As it turns out, Michael arrives at the penthouse with his own news, of his own volition, before Lucifer can even summon him there.
Chloe is seated at her newly-instated desk when he arrives, poring over the tomes Amenadiel had left behind in the hopes of unearthing a more tangible answer to the searing scar across her stomach. She's making less than a dent; whatever Amenadiel had failed to translate is a lost cause, and that which he did is proving mightily unhelpful. Lucifer is skating pondering fingers across the keys of his piano, poking out a melancholy tune as he marinates in the possibilities of just how to approach his wingless brother.
It's fast encroaching on the earliest hours of the morning. They had passed the rest of the daylight away at Chloe's apartment, where she had incited the shock and horror of her Lord-of-Hell, Master-of-the-Universe boyfriend with her improvised meal of chopped hot dogs and baked beans -
It's beanie weenies. Just try it.
I'm not eating that atrocity, Detective, and frankly — he had smiled here, proud of his unintentional pun — that is not what a 'beanie weenie' is, though I'd be happy to show you later tonight—
Lucifer!
—while her daughter had been uniquely thrilled by the presented concoction.
They had only returned to the penthouse when the moon was peeking through the blinds and Penelope had arrived to take over Trixie. Lucifer had insisted Chloe return to the penthouse with him — she had proven herself more than capable, but he had a promise to uphold and he'd be damned if he wasn't going to watch over her with all the devout, pure-bred attention of a well-tuned guard dog to ensure her safety — and a good night's sleep.
But she hadn't slept, and neither had he. Not yet, anyway. Not when the weight of their conversation still hung heavy and flightless in the dim, golden light and the ring on her finger still burned with the imprint of his lips against it. They had tried to, for a while: or at least she had at Lucifer's insistence, slipping under silk sheets and letting her breaths even out as he had taken a ginger seat beside her and run an absent hand through her hair. But she was too restless; too untethered, and the weight of his hand on her was too intoxicating to close her eyes against. And so they had spent the darkest hours of the night indulging restless desire, tangled in each other and panting against the slipping light.
Usually he's enough to calm whatever fidgeting thoughts are crowding the inside of her mind. Usually, the pressure of his hips settled above hers and the nip of teasing teeth at her ear is enough to quiet her into a contented stupor. This time, though, he's had the opposite effect. She's seeing him for the first time; all of him, as if the weight of his sacrifice has finally broken from the crest of his shoulders and spilled into her, lighting her with desire from the inside out as he slips out of her and leaves her gasping.
She has to disentangle herself eventually. She is still his Consultant, after all. And nothing if not diligent — though she's sure Lucifer would concede that lately her professional reputation has taken quite the pounding, Detective, pun certainly intended.
Hence how she finds herself slumped against the oak desk, thumbing through ancient pages and praying to her lanky, piano-playing boyfriend that she avoids a papercut — and what she can only assume would be the first ever strain of tetanus — sourced by parchment from Sumeria.
The hum of the elevator alerts both of them to Michael's presence before he can shuffle into the penthouse with a sloping lurch. Lucifer rises from the piano bench at the sound of the telltale ding, padding to the doors with hackles raised at the untimely intrusion. He's far from his usual picture of dignified composure: strands of undone hair are darting before his eyes with every huffed breath, and the sky-blue shirt he had worn to Chloe's is hanging open and unbuttoned over his bare chest. If anything, his current state of disarray is proving demonstrably more threatening as he cocks a shoulder and flexes in agitation at the impending arrival.
When Michael's scarred face does slide into view, illuminating fully in the yellow light of the penthouse, Chloe's eyes flick from her fruitless paper trail and she half-rises from her chair. Lucifer is blocking his brother almost entirely from view; his looming form is guarding the doors of the elevator and trapping Michael inside the cubicle as he stares him down with a feral glint.
"I thought I made myself clear," he growls. "You were not to return here."
He won't move to allow his brother access into the room, and Chloe realizes it's because she's there; that as long as Lucifer remains arched and towering in the doorway she's blocked from Michael's line of sight. She decides to save him the trouble of preserving her sanctity and rises fully, crossing over to where Lucifer stands and ducking her head beneath the arm he holds tense against the open door of the elevator.
"Michael," she greets, her voice low.
Michael blinks at her, registering her sudden appearance, and she could swear there's a flicker of fear as his gaze shifts from her cool stare and lands on Lucifer's.
He forgoes a returned greeting. Lucifer's warning is ringing all too clearly in his ears and against the claustrophobic walls of the elevator — Don't say her name. Don't look at her. — and judging by the inclement stare clouding his brother's dark eyes and the rapid, frenetic rise and fall of his bare chest, it seems hardly the time to test the limits of the Devil's intentions.
"You were definitely clear," Michael responds directly to his brother instead, ignoring Chloe's pointed look and letting the words fall hot and slick in the heady silence. "I only came because I have news. Important news, Lucifer. I thought it could…" he pauses, forcing out the words with an irked shrug of his mismatched shoulders. "Help."
Lucifer flicks an eyebrow to the sky. "Funny, your timing," he muses, relinquishing his hold on the doorframe and warily allowing Michael passage. He drapes an arm across Chloe's chest as Michael shuffles past, guarding the distance between them.
"How's that?" Michael asks, a tinge of veiled annoyance lighting the tips of his tone.
"Well, a few people far more generous than myself thought it might be prudent to clue you in on the latest celestial drama."
"Save your breath. Rory?"
Chloe frowns. "You know?" She blurts, and again Michael's gaze snaps briefly to her before landing elsewhere in resolute fixation.
"That's why I came here," he hisses. Every word of this conversation seems to be taking more concentrated energy to spit forth than the last, and Chloe is garnering a perverted sense of satisfaction watching him struggle with the price of positive self-actualization.
This latest revelation has piqued Lucifer's interest enough to drop the fist he had balled against his thigh. His arm is still rigid against Chloe's ribcage, and she can practically feel the flutter of his pulse as his wrist lies heavy beneath her breast.
"Spit it out, then," he grumbles, motioning viciously for his twin to move further into the gaping room.
"I'm sure you'll find this hard to believe, but I still have friends in the Silver City. Some of our siblings don't seem hold such a…grudge."
"Oh don't they! I wonder why. Maybe, it's because you've not yet gotten around to stabbing all of our siblings' loved ones. Actually, so far it's just been me, if I'm recalling correctly. Forgive me if it appears I may be holding a grudge — perhaps I haven't made myself clear enough. I am holding a grudge. A rather large one. So this newsof yours better be good, Michael, or I can assure you I'll take no small pleasure in cutting off more than your wings."
Michael opens his mouth to protest, lips curling into a hooked snarl, but he seems to remember the purpose of his visit — and the wings that no longer unfurl to attention at his surging glare — and relents with seeping politeness. "Of course," he mutters, bowing his head in a grandiose show of deference. "Rory came to see me."
"Rory? Came to see you?"
"That's what I just said," Michael snaps, then remembers his place, his purpose, again — this self-actualization is a pain in the ass — and clears his throat against the snarky remark. "I mean — yes. She did."
Chloe pushes Lucifer's hand from her chest with a gentle thrust. He seems to have forgotten that he's even holding it there; rigid against her breastbone like the all-too-insistent safety bar on a rollercoaster. He looks vaguely surprised to see it fall, and she flicks him the bemused hint of a smile as she dips from his side and comes to stand between he and Michael. She's had enough of the barbed brotherly back-and-forth: as she speaks between them both sets of identical eyes come to fix on her.
"Rory told us she hates you," she says, matter-of-fact. "She's not your friend in the Silver City. Why would she come see you?"
Michael frowns, finally offering Chloe a look that lingers for longer than a millisecond as his dark eyes narrow. "A little shored up on the brilliant deductions, huh, Detective? Are you sure you quit? Or did they have to let you go—"
Strike two.
Lucifer strides forward, his fist reassuming its comfortable position in a tight ball as he rares back to wipe the smirk from his brother's mouth, but Chloe makes it to him first. She slaps him, open-palmed, sending a searing sting across the scar that already lines his face.
There's raucous silence as the slap rings out and fades with a bitter bite. Michael stumbles on his heels in marked surprise, taking a sizable step back to steady himself. Lucifer stops in his tracks, fist still raised in vicious intent.
"You wanna try again?" She asks, voice level.
Michael blinks. Lucifer swallows a whimper against the entirely inconvenient, untimely arousal now stirring within him.
"She may have hated me," Michael concedes, quietly. He points a jabbing finger toward Lucifer, his eyes still fixed on Chloe. "But she hates him even more, now. Whatever stunt you pulled made me look like brother of the year."
Lucifer tuts. "Murderous and fickle," he scowls. "Truly a tedious combination."
Chloe ignores him. "So, what?" She asks, "She came running to you with her tail between her legs? Couldn't get the brother she wanted, settled for the one she didn't?"
Michael sighs, catching himself before he can roll his eyes and settling on a pursed-lip stare instead. "Look, I don't know the whole story. I only know what she told me."
"Alright, well, why don't you tell us your side of the story, and then maybe we'll clue you in?" Chloe shifts her weight to her other foot, dropping a hand to her hip as she waits for Michael's reluctant nod of acquiescence.
"It was only a couple hours ago. She had Zadkiel's staff when she found me." He swallows. "You know, the one…"
"We know the one," Lucifer snaps, and Chloe's heart surges at the heat that sparks off the words.
"She told me she'd just been up to the Silver City. To see Raphael." He winces in unique irritation. "Not like I can verify that, so you'll just have to take me at my word."
"With full offense meant, brother, I'd put as much stake in your word as I would Amenadiel sprouting a head of hair."
"Okay. You know what? Both of you, time out. I've had more productive conversations with a piece of drywall."
Lucifer sputters in protest as Chloe presses a firm palm to his open chest and guides him back, until his ankles are making contact with the base of a barstool and he's being forced with gentle insistence into a seat. Michael assumes a similar position all the way across the room, tugging himself down into Chloe's desk chair before she can even make her way back over to him. They're glaring at each other with identical sets of dark eyes, locked in measured acerbity.
"You first," she asserts, pointing to Michael as she referees from the center of the room. "Why Raphael? I'm gonna need more than that."
"Detective, Raphael is the archangel of—"
"Healing," Michael interjects, glowering at Lucifer's interruption. "It's his thing. He healed her, I guess. She didn't say much more than that. But she had a nasty scar on her hand." He holds up his right hand and traces a circle about the palm with his left. "Right here. It was all red, kind of scattered around. Looked like a spider web. So much for Raphael's insane powers, right? Some archangel. She said that was the best he could do for her. Didn't tell me how she got it, though."
Chloe's gaze darkens. "Yeah, well. I think I know."
Michael pauses in his tale, a single arched brow betraying his interest. She shakes her head. "Not until you finish," she says, sternly. "So, she told you she saw Raphael? That he healed her? That's it? Why come all that way to tell you that?"
This time, he smothers back another comment about her skills of deduction, smiles at his perceived improvement, and instinctively flicks his shoulders to see if his wings have returned. His scowl returns when the only thing that unfurls is Chloe's look of unmitigated annoyance. Behind her, Lucifer shakes his head at him slowly, returning swiftly to a forced, appeasing smile as Chloe whips her head back around to ensure his good behavior.
"She told me she had just been to see you. Said you made a big mistake in turning down her proposition. She wouldn't even tell me what it was, just that it was important. Universe-altering was the word she used, actually. Something to do with that staff…justice…honestly, I don't know. She was rambling. You know how she gets. But she did say…that I should help her. That together, we could start over. Take over. Get rid of…you." He glances up at Lucifer. "I have to admit, it sounded like a tempting offer."
Lucifer's mouth pops open in a small o of feigned surprise. "How thrillingly predictable you are, Michael. So, what? You're here to kill me? Announce your new and improved campaign with our demonic little sister leading your rebranding tour?"
"Not your turn," Chloe chides, turning an officious gaze in Lucifer's direction. It's difficult to maintain the firm Detective look she's fixing him with as he wags an eyebrow at her reprimand, the corners of his lips curving into the shadow of a smile in the wake of her commanding tone.
"I'm not here to kill you, you idiot. You seriously think I would have suffered through a conversation with the both of you and then pulled the plug?"
"I didn't realize we were boring you, brother. Please, by all means, feel free to leave if you've not come to brutally murder us. Oh—" Lucifer laughs, "That's right. You can't. You'd only come here if you'd exhausted every other avenue, which means either you've gotten yourself into the thick of it with our dear sister, or… we're your last hope." He settles smugly against his chair. "Idiot."
Chloe's hands fly to her sides in a classic exhibition of the that's it, I give up maneuver, and she puffs out a heavy sigh.
"I said it was tempting," Michael huffs. "I didn't say I took her offer. In fact, I turned her down."
"Why would you do that? And why should we even believe you?" Chloe asks.
"Because," he spits, "I need my….I need them back." He offers a tight-lipped grimace as his gaze flicks from Chloe to Lucifer and back again. "And I doubt helping to lead a rebellion against God would do much on the self-actualization front. We all saw how it ended for you."
"So, you do need us," Lucifer crows, electing to ignore his brother's latest snide remark in favor of his gritted admission.
Normally, Chloe would chastise him for his all-too-eager gloating, but she's finding it hard to deny her own satisfaction at the humbled archangel before her. She lets him bask in the contentment of Michael's helplessness before adding her own voice to the mix.
"You can help us, then. And then…maybe we can help you. Tell us what she told you. What did she want your help with, exactly? You said she didn't tell you everything, she must have given you something. Some part of her plan, to entice you? Rope you in?"
He hesitates. "I guess, I…I'm telling you, she was rambling so much it was hard to follow her train of thought. She's always been like that. Impulsive, rash. Naive. I wouldn't have even thought much of it, if I hadn't seen the staff with her. Or the scar on her hand. She was always spouting off plans like this, back in the Silver City, before Dad—" he trails off, shrugs his shoulders with some considerable effort as he flicks his head toward Lucifer. "Before you were running the show. Now, it seems like she's finally following through."
"You could say that," Lucifer murmurs, his face dark.
"She told me she had been in the Silver City, recruiting. That's why she was talking to Raphael. He healed her hand, but he wouldn't join her. None of them would. Must have been a stupid plan."
"You could also say that," Lucifer grumbles.
"So, she left. Came down to find me. Asked me to join her, didn't tell me exactly what she was plotting. Only that it would ensure me a spot right beside her in some kind of… new kingdom. I must have been her last social call, because she seemed pissed. Said she wouldn't return to the Silver City as long as it was still standing."
"That's good, right?" Chloe whispers, turning on her heels to face Lucifer. "If none of your siblings are sold, that'll make it easier to beat her, won't it? To find her, to reverse the staff's effects…right?" She tilts her head at his surprising lack of answer — where she had thought he'd be sure to respond with his usual fervent tenacity he's instead sitting slack against the bar, brows drawn and eyes cast to the floor in quiet contemplation.
"Detective, I believe it's time to fill him in," he says, somewhat absently. His gaze slips from the floor and slinks past Chloe, landing on Michael with a curious glint. Her brow furrows at the marked change in tone, but she remains quiet as the words work their way to the surface and he spins the charged tale of the past days to his hunched twin.
When Lucifer has finished cluing his brother in, gluing together the missing jigsaw pieces of celestial drama that Michael had been working without, his twin's scornful look has faded into the realm of peaky concern.
Chloe turns from Lucifer as his recounting reaches its natural end, and blue eyes meet muddled brown as her gaze lands on Michael. "What?" She asks, peering at him closer to reveal the two brothers now looking similarly adrift. "What am I missing?"
"If Rory went to the Silver City to convert our siblings," Lucifer begins, slowly and unsteadily as the thoughts piece together, "And none of them took the bait…"
Michael nods, once, and for the first time in — well, ever — they seem to be having some sort of vague moment of twinnish telepathy that has left Chloe behind in the dust.
"And if her last resort didn't, either—" Michael gestures towards himself, "Then…"
They lock eyes, and this time Chloe is sure it's fear that trickles past Michael's hardened gaze. Lucifer looks similarly rattled, but where his brother is now reveling in pronounced concern as the full portrait of Rory's plan reveals itself, his own eyes are boiling over in red-hot fury.
"She's rebelling," Lucifer growls. "Snubbed by God and all her siblings alike. And she learned from the best. She won't make my mistakes. She'll take the plunge before I can make her take the Fall. She'll go willingly, and she'll…" he pauses as the darkness swallows his stare; as setting realization crashes over him and lifts him from his seat. His shirt hangs flapping and forgotten from his shoulders as his heart beats out a frantic rhythm against the open air. "She'll find the entrance unguarded by a warden, and she'll find an army more than willing to carry out her perverse justice. An army I abandoned. "
He's standing now; walking to where Chloe still remains, alone, in the center of the room. This time he forgoes the protective arm around her waist and comes to face her, heating the inches of drawn silence between them with crackling eyes. When he speaks he's only talking to her, imploring her with an unwavering stare, but the words travel clearly to Michael and echo off the corners of the marbled room.
"She's gone to Hell," Lucifer says, "And when she comes back, she won't come alone."