For the first time in her life, Chloe Decker is on the opposite side of a crime scene. It's certainly not the first time Lucifer has been questioned by a swarm of gruff, uniformed officers, and it looks as though Amenadiel is taking his own line of interrogation in stride, but Chloe's chest tightens at the sight of her old co-workers — Cacuzza, even — streaming in through the doors of Lux and urging her to take a seat, to have some water, to tell them what exactly she remembers.

Her head is spinning — she wants to scream at them, to force them to listen, to tell them they're wasting their time poring over her and Lucifer and Amenadiel with a fine-toothed comb on the steps of the bar, but she's not Detective Decker anymore — not officially, anyway. Lucifer replaces the missing weight of her badge at her hip as he slides down onto the step beside her and lays a reassuring hand on her thigh.

For once, he doesn't speak right away. He seems to note her distress, and so instead offers only his broad hand across her leg and a lingering kiss pressed to the side of her forehead as he draws her closer to him. She folds into his grasp, melting under the weight of his hand and the gentle heat of his lips against her hair. Cacuzza has been kind enough to retrieve clothes for them from the penthouse upstairs — a favor indulged only by the good graces of Lucifer's charm — and Chloe breathes in a faint sigh of relief as she can now appear before her former co-workers, at the scene of a murder, in something other than Lucifer's oversized silk robe. Her hand travels distractedly along his lapel, remarkably tired now as the surge of adrenaline that had possessed her at the sight of Jimmy Barnes recedes into profound exhaustion. It's only mid-morning, but her eyes droop in the crook of Lucifer's protective grasp.

"Oh. My. God. Decker! I totally thought you guys would be long gone by now!"

Chloe's eyes fly open before the fringes of sleep can settle in. She can feel Lucifer straighten against her, too, as he clocks Ella Lopez standing over them, latex-gloved hands holding a camera and high-top converse clicking excitedly against the floor.

"No way. When I got the call, I was totally shocked. I mean, Lux? But, I thought you maybe sold it to some shady rando before you left, which would explain the…" her voice drops, and she nods dramatically to Jimmy Barnes behind her, still slumped with an increasingly purple hue tinging his extremities, "Nasty, totally-not-sketchy corpse sitting over there. Not that I think you did it, now that I know you didn't leave, that's not what I'm saying at all—"

"Miss Lopez!" Lucifer interjects her spirited tirade and rises to his feet, brushing his pants off with due diligence and offering a wry smile as he towers above her. "So good to see you. How is my favorite forensic scientist?"

She drops the ramble and lets the camera fall from her hands, swinging loosely from the strap around her neck as she rushes into his unprepared embrace. "Bring it in, big guy," she says, her voice muffled against his chest. Chloe stares at him, still sitting behind Ella, and he flashes her a look with shrugging eyes. "I'm so good," she says, finally, breaking away and fixing him with a gaze of heightened sincerity, "At least, I was, until I got this call! You guys must be so scared. Ugh, Decker, just when you thought you'd gotten away from it all. Come here. Do you need a hug, too?"

"Uh, no. No, I'm good, Ella, thanks." Chloe stands, awkwardly, and hides somewhat behind Lucifer to avoid the overzealous arms of Miss Lopez.

Something is off. Ella is sweet, yes, enthusiastic to a tee, but she's nothing if not brutally honest. Chloe had been expecting a chewing-out to the nth degree at the sight of Jimmy Barnes rotting away in the middle of Lucifer's nightclub: if anyone would see just how bad this looked for them, just how suspicious — whether she suspected him or not — it would be Ella Lopez. But she's only rapt with concern, looking between Lucifer and Chloe with genuine worry, as if…

She doesn't know.

Chloe's heart lifts at the thought, and she wonders if Lucifer has come to the same conclusion — though somehow she doubts it. Ella doesn't know Jimmy Barnes; doesn't know that she and Lucifer know Jimmy Barnes. She hadn't been there, at the LAPD, not when they had taken him down and sent him away. And, looking around at the gathered officers milling about Lux, Chloe is suddenly struck by the dawning realization that — none of these people know, either. It's only a temporary relief: once they return to the precinct to process the evidence, to file the reports, they'll surely do a background check on their decaying victim and find their missing link — but for now, it settles Chloe's stomach slightly. They can cross that bridge when they get to it. She turns back to Ella and manages a small, pursed smile at the sight of her friend.

"We are leaving," she explains, nodding at Ella, "In a…in a few days. I think. The family business is…it's so complicated, you know…so many…moving parts."

Ella nods in sympathetic appreciation for her halfhearted explanation. Lucifer raises a questioning eyebrow, but as his terrible-at-lying girlfriend is still one rung ahead of his incapable-of-lying self he merely glances away as they continue their exchange.

"I get it," she says, her voice theatrically low, "It took me forever to cut free from my brother's car stealing biz! Not…that he does that anymore, either. Look, families are tough. Especially your in-laws. Or…soon to be in-laws? I mean, quitting to help with the family business? He better be putting a ring on it soon, Decker, that's some pretty serious stuff—" The animated jumble fizzles out into silence and her eyes go wide — comically wide — as Chloe's hand fidgets nervously and Ella's gaze locks onto the rock on her ring finger.

"No. Freaking. Way." She turns to Lucifer, who has clued into the exchange once more at the sound of Ella's deafening, momentary silence, and smacks him across the shoulder.

"Ow! Bloody hell. That's quite a swing, Miss Lopez."

"¡Cabròn! No me ibas a llamar y decirme, ¿hijo de puta?"

"Oh, dear. Yes, I see where we might have had a bit of a misunderstanding. No, see, Miss Lopez, we're not actually—" he gulps, and glances with wild-eyed fear to Chloe. This particular topic had certainly not yet been addressed. "Well, we're not actually…I mean, not yet, anyway, it's not—"

"Oh," Chloe says, an equal measure of nervous dread settling in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't exactly intended on having this conversation; at least, not yet, anyway, though she would be lying if she said she hadn't thought about it, I mean, why did he slide it on that finger, out of all ten fingers? She snaps back to focus. "Yeah, no, we're not…I mean, he hasn't asked me yet — not that I need him to, or anything," she laughs, that barking, frenetic seal-laugh that simply encourages deeper awkward silence to surround them. "No. Yeah. No. This is just…um, obviously, it's his ring, you know, cause you've seen it, obviously. And now I'm wearing it," she wags her finger gleefully, now fully consumed by the awkward cone of silence concealing them from the rest of the crime scene — "But, you know, not in that way. Obviously."

Lucifer clicks his tongue. "Right."

Ella's eyes are darting back and forth between them as Chloe and Lucifer trade the cringing puck of conversation like a haunted game of air hockey. Her mouth is hanging open in a knowing grin. "I totally get it. Hey." She nudges Lucifer with the tip of her elbow, and he flinches. "Personally, I think promise rings are really cool. Never had you pegged as a promise-kinda-guy, especially cause… the chemistry here? Insane. But, hey! It's never too late to save yourself for marriage with someone cool. Respect."

"I beg your pardon?" If Lucifer was flustered before, he's now fixing Miss Lopez with a look of such unqualified perplexity that Chloe can hardly stifle the snort that rises up within her. She intervenes before Lucifer can explain that whatever promise you're suggesting, Miss Lopez, the Detective and I have engaged in quite the opposite; before he divulges details that — though Chloe is sure Ella would be pleased to hear — she would rather they remain unsaid.

"Okay," she says, stepping between them with — there it is — that detective voice ringing loud and clear. "The crime scene? The murder? You wanna…tell us what you think? If you — if you can, that is." She looks imploringly to Ella, who relents under her gaze.

"Ugh, you know I can never say no to you, Decker! Sure, what the heck? It's not like you killed him," she laughs, amusing herself, and walks to the corpse with an impassioned wave over her shoulder. They follow in crackling silence, the ring on Chloe's finger searing with tension under the weight of Lucifer's stare.

"Okay. So. Don't have an ID on our vic yet, but, from the looks of him, I'd say he's cuckoo for cocoa puffs." She makes a brief sign of the cross and averts her eyes to the ceiling, apologizing silently.

"Oh," Chloe says, in a lilt of feigned informality, "Why…um, what makes you say that?"

"Well, first off, look at these clothes. Hospital-issue scrubs." She whispers the words as if they're gathered around a treasure map. "See? And there's a serial number, here, but it's been crossed out. Like the ones they hand out in prison. This dude is either a serious cosplayer, or, we're lookin' at an escapee, people. Well. Former escapee, I guess." She nods, looking sympathetically at Jimmy Barnes' bloated form.

"Mmhm. And, uh, how did he…" Chloe motions vaguely towards the corpse, to the blotchy skin and warped expression on his face. "Die?"

"That's the best part," Ella says, unable to contain the bubbling excitement that simmers and boils over in her tone. "You guys, I don't think he was killed here. I think he was moved here. By someone….pretty powerful. I mean, our poor guy wasn't exactly on a juice cleanse, you know? It would've had to have been a big dude," she muses, and Lucifer scoffs quietly beside Chloe.

"Or a really hot celestial woman, with superhuman strength." he chimes. Ella doesn't even blink an eye, instead pointing at him with a finger gun from where she squats beside Jimmy Barnes' legs.

"Right on," she winks.

"Lucifer," Chloe warns.

"Sorry. Please, continue."

"This dude is way stiff. They'll have to do an autopsy, to be sure, but just based on body temp, and—" she plucks Jimmy Barnes' hardened finger from the arm of the chair and drops it back down, "Rigor mortis, I'd say there is no way he's been dead for more than twelve hours. And, you guys had a thing here last night, right? Which — thanks for inviting me, by the way, but, like, it's fine, cause I was super busy anyway, but…he couldn't have been killed here! I mean, not unless someone—" she motions strangling herself in dramatic fashion and gargles the words, "Choked him out right here on the dance floor, strapped him into this chair, and left him for poor Amenadiel to find."

"So, he was strangled?" Lucifer prompts, urging her forward.

"Oh, for sure. See, check out the bruising on the throat — gnarly, right? It looks like it was done with something….straight? See how the ligature mark doesn't curve all the way around? It's just a straight line, boom. Right to the Adam's apple."

"Mm. Like a big stick, perhaps?" Lucifer is rapping the heel of black Louboutins against the ground with increasing impatience as his tone heightens.

"Uh….yeah. Yeah, I mean, I guess. Not really what I had in mind, but, sure. I like the way you're thinking, buddy."

"Ah." Lucifer shoots her a feigned smile, then drags his gaze to Chloe as it morphs into a this is very bad stare of masked panic.

"And," Ella continues, as Chloe meets his gaze, "It left some kind of residue, too. Lodged right here in the neck. Poor dude's throat looks like a microscopic dart board. I'll have to take this to the lab, find out what it is."

"Great. Look, Ella, do you think we could come with you? You know, for old times' sake? I have some stuff I still need to grab from my locker, and you could fill us in on the details…"

For a moment, there's tense silence as Ella's stare flits between Chloe and Lucifer, standing with anxious smiles before her. "Ah, sure! Why not? The more the merrier! Look, I gotta finish up here, and talk to the coroner. Just meet me back at the precinct when you're done giving your statement. I gotta run —" her gaze darkens suddenly, and she crosses the gap between her and Lucifer, forcing Chloe to step back from her place beside him as Ella fixes him with storming eyes.

"You," she says, and he cowers imperceptibly under her fixed gaze, "I leave you alone with her for, like, three days and you're already getting her into trouble! You better take care of her. I'm serious. I'll come hunt you down in Florida, or Alabama, or wherever it is you guys are going."

She's joking, he knows, and there's a smile creeping across her face as she's no longer able to maintain the hardened facade, but the words sting with the searing, niggling fear that gnaws away at him. He can't keep her safe. Chloe sees the change in his eyes; the wilt of his proud form as her words resonate and she slides her hand into his, squeezing with quiet reassurance.

"Thanks, Ella," she smiles. "I can take care of myself." The words are more for him than they are for Ella; he returns her squeeze with soft eyes and brushes a finger against the inside of her palm.

"Damn right," Ella says, pointing an exaggerated finger at Chloe as she turns on her heel and recedes into the swarm of uniformed officers. "You tell em, Decker!"

As soon as Ella is out of earshot, Chloe turns to Lucifer with hardened resolve.

"Detective, I might be slow on the uptake, but why are we returning to the police station? I was on board with calling the police, drawing them here, but it seems we've just evaded the full fury of the LAPD. Perhaps waltzing into the lion's den is a bit…one step forward, two steps back?"

"Lucifer, we have to get into the precinct." Her voice is low, demanding, and the look that had accompanied his smug line of questioning dissipates at the words. He knows that look; she's three steps ahead of him, leaving him in the dust as her mind makes the deductions that — well, God — can't put together. "Look, Ella doesn't know we know Jimmy. None of these officers do. But someone will remember. Someone will go fishing for his case files the second they get back to the station and try to ID him. And then the target will be back on our backs — on your back. No one can know that you knew this man, Lucifer. Whether he was killed here or not. The party last night won't be enough to clear your name if they know you had motive to take him out."

"Detective," he says, in a pleased purr, "Are you suggesting…"

She nods, curtly. "We need to steal those case files."

His brows raise in a surprised arch, dark eyes glinting at the sight of her frowning in myopic focus. She doesn't see another way, another choice, after the royal shitstorm Eve's mysterious hot woman has dredged up for them to muddle through — but the words still taste stale and sour in her mouth. Lucifer, however, is watching her with unbridled glee, unable to keep the sparkling hunger from his eyes as he drags a ragged glance over her.

"Is ex-Detective Decker always this…fun?" He asks, stepping forward and eliciting a surprised breath from her as he utters the words inches from her lips.

"Lucifer, this isn't fun. I just…don't see another way to keep this from coming out. I'm just doing my job," she says, finally allowing a small smile to peek through, "To keep you safe. As your…consultant. And as your girlfriend."

"Oh?" He doesn't move. His breath fades on her lips, the words hot against her skin. He tilts his head, ever so slightly, and his nose brushes against hers. She lets out a quivering sigh — she can't help it, even here, standing in the middle of a crime scene surrounded by ex-coworkers and Amenadiel and the corpse of her shooter rotting a hundred feet away. "Funny. I thought that was my job, Detective."

She swallows, gasps as his finger hooks around the belt loop of her jeans and yanks her even closer, until her lips are blushing against his. "Well," she breathes, unevenly, "We are partners, after all."

He smirks — he's enjoying their banter, more than even he'd like to admit — but her words are seeping into his chest and crawling, stomping, inside his heart. Suddenly, his mind is blank, white-hot, incinerating any scrap of wit and leaving him with only one thought rattling the confines of his throat.

"I love you," he says, simply and quietly and with dark eyes burning into hers.

She's not Detective Decker anymore — and even if she had been, in that moment, she would've said screw it, and kissed him the same way she did now, with both palms pressed against his cheeks, pulling him forward until he's nearly stumbling off the steps and onto the dance floor with her.

When she pulls back, panting slightly, Lucifer is grinning. A real grin — not that smug, holier-than-thou look of complacency that so often brightened his gaze — but a beaming smile, radiating pure light and calm contentment.

"Right," he says, bringing them back down to earth but refusing to relinquish his hold on her hand all the same, "Let's go commit a crime. For real, this time."

By the time Ella meets them at the precinct, it's evening. The last uniformed stragglers are showering Chloe and Lucifer with enthusiastic greetings as they wander through the bullpen and up the steps, out the doors; and then, just like that, it's only the three of them.

Ella has always liked to work late. It gives her time to focus, to blast her music without headphones and swirl around graduated cylinders with reckless abandon to the pulsing bass. She doesn't mind having Lucifer and Chloe bob over her shoulder as she works; she's glad of the company, actually, if only to distract her from her latest tattooed, Harley-riding mistake.

They wait at the vending machine while Ella runs her tests, and Chloe is reminded of the last time she stood here, with Michael, bathed in the soft, purple glow of the machine and teasing him to a ragged gasp. She had known, then — that he wasn't Lucifer, that something was wrong, and her teasing had simply been the means to an end. But this time, standing in the lonely dark with Lucifer — the real Lucifer — her lips curve into a smile, and the gentle tease that lingers on her tongue is spoken with a far different goal in mind.

"Hungry?" She mutters, accepting his offer of coffee and maintaining his gaze as she sips gingerly.

He pauses, his own cup inches from his lips, and cocks his head ever so slightly. "That depends," he says, cautiously, watching her eyes bore into him: down his face, his jaw, his chest…he swallows.

"Detective," he warns, aware of her lingering gaze and of the startlingly immediate effect that it has upon him.

"If I had known illegal activity had this kind of effect on you, I really would have insisted you spend more time at Lux," he drawls, as her hand slides down the lapel of his jacket and stops, just above his waistband. He shifts, ever so slightly at her touch. She smirks.

She looks as though she's about to speak, her fingers toying with the band of his pants as his own hands wrap around her waist and pull her close — when Miss Lopez yanks on the blinds that darken the forensics lab and raps on the glass with fervent insistence.

Chloe smiles up at him, where pointed disappointment is now shading his gaze and mingling with abject desire. "Back to work," she says, her hands snapping from their mocking position and smoothing the creases on his jacket. His eyes are glittering; he doesn't relinquish his hold on her waist right away, instead shifting a hand to the base of her ponytail and tilting her head back ever so slightly, stepping close so that his words are clipped and hot against her neck.

"No one likes a tease, Detective."

He releases her, and stalks off with a slight, agitated roll of his shoulders, leaving her standing in blinking, breathless silence.

—

Gathered around the computer in the forensics lab, Lucifer is utterly distracted. Wandering hands reach for Chloe each time Ella turns to type something in, and she slaps them away with amused professionalism, shooting him that detective look and shooing him back to his proverbial corner. Ella, to her credit, seems largely oblivious — or simply too focused on the results popping up on her screen.

"You guys are not gonna believe this. Are you ready?"

"Mm," they both mutter, in perfect harmony.

"Okay. So. Remember when you were like, 'what if it's a big stick', and I was like, 'that would be crazy!' And I totally thought you were, like, way out of left field?"

"It rings a bell," Lucifer says, idly.

"Well, turns out, this residue here? Wood! Not, like, nice smooth wood, like the kind you'd find on a baseball bat. This is some knotty, pine-type — I mean, it's not even showing up in the database —"

"No, it wouldn't," Lucifer drones, "World's oldest tree, and all that. I'm sure you people would have driven it to extinction eons ago, what with your…pollution, and your deforestation, and what have you—" He cuts off at a look from Chloe, but Ella seems to be riding on her own wavelength, staring closely at the wood chips through her microscopic lens.

"Definitely wood." She says. "You're a genius, pal. Or, you killed him—" Chloe's face pales, and she swallows in dry relief as Ella continues, spiritedly, "I'm just kidding! Dang! Lighten up, jeez. You guys look like you need a vacation. Hey — Florida, right? My cousin Jorges has connections at Disney World. He can hook you guys up. Epcot, Magic Kingdom, whatever."

Lucifer blinks. He looks like he's gearing up for a particularly incensed denigration of Disney World — Do you really think, if I were to take the Detective on vacation, that it would be to that vat of…human soup? I mean, honestly, I've seen Hell loops mo— Chloe intervenes before the thoughts can become a reality and simply smiles.

"Maybe some time," she says, passively, and Ella nods assuredly. The words die on Lucifer's tongue and he looks at Chloe with a hapless sigh.

"I hate to say it, buddy, but your giant stick theory is looking like our best option right now. We won't know too much more until we get an ID and run some more tests, so…I am gonna get some sleep. You comin', Decker?"

"You know what? You go ahead. I'll be out soon, I just…there are some things in my locker, and I just wanna take some time, you know, before I say goodbye…"

Ella nods sympathetically, tears jumping to her eyes. She folds Chloe into a hug before she can resist, which is returned warmly after a moment of surprise. "Of course," she whispers. "Take all the time you need. I'll call you when we know more."

"Thanks, Ella. I know this was a big ask, I just…you're the best." She means it. Even if they had come in here to steal case files, to clear Lucifer's name from a crime he didn't commit so that they can stay one step ahead of a mysterious, blurred-out woman in black that his ex-girlfriend spotted at a costume party — she means it.

"Aw, anything for my favorite couple," she says, fixing them with a motherly look of oh, how cute as she gathers up her files and sidles out the door. She pauses by Lucifer once more as she jams her foot in the door, turning back around to face him. "Don't screw it up," she warns. "My Deckerstar dreams have been crushed one time too many. This time better be the real deal."

He chuckles. "Not to worry, Miss Lopez," he says, shooting a sidelong glance at Chloe. "It's the real deal."

Ella harrumphs in approval and shuffles out the door, bouncing jauntily up the steps and quickly, finally, leaving them alone in the darkened precinct. As soon as she's out of view, Chloe leaps into action, darting out the door and leaving Lucifer to scramble confusedly after her.

—

It's not difficult to find the case files. They're in the filing cabinet in the far corner of the Lieutenant's locked and empty office — but the deadbolt is little challenge for Lucifer as he presses against the handle and bursts inside with barely a grunt. Chloe follows, stifling her usual murmur of disapproval at his brusque entry as she remembers — they're the criminals, now— and instead trails behind him, pulling up the flashlight on her phone and kneeling before the cabinet.

While she siphons through mountains of paperwork, Lucifer gets to work on the computer — Chloe's old password still works, and he sets about deleting any archived information in the LAPD database — along with some current files that meet an accidental fate at the hands of his fat-fingered typing.

When she has them in her grasp, and when Lucifer has semi-successfully managed to wipe their digital footprint clean, they steal silently from the office and return to the center of the bullpen, now seemingly smaller in the darkened light and without the steady flow of officers and chatter floating by. Chloe pauses by her old desk, where it seems she has yet to be replaced: old paperwork with her signature still litters the tabletop, and the trash can beside the chair is still filled with crinkled styrofoam cups marked soy latte. She smiles somewhat wistfully as she sets the files down atop her desk and lowers herself into her chair for the last time, running her hands along the edge of the table and rapping her fingers against the darkened keyboard. Her reflection stares back at her from the black screen of the monitor: tired, with hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail and a dark bomber jacket concealing her frame — and she marvels at how much has changed in three days, how much her life has been turned upside-down and yet how content she now feels as she sits with the stolen files under her palms. She should be scared; scared of being caught, scared for her fate, for Trixie's, for Dan's down in Hell — and she is, she is — but there's an overwhelming sense of searing placation as her gaze moves from her own reflection to Lucifer, balancing as he had so many times before on the edge of her desk.

He's watching her in her recollection; allowing her silence as she bids a fond, final goodbye to the desk that had borne the weight of so many cases over so many years. When she does stand, the chair rolling slightly behind her as she walks to where he sits, perched against the edge of the desk, he smiles in quiet understanding.

"Ready?" She moves to pull the case file from the desk, eyes darting up in surprise when Lucifer's hand snakes around her wrist and stops her from grabbing the folder. She falters, trapped between his legs as he leans with his back against the desk.

"Lucifer," she whispers, as if someone might hear despite their abundance of isolation within the dim precinct, "What are you doing? We have to go, before—"

She's silenced by his hand releasing her wrist, shooting instead to the small of her back and pulling her against him with gentle authority. He stands, straightening against the back of the desk and staring down at her with glinting eyes as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips — that mischievous smile, dark and tight-lipped and sparking a frantic flame within her.

"You've gotten to say goodbye," he says, in a smirking pout. "It's only fair I get to do the same. I was an invaluable part of this operation, after all."

"You didn't even like it here," she says, nose scrunched, "You always complain that it smells. And that you don't have a desk. And that we don't have good snacks. And—"

"All very true," he says, towering just above her with one hand still pressed to her back and the other light against her waist, "Still. It did have a certain…charm." He's staring at her when he says it, his mind flitting to the years spent watching her work, watching her nibble incessantly at the caps of her pens as she sat hunched, brows furrowed over a perplexing file. He won't miss the precinct, with its sticky floors and bitter coffee — but he'll miss the Detective, rolling her eyes as he takes up his perch on the desk beside her, as he showers her with terrible puns in the interrogation room, as he follows her like a stray dog up the stairs and out to the parking lot to chase down a lead.

Her eyes soften at his words and she folds more gently into his grasp, tracing a finger along his cheek. "I'm sorry," she says, with sincerity, "I didn't realize it meant so much to you. Of course, take your time, I'll—" she makes to back up, to leave him to say his more intimate goodbyes, and he can't help a smile at her earnestness.

"I had a different sort of goodbye in mind," he says, that devilish smile returning and wiping the look of gentle sincerity from her face. "And, seeing as we'll likely never return, there's really no time like the present." He removes his hand from her waist and reaches deftly behind him, producing a pair of handcuffs with a wagging grin. "From your desk." He explains, silencing the words before she can say them, "Well, it's not as if you'll be using them. We may as well take them on a farewell tour, Detective. It would be a pity for them to…rust." He shrugs in a show of impassioned innocence. She's trying hard not to smile, not to melt further into his grasp, and all of her energy is being funneled into maintaining the incredulous look of feigned probity that she's currently presenting him with.

"Lucifer," she mutters, though this time it's more of a questioning whimper than it is a reprimand. "What if someone comes in?"

"Well I'm God now, Detective, I suppose we could just send them to an alternate universe." He tuts slightly as she stares at him, mouth ajar. "Only joking." He steps forward, out from against the desk and extending a hand to her as he walks slowly backwards and nods peevishly towards the evidence room. He rattles the handcuffs with a shrug. "I suppose you'll just have to keep quiet."