Chapter 15
He'd stopped at the jewelry store that morning after his session with Doctor Martin. He'd heard Cain muttering to himself in his office that morning, and he'd formulated his emergency backup plan on the way to his appointment. Once he had set foot in the jewelry store he'd been overtaken by a memory of the Detective clinging to him, stating happily that they were engaged—but it had clearly been a cover for a case. He had noticed which rings she lingered over just slightly as she was perusing the stock, however, so he was able to make what he hoped was a reasonable deduction for a ring she would at least find pleasant to wear temporarily. He narrowed it down to three, then chose the one that seemed to speak best to him. The one he chose made him think of the way her hair shone in the sunlight, and the diamonds—though not as large as she deserved—had a slight blue tint to them that reminded him of her eyes, and sparkled magnificently even in the low light of the shop. A subtle filigree wound sinuously between them, adding a degree of elegance to an otherwise simple band. The ring is nearly flat, nothing sticking up to catch on anything, but there is a quiet sophistication to it. Something that catches his attention, and once he pictures it on her finger, he can't imagine anyone else ever wearing it.
He'd kept it in his pocket all day, his fingers obsessively brushing over its resting place again and again, as though to assure himself he hadn't lost it. He hadn't expected her to actually agree with the plan, that had certainly taken him by surprise… though he supposed that by now he should be accustomed to her surprising him. But she had—agreed, and surprised him—and then they'd had their little moments, both in the car and in the lift. He still isn't quite sure what to make of them.
Arriving here at her apartment brings another rush of memories and emotion, fortunately much less intense than the one he'd experienced at Doctor Martin's office, but frustratingly just as muddled. They wash over him as he lets himself inside.
"I'm sorry, but there is no way that you can help me right now. You're just... you're too you."
"You almost die, and then you ghost me for weeks."
"This is my home! Deal with it, Mother!"
"If I'm gonna take this guy down, I need my partner and that's you. Lucifer Morningstar."
"Why should the child go first? I'm far larger. And hungrier."
"I think he would be proud of you."
"Driving lessons will have to wait until your mum's not looking."
"Lucifer!" The Detective's excitable offspring rushes at him and attaches herself to his torso, and he looks down at her in horrified fascination, grocery laden hands widespread. He'd offered to let this tiny creature drive his beloved Corvette?
"Uh, yes, hello Beatrice, I… didn't realize you'd be here."
"I live here, Lucifer," she looks up at him, grinning. "And you said I could help cook."
"Yes, I'm rather aware of that, child, but I didn't realize you'd be here, now," he delicately extracts himself from her grasp and backs away carefully. "I thought I'd have some time to… prepare."
"Hey Mr. Morningstar," the sitter, Heather, comes around the corner smiling. "Was Ms. Decker expecting you?"
"Yeah, we're having dinner tonight!" Trixie pipes up excitedly, "he's been texting me about it, and I get to help cook!"
"You're on the Safe List, so we're good to go," the teenager shrugs. "I'm not real great in the kitchen, though, so I'll just hang out and watch."
"That's quite all right, I'm sure I'll have all the help I can handle with this one," Lucifer watches the child warily, and she smiles innocently back at him. He tosses one of the plastic bags to her. "That bag there has your protective equipment, child. Prepare yourself and wash your hands, we have some things to discuss."
Half an hour later, she's managed to surprise him no less than four times with the sheer amount of information she already has, and her cheeky cleverness.
"You are aware that eavesdropping is considered rude, yes?" Lucifer smirks at her. They're sitting at the bar, brushing butter onto the breadsticks while Heather sits in the living room with her headphones on, scrolling on her phone.
"I don't listen in on private stuff," she argues, and has the grace to blush at his lifted Eyebrow of Disbelief. "Okay, sometimes I hear it, but mostly I just want to know what's going on. I'm not a little kid!"
"I think your stature suggests otherwise, child," he disagrees gently, gesturing to the stepstool she's currently standing on as Exhibit A, "and I know your parents care about your safety above all else. You need to be careful, some knowledge can prove dangerous."
"Then isn't it dangerous not to know things, too?" she counters.
"It can be. I suppose for someone in your position it's a bit of a balancing act…" he allows, before murmuring to himself, "but I'll admit that I'm certainly not enjoying being on the short end of the knowledge stick lately."
"What does that mean?"
"Er, I've been having trouble remembering some things lately," he confesses, and Trixie gasps.
"Like Dory?"
"Like a what?"
"Dory!" She chirps cheerfully, "She's a fish, but she has short-term memory loss so she forgets stuff a lot."
"Erm, no. I'm quite sure I can remember more than a fish, and I've got all my old memories, it's only the past few years I seem to have some… gaps."
"The past few years?" the girl whispers, eyes widening. "You remember us, though, so that's good, right? My mom and me."
"Well, I've remembered some things about the two of you, but no, I'm afraid most of what I knew about you and your mother is gone." Trixie's face crumples, and she looks up at him with wide, teary eyes and he casts about for something to distract her. "Temporarily, I'm sure! But… I remembered your propensity for clinging hugs! And our deal about driving lessons!"
"Do you remember the bully when we met? Or saving us from the bad man that shot you?" Her face falls further when Lucifer reluctantly shakes his head. "What about teaching Mommy how to be you? When Mommy shot you? Or when you tried to get me to play fetch? When you took me to that school?"
She seems devastated at his continued negatives. "Did you forget Maze too?"
"You know Mazikeen?" he draws back in surprise as the girl nods, puzzled.
"Of course I know Maze, she lives with us," her face falls into a little frown again, "or least, she did. She moved out when she started fighting with everyone, and called me names. I think she was really sad."
"Sad?" he parrots incredulously, "Hell's best torturer was sad?" What kind of alternate universe have I stepped into? Perhaps I have permanent brain damage after all…
"She said Amenadiel and Doctor Linda were sneaking around behind her back, and that's when she started avoiding everybody and being mean," the girl explains, but Lucifer is missing too much context to even begin to understand. She looks up at him sadly. "You really forgot us?"
"I am sorry, child," he murmurs softly, "I was injured, and the memories left of their own volition. They seem to be returning, but I'm afraid they don't make sense to me yet. I'm working on fitting them all back together."
"That's okay, Lucifer," she leans across the gap between them and gives him another hug, gently this time. "We'll help you remember."
She spends the next half hour regaling him with tales of the experiences they've shared, and he finds himself smiling warmly at her spirited renditions of his accent and reactions. She quickly learns to recognize when he's remembering things, and celebrates every tiny disconnected piece that he recalls. Finally, her well of memories runs dry and after a moment of silence, she quietly asks,
"Lucifer? How are we going to keep Cain from causing more problems?"
"We aren't going to be doing anything, Urchin, if you're including yourself in that." She scowls up at him, but it fades quickly into a smile. His nicknames are one of the memories she helped him recall, and he finds himself charmed by how happy she seems when he uses them. Much like her mother, he muses. "Your mother and I have a plan, but it's going to involve some… some let's-pretend."
"I'm good at pretending!"
"Yes, I'm aware," he retorts wryly, and she giggles. "But this man is dangerous, and your mother wants you out of harm's way. I agree, and I know your father would as well, were he informed of the situation—which he is not."
"I know," Trixie chirps, tasting the marinara sauce once more, until Lucifer snatches the spoon from her hands. "Daddy doesn't believe that you and Maze are who you say you are."
"If you keep tasting it, there won't be any left for the chicken, Spawn," he admonishes lightly. "And you're correct, he doesn't know, which means he doesn't know about Cain either, and wouldn't believe us if we tried to tell him, unfortunately. So, your job will be to keep pretending with your father and everyone else. Your mother and I have different roles ahead for us."
"What kind of roles?"
"Well, you know your mother was seeing this man socially," Lucifer clears his throat, trying to be mindful of what the Detective would think appropriate for discussion with her offspring. "He fancies himself in love with her, and we know that he's intending to ask for her hand in marriage."
"Ew," Trixie wrinkles her nose in disgust. "I haven't even met him."
"Yes, well, your mother has been clever enough to keep you away from him," Lucifer smirks at the child, and she returns with one of her own. He clinks his tumbler of scotch with hers of apple juice and they sip in solidarity. "But… if he asks, and your mother turns him down, he might get angry, and we want to avoid that. So… we were thinking to put on a bit of a show for his benefit."
Trixie looks up at her friend, working out what he's saying in her head. It makes her sad that he doesn't remember them very well right now, but he's still here, still trying to keep them all safe. Suddenly she realizes what he means to do.
"Are you going to ask Mommy to marry you?" she squeals delightedly.
"That's the plan, Urchin, but you needn't worry—" he reassures her quickly, "it won't actually happen. Once the danger is past, we'll dissolve the engagement and everything will be able to go back to normal again."
"Oh, I'm not worried," she smiles so wide that her eyes nearly disappear into her cheeks. "I've been waiting for you guys to start dating forever."
"Beatrice!" the devil truly sounds scandalized, and she giggles. "You can't truly desire for your mother to be involved with the devil."
"You're the devil," Trixie reminds him unnecessarily, "And you're pretty awesome, so yeah… I can. And I do."
He looks at her with wide eyes, just as Heather approaches the bar.
"This smells amazing," she observes, removing her earbuds and settling onto one of the stools, "you're one heck of a cook, Mr. Morningstar."
"I've had a lot of practice, m'dear," he laughs woodenly, turning back to the stove and stirring the sauce once more before preparing to assemble it all for the oven. "Eons of it, I'm sure a youngling like you would say."
He and Trixie continue to banter back and forth as the meal bakes and they clean up from their preparations, making Heather laugh with their interactions until Chloe arrives home.
Dinner and the tedious game pass like water under a bridge—swiftly and smoothly. Not even Cain's presence just outside can dull the oddly familiar domestic contentment that settles upon him. He marvels at it in the back of his mind as he packs away the game, listening to the Detective agree to read a single chapter to the Urchin for their bedtime ritual. He doesn't look out the window, to where he knows Cain is lurking in the creeping shadows. He closes his eyes and stretches, feeling the unaccustomed pull of muscles locked in one position for far too long. His eyes pop open when her laughter reaches him.
"Little sore there, old man?"
"Well, I'm hardly used to laying in one position for such an extended time period, you know," he fires back, rubbing the small of his back ruefully as he starts to stand. She chuckles and offers a hand to help him up. As he takes it in his own, he hears Cain shifting closer and he realizes he's probably not going to have a better opportunity. He shifts his posture so he's kneeling before her, carefully cradling her hand in his. He pulls in a bracing breath and his gaze travels from their linked hands up to meet her wide, blue eyes which are shining with… tears? Is she frightened? His eyes flicker to the window, but Cain hasn't moved and he senses no other danger. When he meets her eyes again he still can't identify the expression in them, but she squeezes his hand and he takes it for approval to proceed.
"Detective…" he begins haltingly, but it feels wrong in this moment, so he quickly revises to, "Chloe." Her breath catches and he slips his free hand from his trouser pocket, tentatively presenting the ring for her inspection. The pale blues of the diamonds catch the orange firelight and sparkle with myriad points of light. Flame flickers along the delicate rose gold filigree of the band, setting it aglow as though he's holding a freshly smelted band of liquified metal. "We've… been through quite a lot together, you and I, haven't we?" She huffs a wet laugh, and nods, and he draws her a half-step closer. "I can't even begin to explain what I feel for you… I'm not entirely certain there are words for it, and I speak every language. I don't quite know how or when you managed to weave yourself so tightly into the fabric of my life that I could feel you there, even when I didn't truly know who—what—you were to me. I asked you once if this was real… if we were real, and then I ran away and wounded us both so deeply..." He sucks in a wavering breath and glances back down at their hands, her fingers clutching his so tightly that her knuckles are shining white. "I know now what a horrible decision—mistake—that was. I tried to protect you by giving your choice back to you, and… and now I find that I… I want nothing more than for you to choose me. I would be delighted and honored to remain at your side for the rest of your life, darling, in whatever capacity you would have me." He forces his gaze to meet hers, and her eyes are wet with tears. Hellfire, I can't do anything without hurting her, can I? "Chloe, love, could you ever consider marrying me?"
His heart pounds with the amount of raw truth he'd poured into his proposal, and he's so focused on her that he barely pays attention to Cain's faint rumble of annoyance from outside. Every word he'd uttered had been nothing less than naked truth, and he'd phrased the question so very carefully to give her the easiest possible way out. He watches her carefully as he waits for her answer, wondering what path she will choose to take. Cain waits impatiently with them, shifting silently in the shadows. It feels as though eons pass in the few seconds before she hiccups a sob and drops to her knees in front of him.
"Yes," she breathes, and her voice cracks and heaves like ice floes in winter waters. The tears that fill her eyes spill down her cheeks, and she sniffles, murmuring, "Lucifer, yes."
She holds still as he carefully slides the band on the fourth finger of her trembling left hand, her free hand caressing his stubbled cheek as he leans into her palm without thought. The ring settles as though it was molded there, and warmth blooms and rises in his chest. A grin is just starting to form when she pulls him to her, lips crashing against his. He tastes salt and heat and waves are rushing in his ears—or is that merely his heart pounding the blood through his veins?—and he's trapped in a landslide of feeling and recollection as finally, inexorably, connections are re-forged between memory and emotion, and they alight smoothly back in their places like tectonic plates shifting and settling. He faintly hears Cain growl to himself as he slinks away from the window, but he can't bring himself to care because her lips are still on his; soft, warm, and just as insistent as her fingers in his hair. He pulls her closer to him, allowing himself to revel in the feel of her pliable body pressed eagerly against the hard planes of his. He gives himself this moment of bliss before he judges Cain far enough away, before he slowly pulls himself back to Earth and reality. The reality where this isn't actually real. He slowly gentles the kiss, nuzzles her temple, and whispers raggedly, breathlessly into her ear, "Hollywood is missing its brightest star, love… that was a masterful performance, well done. He's just leaving, so you don't need to go on much longer—"
His hot breath fans against her ear as he whispers to her that she can stop soon, but she feels his arms pulling her closer, as though obeying his unspoken true desires, despite what his words say. She pulls back just far enough to look into his dark eyes, staying in his space and holding his face between her palms.
"Did you mean it?" His proposal, while expected, had resonated in ways she hadn't anticipated. The things he'd said, had acknowledged, it felt like a confession, like something real.
"Of course I do, love," his tone is puzzled, "you know I don't lie."
"Then shut up and kiss me."
His eyes flick down to her lips, and his tongue darts out to moisten his. "Detective, are you—"
"I'm sure," she murmurs into his ear, "are you?"
He searches her eyes again, and she sees something ignite in their depths before they slide closed and his mouth presses softly against hers, the lightest touch possible as his unsteady exhale brushes against her cheek. His hand moves and she squeezes her eyes shut as his long fingers wind themselves into the messy bun at the nape of her neck, holding her carefully against him, as though she were made of thin porcelain. She slides her left hand along his neck, the ring a warm, welcome weight as she threads her fingers into the shorter hairs at the base of his head. He sighs, making a small, contented sound at the back of his throat and she presses closer, letting the comforting scent of him envelop her as she familiarizes herself with his kiss.
It's soft. After their kiss on the beach last year this doesn't surprise her a lot, but when she'd first met him, she'd figured him for a total teeth-and-tongue kind of guy. Not that she'd thought about kissing him then. At all. And while she doesn't doubt that she'll undoubtedly enjoy that side of him when she sees it, right now she sinks into that softness like a gentle rain into dry earth. She can taste the faint hint of whiskey as she opens to his gently seeking tongue, and eagerly explores with her own in return, eliciting a quiet hum of pleasure from him as they hold each other close. The fire hisses low beside them, the only sound in the room aside from their breathing and the gentle susurration of their lips speaking to one another. He gently pulls back with a sigh after a while, and she chases after, but he rests his forehead against hers, breathing raggedly. When she opens her eyes she finds him watching her wonderingly.
"Hello, Detective," a small smile quirks one corner of his mouth up. "I found you."
"You found me?" she repeats dazedly, still playing catch-up from the past few minutes—Hell, the past few days.
"You were missing from me… but now you're back," he muses, his voice quietly awed. "You're… I've got you back, in here." He gently touches his temple, then his chest, over his heart. "And here. Where you belong," he adds softly, causing another bout of tears to flood her eyes.
"Your memories are back?" she whispers, nearly afraid to hear the answer.
"I don't know if everything is back, but… I can feel you again, rather than merely recognizing the lack of you," he struggles to find words to describe the gentle settling of the jagged memories that have been viciously stabbing his brain. "I feel whole again, rather than full of holes. Like… the fog bank that was taking residence in my mind has cleared. Like… I've come home."
Cain strides back to his motorcycle on a rising crest of rage. His other phone rings and he rips it from his pocket.
"You'd better have good news," he growls into the microphone. His eyes dart back to the apartment he was just staking out. "Really. Hmm. Yeah. No, that's good information. Keep tailing her, I want to know where she is at all times, and what she's doing, especially if he's with her."
He makes sure his helmet is securely in place with the tinted visor down before he lets a malevolent grin spread across his face. If I can't have Chloe, neither can Lucifer.
He hasn't heard from Maze since she barged into his office pissed about him calling off the plan to frame Lucifer for his own murder. The plan will still work without her… he just needs to kill the lawyer and God's favorite son, then pin it on the devil. The animosity between Lucifer and his brother is no secret, he gabs about his shitty family relations constantly. He's also aware of the rumor that Charlotte Richards and Lucifer used to be an item. This will be almost too easy.
No problem.
Chapter 16
Charlotte grumbles to herself as she peeks through the sheer curtains, careful not to tip off her tail that he's been made.
"Growling at him isn't going to make him go away, Charlotte," Amenadiel comments lightly from his seat at her kitchen table. "Perhaps we should consider doing as Lucifer asked and simply let him and Chloe handle it."
"Chloe's right, though," Charlotte turns away from the window, starting to pace the now-familiar path in her living room. "If he's concerned enough to put a tail on me, then there must be something we can find. I mean… look what we've managed to get!" She picks up the overstuffed, dog-eared file and waves it triumphantly.
"You said yourself that it might be enough to strip him of his position at the LAPD, but it's not enough to put him away—which is what needs to happen. We need more, Charlotte, and we're at a dead end."
"It's not a dead end," she hisses, "We… we just have to find the damn hidden door. Have you come up with any ideas on a way to get into his head?"
"I've been considering my own insecurities since becoming mortal," he admits easily, "but I don't have a way to approach him about them without making it clear that I know he's mortal. That's not something he's admitted to Lucifer, so I shouldn't know about it either."
"Hmm," Charlotte paces some more, battering at the wall of the problem in her mind. "Didn't you say you were the one that placed the mark on him?"
"Yes, at my father's behest," Amenadiel looks up curiously from the file he's perusing—they've been spending their time going through old Sinnerman case files from Chicago and beyond. "Why?"
"Could you claim some kind of… I don't know… angelic link to it?" she proposes slowly, "Like… since you're the one that placed it, you can say you just… felt it lift?"
"You might be onto something there," Amenadiel muses, marking his place in the current file and turning his attention fully on her. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm not quite sure yet," she confesses with a wry laugh. "I've been watching him at the precinct the last couple of days and this whole thing with Chloe seems to really have thrown him for a loop. It's disturbing the way he watches her from his office, and I'd be surprised if he doesn't have some serious dental problems from the way he grinds his jaw when he watches her with Lucifer. Do you have any idea what their plan is, by the way?"
"No, Luci's been very quiet about it," the former angel settles back in his chair, looping an arm over the back of it and stretching. "He's adamant about keeping us out of danger, he's very serious about wanting to keep you safe especially. He doesn't want you to throw away your chance at redemption… and neither do I."
"Amenadiel… this may be my best chance at redemption. How many chances in a lifetime am I going to get to help enact God's will, not to mention a chance at taking down a high-profile criminal like this?"
"It's not about the cred, Charlotte," Amenadiel points out gently, "it's about how you feel, remember?"
"Well I know I'll feel like I've left the world a safer place if I can help take this guy down," she retorts, and he chuckles, holding up his hands in defeat.
"All right, all right," he capitulates, "I'll think of how I can approach Cain and start planting the seeds of mortal uncertainty. I should be going, anyway. Didn't you say Dan was coming over this evening?"
A slight blush paints her cheeks, and Amenadiel gives her a friendly smile. "I'm glad you're happy, Charlotte. Should I come back tomorrow evening to help go over some more of these files?"
"Yes, please," she sighs, glaring at the enormous stack they still need to examine. "You can stay if you like, I know Dan would be happy to see you."
"If I stay, he'll want to know what we're working on together," Amenadiel points out thoughtfully. "I think it's best to try to keep him out of this, don't you?"
"I hate keeping secrets from him," she sighs, "but you're right. He'll want to know. And I have to treat it as confidentially as any other case. Or so I keep reminding myself…"
"We'll get him, Charlotte," he assures her smoothly, "It'll just take some time. We've got plenty of that."
"I believe I was promised the tale of your Vegas exploits on my birthday once you remembered them," Chloe mumbles sleepily some time later.
They've been sitting wrapped together on the loveseat in front of the fireplace since Cain rode away, avoiding the subjects of their plan and Cain by unspoken agreement and instead talking of nothing and everything between bouts of comfortable silence (and several very pleasant interludes with no talking at all). He'd almost thought she was asleep, but he spies the slightest glint of reflection from under her lowered lids, and he realizes with a rush of warmth that she's watching the firelight play along the delicate ring hugging her finger.
"So you were," he murmurs readily, "you already told me that you overheard my confession once I returned and found you all passed out at the penthouse. But it all started when I arrived at the precinct and you were enjoying Ms. Lopez's very thoughtful gift…"
Chloe's glad for the semi-darkness of the room to hide her blush at the memory of the stripper Ella had hired for her to 'make it rain' for her birthday celebration. He walks her through receiving the call from LVPD about Candy, and Ella volunteering to go with him to help clear up whatever trouble Candy had wound up in. He regales her with their stumbling into a murder investigation and starting their own search for the murderer, and Candy. She shakes her head in exasperation and presses closer to him when he describes driving the bartender to shoot him before Ella took him down with a shot to the leg, and then the long drive back to LA in time to give her the necklace he'd had made for her.
"And Ella really still thinks you're a method actor?" Chloe asks doubtfully. "Even after watching you get shot in the chest and barely blinking?"
"You quite literally listened to me die, and still disbelieved me, darling," his chuckle rumbles deep in his chest and reverberates into her own, "those who live in glass houses should cast no stones, hm?"
"My glass house has been a bit drafty since this big dorky angel came plowing through it with his giant shiny white wings," she retorts sharply, her hand tightening on the fabric of his shirt as she turns her face into his chest.
"Dorky?" he gasps, appalled, "How dare you?"
"I've seen you stun yourself by shining a flashlight into your own eyes, Lucifer," she giggles "You steal Dan's pudding cups from the break room fridge, you laugh at your own terrible puns and jokes. You're definitely a dork. It's adorable."
"I most certainly am not!" he scoffs indignantly.
"You most certainly are, and I love it," she counters playfully.
"You do, do you?" he sniffs superciliously, but he pulls her a little closer into his shoulder, and she sighs contentedly.
"I really do," she assures him, "you're the most adorkable devil I know."
"Oh, now really," he splutters, as she cracks up laughing, "and you have the gall to complain about my puns?"
"I know," she gasps, trying to at least laugh quietly so she doesn't wake Trixie, "I'm sorry, that was pun-forgivable."
"Bloody Hell, Detective," he leans his head against the back of the loveseat and groans miserably, and she's off again, laughing so hard that no sound escapes her whatsoever. "That was truly worthy of pun -ishment, and I think it's well past your bedtime, you're slap-happy, aren't you."
She continues to laugh breathlessly until she wheezes, but it feels so good to just release the tension from the last couple of weeks that she can't pull herself together long enough to answer. He shakes his head fondly and stands, scooping her easily up into his arms.
"Lucifer!" she squeaks in surprise as he effortlessly carries her through the living room.
"Your offspring seemed quite certain that you wouldn't need me if she was here to protect you, and I'm well aware of exactly how capable you are at self-defense," he chuckles into her hair as he nudges her bedroom door open with his foot, navigating flawlessly in the dark to sit her gently down on the bed. "Here we are, darling. Get some rest, and I'll see you at work tomorrow."
He brushes the stubble of his cheek briefly against her temple and she breathes him in, her heart falling a little as he starts to turn away. "Hey." She catches his hand before he gets too far, and he looks down at her, puzzled. She should just let him go. She is beyond exhausted, and her filter is essentially non-functional right now, but… she squeezes his fingers, "Just because I may not need you for protection, that doesn't mean I don't want you here, okay? If you want to go back to Lux that's okay, but… if you want to stay, if you're only leaving because I'm safe… you don't have to go."
"I told your offspring that the choice was entirely yours, Detective."
"Then I'd like you to stay." She smiles up at him sleepily, and his returning smile is tentative, disbelieving. "Your 'sleep suit' is folded on top of the dryer, I haven't put it back in the cruiser yet."
"Very well, Detective," he turns toward the laundry room, gently closing the door behind him as he murmurs, "Good night."
Chloe changes into her pajamas and curls comfortably under her blankets. She tucks her hand under her cheek, and feels the unfamiliar, cool shape of the ring against her skin. Smiling to herself, she pulls it out and holds it in front of her face. The band glimmers, even in the tiny amount of light filtering in through her thick curtains from the Los Angeles night. She traces the intricate filigree with a fingernail. It's beautiful. Did she tell him that? He couldn't have chosen a ring more suited to her taste, simple yet elegant—nothing overdone, which she knows would be his personal preference—anything to prove he isn't cheap. She wonders at how well knows her… even with part of his memories missing. He'd even remembered her favorite coffee order this morning.
She hears Lucifer's light step in the hallway, and feels a brief flash of disappointment when he doesn't hesitate at her door, but continues down the hall to the guest room, closing that door behind him. She hears a soft laugh a bit later, and wonders what's funny but she stays put, determined to get some rest.
Two hours and many yawns later she's still staring at the ring on her finger, sleep continuing to elude her grasp. She sighs and descends to the kitchen to make herself a cup of warm milk with honey, something her dad always made for her when she was younger and had difficulty sleeping. She sits in the darkness and sips it, feeling the warmth of the drink pooling in her stomach and bringing with it some welcome drowsiness. She finishes the mug and moves back upstairs pausing when she hears Lucifer muttering and moving restlessly in the guest room.
"Lucifer?" she whispers, but he doesn't answer beyond an unintelligible mumble. She hovers, debating on knocking on the door.
"That's Azrael's blade, how do you have it?" she recognizes the name. His sister, the angel of death. "… wipe her out of existence entirely… just gone… You've gone completely insane, brother."
Chloe feels a chill creep up her spine as a suspicion of what Lucifer's currently dreaming about enters her mind. Should she wake him? The broken sob that comes next makes her decision for her, and she slips through the door in time to see him curling around himself, quietly whimpering, "He was my brother!"
"Lucifer," she quickly crosses the room and sits on the bed next to him, a gentle hand on his cheek. "Hey, wake up… you're having a nightmare, it's okay." He trembles beside her, clutching the blanket up to his chin and locked in the nightmare—in the memory—of killing his brother.
After what feels like an eternity to Chloe, he finally surges up, gasping like a drowning man, "What have I done?"
She doesn't even think, but pulls him into her arms and squeezes as tightly as she possibly can. Her heart aches when he doesn't even stiffen up; only folds himself around her, burying his face in her shoulder and breathing in great, ragged gulps of air as she murmurs soothingly into his hair. After a few minutes his grip on the back of her shirt loosens and he moves to pull away. She lets him, sitting back and letting him reclaim his space as he recovers. His eyes are wide and black in the dark room, but she reads the grief in them.
"Uriel?" she asks softly, and he nods with a thick sigh. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I…" his voice is rough and gravelly, with sleep or grief she doesn't know. "I know why— why I killed him. He was going to kill you. And Mum."
"Lucifer…" she doesn't know what to say… there are no words to make this pain better, so she reaches out and covers his hand with hers. He grasps it gently.
"Not just kill you, but… wipe you both from existence entirely," he adds hurriedly, though she doesn't know if he's trying to tell her, or himself. "No Heaven, no Hell, just… gone. As if you never were. I… I couldn't bear it, Detective, I couldn't. When he proved too determined to talk down, I… I grabbed Azrael's blade and used on him instead… on my brother."
"Does it help?" she asks quietly, after a long moment of silence between them. She'd never had a doubt as to his having a reason behind his action, but she grieves at being that reason. "Knowing why?"
"No," he chokes out, "but I would do it again. And again, Detective."
"I'm sorry you were forced into making that decision," she tries to catch his eye, but his gaze is fixed on their hands again. "When did it happen?"
"Just after the Wesley Cabot case," he whispers, "before the zombie wedding shooter. Mum arrived on Earth around the time Ms. Lopez did, and… I made a deal with Dad to send her back to Hell. Or at least, I think that's what he wanted, he never really tells us anything. But I didn't have my wings to take her, and neither did Amenadiel, and… I decided she could serve out her punishment here on Earth instead. But Uriel didn't like that idea. Your car accident was a warning. You getting caught in front of the Weaponizer with a gun… that was another. I confronted him after that."
"That's why you were so freaked out about my car accident… because your brother was targeting me." She tries to think back to that time, over a year ago now.
"I did try to tell you—"
"You did," she agrees shakily, "I remember you going on about me being targeted by cosmic forces, and I was just so annoyed that you were being so weird. And then that sniper…" She rests her palm against his cheek when he tries to turn away from her again. "I'm sorry you had to go through that alone. I'm so sorry I didn't believe you sooner, Lucifer."
"It's all right, Detective. I… should have showed you, but… my face—it's for punishment, and you don't deserve that, and I didn't have my wings… and, well, you already know that they're not an accurate representation of me, anyway." She disagrees, but doesn't interrupt him. "I'd hoped that you'd believe me when you tested my blood, because that would really have been the easiest way to prove my inhumanity without having to actually show you my face, but then nothing ever came of that—"
"I threw the swab away," she admits, embarrassed. "I think I was actually afraid of what I might learn if I did have it analyzed. I didn't want to find out you were really human and a bit crazy… but I also didn't want to find out that you weren't human and… and way out of my league."
"Oh, please, Detective," he scoffs, disregarding that possibility entirely. "It's clear that you are the one far, far out of my league."
"Lucifer, you're… kind of a deity, aren't you?" she asks haltingly, unsure of how to approach this subject. He nods slowly, averting his gaze again before he answers.
"And as I've told you, darling, you deserve better." His blind belief in the truth of his observation makes her throat tighten, and she fights to swallow it down.
"And isn't that just a shame, because I want you." She squeezes his hand when he tries half-heartedly to pull away, "We make each other better, Lucifer. You push me outside of my comfort zone, and I think I do the same for you. That way we both grow. Together. You said earlier that… you wanted me to choose you. You said you meant it."
"Of course I meant it, Detective," he sighs, "but that doesn't mean I deserve to be chosen by you."
"Well, in order for me to choose you, you have to be willing to accept that I do," she points out patiently. "And… I'd kind of like it if you would choose me, too."
"Detective, you can't truly want to be involved with the devil." He scoffs, but his voice wavers.
That's not all you are, Lucifer," she reminds him gently, and he makes a small, disbelieving sound. "Sure, you're the devil, but you're so much more. It took me a little while to wrap my head around it, but it's true. You're my partner. My best friend. The one who always has my back when it matters. You'd do anything to protect me, but you let me stand up for myself as much as I possibly can before you step in, and that's so important to me. You treat your friends well… when you're not distracted by celestial stuff." She smiles a little, sniffling. She wonders for a moment if she should just stop there, but something compels her on, to finish her thoughts, come what may. "You're a good person, Lucifer, and I know you've been working with Linda because you want to be better. So… as far as this goes," she wiggles the finger with the ring on it, "I know we planned this to get Cain off our backs, and of course I won't hold you to it if you didn't mean it, but… if you did, if you really meant it… then, Lucifer, I stand by my answer."
She can't quite make out his expression in the darkness of the room, only that his eyes are wide and shining. He's quiet for so long that her anxiety has ample time to lodge itself deeply in her chest and start spreading cold tendrils through her body. She starts to pull away, clearing her throat quietly and that seems to pull him from his reverie.
"Detective…" he twitches as though he wants to reach after her but restrains himself. "I have never meant anything more fervently than what I said to you this evening when I offered you that ring." She feels a tiny tendril of hope break through the freezing doubt in her chest as he pulls in a deep breath. "But… you don't know all of me yet. I don't have my face, so I can't show you to make you understand. And I… I don't even know if I'm capable of actual love, and you deserve someone who can give you that."
"So, your concerns are that I don't know enough about your past to make an informed decision about a future with you, and that you don't know if you're capable of love at all… not just with me specifically?" She asks carefully, wanting to make sure she's understanding him correctly. He considers for a moment, then nods. "Okay, well… we're going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks while we're working on this case—aside from work, of course. So… if you promise not to run or hide from me, I promise to listen, and believe what you tell me."
"That only addresses one part of the problem," he points out logically. "You'll come to know me better, but we still won't know if I can…"
"We'll figure it out," she's not at all concerned about his ability to feel love, she knows perfectly well that he just needs to learn to identify it. "You're an angel, right? Or you were, once," she corrects herself when he splutters indignantly. "I'm pretty sure you were designed to be able to love."
"I'm the broken one," he admits quietly, shoulders slumping. "The throwaway. I was… what if I was just made faulty?"
"You're not broken, Lucifer," she defies, and he draws back at the vehemence in her tone. "Maybe you were broken—and there's no shame in that, look at what you've been put through—but look how hard you've been working to put yourself back together. To become better than what your family tried to force you to be. I've seen the effort you've made only in the past few years, and—I am so proud of you."
"Detective," he tilts his head at her, his shadowy brow furrowed. "I… I don't know what to say to that."
"Then scoot over," she suggests lightly. "I'm tired, and you're warm. We can talk about this more later."
He gapes at her for a moment before scooting over without protest, and she slides under the covers next to him. She belatedly notices that he's not wearing a shirt, and is simultaneously relieved and disappointed when she feels the fabric of his sweats against her legs. "What happened to your shirt?"
"It, er, appears to have shrunk in the wash," he chuckles, "it certainly wouldn't fit over my shoulders anymore. It may look quite nice on you, now, however."
She smiles as she tucks herself against his side. "Is this okay?" she asks belatedly, but his arm is already around her, pulling her close, and his cheek rests against the top of her head on his chest.
"It's… lovely," he admits, and there's a note of awe in his voice that makes her smile widen. "Goodnight Detective, sleep well."
She does. In fact she oversleeps, because she'd left her phone in her bedroom and doesn't hear her alarms go off.
"Mommy?" She awakens to Trixie's sleepy voice in the hallway. She sits up with a gasp and leaps from Lucifer's relaxed embrace without waking him. She slips through the door and closes it immediately behind her, meeting her grinning daughter in the hallway. "Lucifer's car is still outside."
"Yeah, baby, he stayed last night." She ushers Trixie back downstairs to avoid waking him. "We were up really late talking."
"Did your plan work?" her daughter's eyes light up with excitement when she spies the ring on Chloe's hand, "Oh! It's so pretty, can I see?"
Chloe obligingly holds out her hand and Trixie coos happily over the ring for several minutes before Chloe smilingly nudges her to the table so she can get breakfast together. Once she realizes how late it is, though, her urgency kicks up a notch.
"Shoot!" she cries, mindful of the little ears nearby. "Your bus is gonna be here in 5, Trix, and no way are you going to be on it. Go get dressed, looks like you're getting cereal and a chauffeur to school today!"
Trixie cheers—she always loves it when she's allowed cereal for breakfast—and eagerly goes to dress for the day. Chloe gets her breakfast together and darts upstairs to get ready for work in the meantime. Lucifer appears at the guestroom door looking rumpled but relaxed in his sweats as she bolts past him back down the stairs, shoving her phone in her pocket. "Everything all right, Detective?"
"Fine, just overslept!" she calls over her shoulder, "Gotta get Trix to school, and I'll be late to work, but not too bad."
"Shall I take her?" At Chloe's doubtful raised eyebrow, he elaborates, "to her actual school, yes, I'm aware. Honestly, Detective, that was one time and it was for a case!"
"You won't let her drive?"
"We already agreed that would need to wait until she's a little older," he grouses, and she absolutely does not want to smile at the reminder. "Besides, it'll help if you're not late to work this morning."
"True. Pierce is already going to be difficult enough." She deliberates for a minute. "Trix? Are you okay if Lucifer takes you to school today?"
"Yeah!" Lucifer's smug smile and lifted eyebrow silently say 'See?' and Chloe relaxes a little bit. He retreats to the guest room to dress in yesterday's suit, then attempts to temporarily tame his hair until he can get back to Lux, with only minimal success. Her fingers itch to mess it up again, but she manages to restrain herself. A whirlwind of activity later and they're all ready to go for the day. She hesitates as they part ways in the parking lot, watching him help Trixie into his Corvette. He gently closes the door and starts to cross to the driver's side and she jogs quickly toward him, catching his eye.
"Detective?" he stops, watching her approach, "Did you forget someth—"
Her hands slide around his neck, pullling him down into a kiss, and he abruptly cuts off his question with a happy little humming sound. He returns the kiss gently, and she can feel his lips curving into a smile as she pulls away.
"Yeah," she smirks, "I forgot to kiss my fiancé good-bye."
"Well," he sighs contentedly, "I never would have suspected you of a PDA person, Detective, but I approve!"
"Not at work!" She warns him, wagging a stern finger as he chuckles.
"Of course, Detective," he squeezes her hand and turns away. "Now shoo, or we'll all be late."
He slips into the driver's seat and looks warily at the child next to him. She stares up him, her hands clasped in front of her wide grin and her eyes wide and shining.
"Something on your mind, Urchin?" he queries as the Corvette's motor roars to life and he points them toward her school.
"You guys are really good at pretending," she suggests with a wicked smile.
"Yes, well," he returns the smile, then keeps his eyes on the road. "Your mother is an incredibly talented former actress, after all. That skill isn't something that just disappears because one is no longer in front of a camera."
"Yeah, but you don't lie," Trixie asserts confidently.
"Indeed I do not," he agrees, before shooting her a sideways glance. "How long were you listening last night before you fell asleep?"
"Your speech was really sweet," she offers shyly, and he narrows his eyes.
"That's not an answer, Spawn."
"I moved away from the door and went to bed after Mom said yes," she admits, and he nods slowly. He'd thought that had been the case, but he had admittedly been more than a bit distracted. "Are you sure you're only pretending?"
"That… was the intent going in," he admits slowly. "There is a faint possibility that the plan may evolve as we go along. Would that be a problem?"
"You mean, you might be together for real?" Trixie asks eagerly, practically bouncing in the leather seat. He considers her question before he responds.
"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you, Beatrice," he cautions her—and himself—gently. "There is still much about me that your mother doesn't know, and I think it's highly likely she'll come to her senses sooner rather than later."
"What does that mean?"
"It means your mother is far too clever and good to tangle herself with something as evil as me."
"You're not evil, you're good," Trixie corrects him matter-of-factly. "You protect Mom from the bad guys, like when you scared off my bully, and saved us from that Malcolm. And like now, when you're helping get rid of Mr. Pierce."
"Is it a hereditary blindness that you share with your mother?" he wonders aloud, and Trixie giggles. "I am the Devil, child, all of humanity and my family agree on only one thing: I am evil."
She looks at him carefully for a long time, and he absolutely does not shift uncomfortably under her steady regard, that reminds him far too much of her mother's appraising stare.
"They just don't know you, Lucifer," she decides finally. "If they knew you, they'd never say those mean things about you."
"My family has known me for billions of years," he points out wryly.
"My abuela has known me since I was born," Trixie counters thoughtfully, after a moment. "And she still thinks I want to be a ballerina when I grow up."
"But now you've decided to be the president of Mars, instead?" he asks, curious if that's changed since the last time he's heard her state her intentions.
"You remembered!" Her eyes light up joyfully and he chuckles, a warm feeling blooming in his chest for this tiny human with a heart the size of the sun. "See? You know me better than some of my family does. Just because they knew us once, doesn't mean they know us always."
"How did you come by so much wisdom, little one?" he asks wonderingly, only half-joking.
"I'm good at picking stuff up." she shrugs, smiling.
"Then why is your room such a disaster?" he asks, intentionally misunderstanding her statement and making her giggle.
He pulls up in front of her school and joins the dwindling line for drop-off. Trixie unbuckles her seatbelt and throws herself across the console to hug him good-bye.
"See you later, Lucifer! Will you be at home tonight?"
"As always, that depends entirely on your mother, Urchin. Enjoy your day at small human prison, now." He calls after her as she climbs out of the car. He watches her scurry into the school with the hordes of other children, and pulls away for Lux, still shaking his head at their conversation.
"Espinoza," Pierce stops Dan as he's approaching his desk with his first '#1 Dad' mug of coffee in hand, "I need to see you in my office, please. Quickly."
Dan suppresses a sigh of annoyance. At least he got my name right this time, he thinks bitterly. The Lieutenant has been a little less antagonistic since he nominated him for that union rep position—which has turned out to be much more tedious than he was led to believe it would be. He takes his coffee with him, it's too early to talk to Pierce without caffeine.
"Close the door," Pierce says gently, and Dan's instantly nervous. He does as he's asked, and stands in place, unsure if he should approach the desk or not. "You're not in trouble, Espinoza, but I have a sensitive case I wanted to assign you."
"A sensitive case? And you're assigning it to me?" Dan asks suspiciously, "Why, sir?"
"Because I think you've got a vested interest in the subject of the investigation, and I think that will lend some urgency to your efforts," Pierce says candidly, and Dan flinches at the bland disinterest in his tone.
"What makes you think that, sir?" he asks carefully, approaching the desk.
"Because the subject is Lucifer Morningstar, your ex-wife's current partner," Pierce deadpans, "and we think he's the real Sinnerman."