lucifer's wings—but his had been shining white. The color is unusual too, there's an iridescence there, but not like you'd spy on, say, a pigeon or blackbird's wing. It's more the illusion of smoke—the way it coils and wends in an eddying breeze. Intrigued, she tucks it into her jacket pocket and continues her cleaning until no traces remain.
She goes out briefly to pick up lunch, but winds up back at Lux rather than crossing town back to her apartment. She doesn't know where Lucifer and Amenadiel will wind up, but… she feels closer to Lucifer here than she would at home. She sends Amenadiel another text offering to bring Lucifer anything he needs from his apartment when she sees him this evening.
She spends some time getting to know the controls on the apparently brand-new television that now resides in his sitting room. She smiles faintly that Netflix's only suggestion for "Watch It Again?" is Bones, and she starts in from the Pilot, just to pass some time, but the first time Brennan mentions the coccyx, she has to turn it off. She checks Lucifer's phone, but it's not fully charged yet. Eventually, she finds herself in his bedroom, curled up on his bed. This mattress is probably illegal. I didn't even know mattresses could BE this perfect until that first night… well, morning. She still barely remembers anything from that very first night, having gotten very drunk after receiving Dan's breakup text. She remembers how gentle he was with his rejection of her advances, though, and how very kind he had been afterward. It's only been a day, but she misses him, her Lucifer. He's not gone, obviously, but who he is right now isn't who he was, and it only highlights to her how much he has changed during their friendship. How hard he's worked to be the better version of himself that he'd been working so diligently to hide before. These thoughts run idly through her mind as she slips unwittingly into sleep.
"Well, Detective Decker!" The familiar lilting accent paired with the unfamiliar title jars her into wakefulness and she gazes up to find her partner standing over her, looking wan but grinning delightedly. He's disheveled, wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of low-slung jeans that are a little too short, and very obviously only held up by his belt. His right arm is no longer in the sling, but he's still holding it a little awkwardly against him, and all of his visible bruising is already moving from deep purple/black to the yellowish-green of healing. His posture is a little slouched, indicating his ribs still pain him, and she fights the urge to pull up his shirt to check on the stab wound. "Amenadiel assures me that you do indeed have your own residence, and yet I've found you here twice, and now even warming my bed! Is there something else about our relationship that I should know?"
It's all said in that over-the-top seductive purr that used to get a flustered reaction out of her every time back in the early days of their partnership, but she's been his partner for too long for it to truly affect her now… at least not in this instance, where he's clearly teasing her. So rather than scramble up and stammer an explanation, she goes with her second inclination: tease him back. She blinks sleepily up at him and slowly stretches, feeling a smug thrill of satisfaction as his eyes widen, his tongue flickering out to moisten his lips as his gaze catches on the bare skin of her midriff where her shirt has ridden up. She yawns exaggeratedly and sits up, running her fingers over her hair.
"Sorry, I was waiting for Amenadiel to text me back to let me know if you needed anything from here besides your phone. I got bored, and your mattress is crazy comfy." He pulls back a half-step, and she notices he's not quite as steady on his feet as he'd like her to believe. "You should probably sit down, before you fall down. Or better yet, lie down. You look better, but you're weaving."
"I told Amenadiel I'd be fine," he straightens his shoulders and looks offended at the implication that he's incapable of taking care of himself.
"And I'm sure you meant it, but I'm your partner and I understand you better than he does," Chloe presses, reaching forward and grabbing his elbow, tugging him down effortlessly to sit beside her. He grunts a little in discomfort as he bounces onto the mattress. "See? No way should that have been that easy."
"Who's to say I wasn't merely eager to join you in bed, Detective Decker?" he tries for a cocky leer, but it comes out as more of a pained grimace.
"Mmhm," she hums skeptically, eyeing him. "How's your head?"
"Better, in terms of pain," he admits, "though the memories are still being a bit stubborn. They seem to arrive in bits and bobs, with no context or connection, for the most part."
"But they're returning? That's good news," hope flares in her chest and she reaches out to squeeze his arm in support. "If you have questions, I want you to ask them, okay? I'll always give you honest answers."
"Thank you," he murmurs, his puzzles eyes on her hand. "I've at least found out why you seem so comfortable around me, despite knowing what I am. You haven't seen my face."
"I haven't…" she stares at him blankly, "Lucifer, I see your face every day. I'm looking at it right now. What are you talking about?"
"Not this face, my devil face," he elaborates. "My brother explained that you witnessed me revealing my wings to Charlotte, that he had convinced me to show them to her to help prove to her that she isn't crazy, merely celestially inconvenienced. I never would have shown you my wings to prove my identity, I would have wanted to show you my face, to make sure you understood properly who I truly am."
"That's what you told me before," Chloe sighs, "but you said your father had taken it when you got your wings back."
"So my brother informed me," he reaches up and gingerly pinches the bridge of his nose with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, "and so we are stuck with you viewing me through a warped lens, and sadly deluding yourself into thinking I'm worthy of your regard."
"Let's not worry about me right now," she suggests gently. "I'm more concerned about getting you back into one piece. Your head is better, but you're still being careful with it, so you're still having some pain. Your arm is better but still awkward, and your ribs still hurt. I'm afraid to ask about the stab wound, but I need you to give me a progress report."
"Ah, right," he glances down at his abdomen, his hand pressing lightly over the wound. "It's not something that's going to get better until I can get to Hell for the cure, Detective Decker. I'm actually supposed to change the packing soon, according to the nurse."
"Is… is that really something you should be doing yourself?" Chloe asks nervously.
"I've dressed my own wounds for eons," he assures her, "nothing new for me, really—Oh, bollocks."
Chloe follows his gaze and notices the spreading black stain on the t-shirt. "I think it's time to change the packing now, Lucifer. Did they send you with supplies?"
He staggers to his feet and she hurriedly stands to support him, trying to get him to sit back down.
"I like these sheets, Detective Decker, I'd just as soon not ruin them. I can do this in the sitting room, or the bath." Chloe does a quick calculation and steers him toward the bathroom— there are no stairs to navigate in that direction. She seats him on the toilet lid, and finds the bag of medical supplies on the bar in the sitting room. When she returns, he's got his shirt off and his belt undone, carefully undoing the button and zipper of the too-large jeans.
"It's just the waistband of these trousers, Detective Decker," he says around his hissed exhale, "a bit too rough against the perforation, I'm afraid."
She kneels in front of him and swats his trembling hands away, gently peeling away the top dressing.
"Lucifer," she breathes, horrified. "I can't believe they let you out of the hospital like this."
The flesh surrounding the wound is so friable that large pieces of it have peeled up with the dressing, leaving deep red, infected-looking tissue beneath. The wound appears to be sinking into itself, the hole appearing three times larger than when she had seen it just last night. She can see the packing inside, saturated in black fluid.
"Is this your blood? You've always bled red before…"
"It wasn't quite so bad this morning," he admits sheepishly, "Hell-forged blades have a toxic reaction when they contact celestial blood… it literally burns from the inside out. But again, it's going to continue to worsen until I can get to Hell for the cure. So perhaps you should pop off so I can recover from these other injuries, and… what are you—?"
"Did they send any tools with you?" She's digging through the bag of supplies, "We're going to need some… tweezers… or something to pull this stuff out."
"There were some sterile packets of things in there, yes," he leans back against the wall, exhausted already, but holding out his hand for the instrument when she locates the packet. She swats his hand away again, and he doesn't have the energy to argue, merely grunts in annoyance as she drags him down to lie flat on the floor and proceeds to use the forceps to carefully fish out the contaminated packing material. Once that's done, she finds the sterile scrub and proceeds to thoroughly clean around the degrading wound. He feels an unfamiliar tugging sensation in his head, and pries his eyelids open as she leans over him.
"Detective Decker… either I'm becoming delirious, or… you're glowing." He murmurs weakly.
"I'm… what?" she glances down and finds a golden glow emanating warmth from the inside of her jacket. Startled, she reaches inside and pulls out the smoke-colored feather she'd found on the balcony that morning. Only it's not smoky anymore, it's glowing with a brilliant, fiery golden light. Lucifer's eyes widen in shock, and his hand shoots out to carefully catch her wrist.
"Please, don't" his own voice echoes in his mind, but it sounds small, nearly childlike in the face of the concern written on the face of the detective standing before him with her hand outstretched to touch his scars.
He blinks himself back to the present. "Where did you get this?"
"It was… stuck in the puddle of dried blood on your balcony from when you landed last night. I was going to get rid of it, but it seemed… different, so I put it in my pocket."
"This… this came from my sister."
"You have a sister?" Chloe parrots, dumbfounded. "How do you know?"
"I have thousands of siblings, Detective Decker, they aren't all brothers," he huffs exasperatedly. "But this sibling I knew quite well before my fall. I'd recognize her feathers anywhere and if she was nearby last night, I was in much worse shape than I'd thought."
"She's dangerous?"
"She's the angel of death, Detective, she's hardly a sweet peach."
"But she's an angel, like you and Amenadiel?"
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean—"
Chloe remembers what Amenadiel had said about divine healing and follows her immediate instinct. She places the feather over the gaping hole in her partner's stomach, gasping a breath as the warm glow swiftly becomes an overpowering torrent of glorious light. Her eyes water, her ears ring, and she collapses on the floor next to her partner as blissful darkness overtakes her.