Chapter 3
Dan vacillates between worry, exhaustion, and seething with impatience. The waiting room seems to contract in on itself as the hours pass, the anxious, whispered conversation between Lucifer's brother and the hot lawyer taking more and more of his attention as he tries to avoid other thoughts—like how he's going to explain to his daughter that her mom is back in the hospital and might have dangerous people trying to hurt her.
Who brings a lawyer to the emergency room, anyway? What the Hell is wrong with that family?
He considers the enigma that is Lucifer Morningstar. His mind drifts off to their recent adventure together, hunting down the elusive Boris Sokolov and drawing him out to help track down who had actually killed Chloe's father. The scars on his back. The utter sincerity in his voice as he'd detailed exactly why Lucifer Morningstar should be dead. Coupled with his exhibition in front of the sniper a week or so before that, Dan suddenly makes the uncomfortable deduction that maybe their consultant truly does have a death wish.
Sure, he's in therapy, but… someone with that level of mental health issues really has no business working with the police department. It's a huge liability. How does he manage it? He wreaks havoc on nearly every case he works, and yet they always somehow manage to solve the case.
He remembers asking Lucifer to open up to him. His gentle refusal to share, and the sadness in those dark eyes as they'd sat on the stage after his witnessed improv set all haunt Dan's memory now. He's a man with a past he's desperately trying to crawl out from under, and Dan finds he can easily sympathize with that. He chews his lip as he considers.
Chloe's car was rigged, not Lucifer's. But what if Lucifer was somehow the target? Sure, Chloe's got plenty of potential enemies as well, any cop worth their salt has a list as long as their arm—he doesn't need to look any further than Perry Smith's web to know that. But Lucifer's past is so heavily shadowed that it makes all the potential threats there loom larger, more threatening than they might be if they were brought into the light of day. He glances again at the unlikely pair on the other side of the room and lets his thoughts roam.
He sends Chloe's mother a courtesy text—Penelope keeps odd hours, and he knows from experience it's best not to call. There's nothing they can do right now anyway, and he doesn't particularly want to deal with her dramatic histrionics this early in the morning. His cell battery starts to get a little low after a few hours of staring at the screen. He sighs and tucks it into his pocket, wondering if he should head out to the car for his charger. Trixie's going to be awake soon. Should he send her to school without telling her what's going on until he gets an update on Chloe's condition? Should he tell her? If he tells her, he'll have to keep her home, and probably pay another sitter for the day, because she probably shouldn't be here, waiting all day…
Finally, two men walk in the door and speak to the attendant behind the desk, who gestures vaguely in his direction, then again across the room to where Lucifer's brother and his lawyer linger with their heads bent together. The attendant goes back to his paperwork and the men approach Dan. He catches sight of badges clipped to their belts and breathes a sigh of relief.
Finally. The sooner they clear me, the sooner I can go see Chloe.
"Detective Espinoza," The shorter of the two greets formally, and Dan immediately notices that he extends the courtesy of his old title, even though he's technically not a detective anymore. Not since the demotion. Not since Palmetto came to light. A slight whiff of acrid smoke accompanies their approach, and Dan knows they're coming fresh from investigating the scene of the blast. From the corner of his eye, he catches the dark head of Lucifer's brother turning in his direction. "I'm Detective Theo Ramey. This is my partner Detective Keith Ryan. We're here to talk with you about—"
"I think I can figure out why you're here talking to me, Detective Ramey," Dan says quietly with a weak attempt at a smile. "Just… please, ask your questions so I can go see my wife."
"Ex-wife, isn't it?" Ryan says snidely. "By all accounts, the explosion caught the tail end of a date."
Really? Dan wonders incredulously, Are they really gonna try to good-cop-bad-cop me? He observes the detectives before him for a moment before answering. They're not from his division, and he's pretty sure he's never come across either of them before. He's just as sure that they've been given the details of his recent disgrace, though, so he can understand their suspicion. Though why they think he'd target Chloe… well. Chloe and Lucifer were a pretty key component to his downfall. But Lucifer had been the one to hire his attorney once he'd confessed as a thank-you for clearing his name, and Chloe is still a good friend.
Ramey is a weathered man in his early fifties. Dan decides he would normally be clean-shaven; the unmanicured stubble on his rounded cheeks makes it blindingly obvious that he's been up all night working. His walnut-brown hair is severely parted on the left and rigidly kept in place with copious amounts of gel. He's dressed in a simple white collared shirt and brown leather jacket, his jeans a little snug around a stomach that's just a hair thicker than it probably should be. His pale green eyes are tired, and Dan wonders briefly if he's investigated bomb sites before.
Ryan is younger by over a decade, maybe as much as two. A few years younger than Dan, anyway, and he wonders is Ryan is a recent promotion. He stands a good four inches taller than his partner, though when Dan stands up Ryan still doesn't measure up to his height. He wears a loose grey t-shirt and jeans, and chooses to wear his badge around his neck rather than clipped to his belt. He looks like the guys Dan hangs out with on the beach when he goes to surf—all loosely styled sandy hair, tanned skin, and narrow blue eyes.
"Yeah, I guess ex-wife is more accurate," Dan replies, keeping the bitterness out of his voice. The divorce was his idea, after all. His fault. "Still pretty recent, old habits and all. I'm… not sure how to tell our daughter what's happened yet, I left her asleep and called a sitter when I got the call."
Ramey nods sympathetically and gestures to one of the doors leading off the main waiting area. The ones they typically use to deliver bad news, Dan thinks wryly as he follows. He shrugs to himself as he enters the little room and settles into one of the slightly-more-comfortable chairs, ignoring the small spread of magazines and prominent box of tissues. At least they're not insisting on doing this in an actual interrogation room.
"All right, detective," Ramey begins, and Dan notices Ryan's nose wrinkle before he manages to smooth his expression. Yep, new promotion. "I'm not here to cause you problems or play games—you already know all the tricks of the trade. So why don't you start by telling me what you think might be relevant, and we'll work from there."
Amenadiel watches Dan follow the two men into the side room and stares at the door thoughtfully once its closed.
"They're going to come talk to us next, Mom," he warns quietly, "We won't be able to see Lucifer until they clear us of suspicion, so you'll need to be careful what you say."
"Yes, we've been over this," She snaps, still glaring daggers at the oblivious attendant behind the desk. She'd been storming up to demand an update every twenty minutes or since their arrival, and the information hadn't changed yet. "I'm well aware of our story, I know how to lie."
"You do," Amenadiel agrees mildly, and She transfers Her dangerous glare to him. "Just don't forget how clever humans can be. These detectives find liars for a living."
"I've been lying since before their species was shaped from mud," his mother hisses and Amenadiel drops the argument. He knows that if his mother starts on another anti-human rant, he'll need to find a way to remove her from the hospital entirely. And now that he's experienced how very strong she is, he's starting to doubt his ability to do so. He makes a mental note to talk with Lucifer about that as soon as possible.
Her blatant disregard for human life shouldn't surprise him—after all, She was the one that had unleashed many of the plagues and floods upon the planet back before his father had commanded him to deliver Her to Hell. He glances at the ceiling anxiously. His father hadn't sent Uriel here to cause trouble, but He also hadn't stopped it. Lucifer hadn't been punished for what he had done to Uriel—unless you count what he'd been doing to himself: throwing himself into partying, booze, and drugs with abandon. Trying to lose himself in a fog of distractions.
His own grief had been tempered by the knowledge that Mom was now safe, and the slight, shameful relief that he hadn't been the one that had wielded the blade to end the conflict. Lucifer could surely handle the guilt. He's the expert, after all.
Amenadiel tries to focus on the closed door, tries to hear the conversation between the detectives, but his celestial senses have dimmed with the rest of his powers. He sighs in frustration and leans back in the rigid chair, resting his head against the chair back to stare at the ceiling as he endures the interminable waiting. Patience is a virtue; even though he's fallen, he can be virtuous.
The waiting room doors slide open with a hum and a vaguely familiar-looking late-middle-aged woman walks in, looking lost. Her shoulder-length auburn hair is a mess, though Amenadiel has a nagging feeling that it's usually gracefully styled. Her pale blue eyes skim the waiting room as she makes her way slowly to the attendant at the desk, who politely greets her.
"My name is Penelope Decker," she says quietly, the worry in her voice vibrating like a tuning fork. "I got a text from my son-in-law saying that my daughter Chloe had been involved in… in some kind of explosion? He's not answering his phone, and I…"
Her words trail off, as though afraid to continue. The attendant, fortunately, had been paying close attention and doesn't need more from her.
"Of course, Mrs. Decker. If I can just see some ID, we'll see about getting you some information—"
Penelope roots through her bag and produces her wallet, and once the attendant has verified her identity he checks a file and holds out a hand to the ward doors. "I can show you to your daughter's room now, but last report is that she's heavily medicated and resting."
"Yes," Penelope's breath catches in her throat, "yes, please, I'd like to see her now. I don't… Can someone tell me what happened?"
"I'll make sure we get someone to come and speak with you, Mrs. Decker," the attendant assures her gently as he ushers her through the heavy doors. They latch closed behind the pair, and Amenadiel stares at them for some time, trying to decide why Penelope looks so familiar. Eventually he comes back to himself when his mother's annoyed huff beside him breaks into his thoughts.
"Have you heard anything I've said?"
"Sorry Mom, I was trying to figure out where I know that woman from."
"Well you heard her as well as I did, she's that Detective's mother. You've probably seen a picture of her or something, somewhere," She waves a dismissive hand, her voice becoming a little more shrill. "Your brother is so infatuated with that Detective that maybe he has a photo of the two of them together in his penthouse! Why does she get to go back there and we're stuck waiting out here?"
"Mom, she's probably already been cleared by the police. She wouldn't have any motive to hurt Chloe or Lucifer," Amenadiel murmurs, "Remember, you need to drop the antagonism. People are going to be suspicious if you keep talking that way, especially Lucifer. If we really need him to help us get home, then we need to make sure he stays on our side, and that means—"
"Yes," She sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. "It means playing nice and showing concern. I told you, I know what I'm doing, son."
He doesn't respond, instead turning back to regarding the ceiling. The nagging feeling of familiarity he'd been trying to identify is completely forgotten in his annoyance.
"Lucifer, no!" she drops to her knees, ignoring the blazing flames engulfing him as she grasps his blistering and peeling hand. "You can't just set yourself on fire to get out of this conversation! I have to know the truth!"
"Yes, of course darling," he smiles charmingly at her as his face melts away, leaving only a macabre collection of tendons and burnt bone behind, squeezing her fingers with his charred talons, "I'll be sure to tell you everything, just as soon as the lining of my throat grows back. Perhaps it's best if you kept your distance for now, though, since you know you make me vulnerable."
She leans down to kiss him and the fire that didn't affect her before suddenly leaps and clings, burning her hair and eating its way over her body. She rolls frantically, screaming as she tries to smother the tongues of flame that are using her as fuel to prolong their own lives. Over her screaming, she can just make out Lucifer's weak voice,
"I warned you, Detective, you should have kept your distance. You never listen to what I say. I can't save you this time. I can't save you from me."
She looks over at him in time to see him collapse into a pile of dusty ash, completely immolated by the flames. The flakes drift away in a breeze, leaving only his onyx ring and, strangely, a red pocket square.
"No!" she cries hoarsely, and now the flames crawling over her are extinguished, leaving behind only the pain of the burns, and the somehow worse agony of his absence. "No, Lucifer, you're the Devil! Fire can't hurt you!"
"Of course it can, Detective, don't you know that 100% of my injuries happen at home?" His strained voice reverberates sourcelessly around her, tingling painfully against her tender burnt skin as she tries to make sense of the nonsense.
Eventually, everything around her fades into blackness.
Chloe awakens slowly to someone humming a soft, familiar song beside her.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy, when skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away.
"Mom?" she croaks without opening her eyes
"Chloe, honey!" Penelope's voice is so thick it's nearly unrecognizable, and Chloe hears a rustle to her right as Penelope moves anxiously closer. "Thank God you're awake!"
Thank Lucifer, you mean. The thought appears in her head, and she almost barks a laugh at the irony, until an image of what his face would look like if he'd heard that comment. What his face would have looked like… before the third-degree burns. A sick feeling lurches in her stomach, and she swallows hard against the rising bile.
She'll have to prove to him that she doesn't care what he looks like… but she knows that he will. His looks were the one thing he never had to doubt about himself, and now that's been taken from him. By protecting her.
She hasn't forgotten what happened before the blast, how he'd come bolting toward her, shouting for her to watch out. He'd been far enough away from the blast to avoid the worst of it, and he'd launched himself toward it without even thinking about his own consequences. For her.
She cracks her eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the bright morning light pouring in through the cracks in the heavy curtains before registering her mother's worried blue eyes hovering overhead. Her disconnected thoughts drift back into her head. "Dad used to sing that song all the time."
"He did," she chuckles, and if it's a little watery, Chloe doesn't comment. "I used to tell him not to, because the lyrics are so sad, but at least he would only sing the chorus."
"If you don't like it, why are you humming it?" Chloe blurts, her mind still trying to fight its way free of the drugs. Her skin itches under her bandages, and the pain from the burns in her dream is still present in her waking state. Or maybe the pain from the actual burns just followed her into her dreams?
"It was the first song that came to mind, and it seemed to calm your roommate, there." Penelope nods across the bed, and Chloe turns her head to her left to find a bed parked in the spot that had been empty when she'd drifted to sleep.
The figure in the bed seems somehow too big for it and yet also smaller than it should be. He's lying on his stomach, and she thinks his head is turned away from her—but she can really only tell because there's no oxygen tube on the side facing her. Every bit of skin not covered by blankets or hospital gown is completely wrapped in bandages, some already showing some minor yellow staining on the outer surface. Chloe tastes bile again as she's willing to bet the bits that are covered by gown and blankets are likely also covered in bandages.
"Oh, Lucifer," she breathes, and she doesn't even try to stop the sob that escapes on the tail end of his name.
"I was a little surprised that I didn't find him here," Penelope chatters gamely on, though Chloe's eyes don't leave the still form on the bed across the room. He's surrounded by tubes and machines, and despite the quiet symphony erupting from all the equipment, the room suddenly seems supernaturally quiet, because he's in it and isn't talking. "Dan told me when you had that little car accident a month or so ago that he turned up immediately and refused to leave your side. Didn't anyone think to tell him you're here?"
"Mom—" Chloe's voice breaks, but Penelope speaks over her, as though trying to drown out the thoughts that are only now occurring to her.
"Or is he working with the team trying to find out who placed the bomb? He seems the type to want to be at the forefront, and I can't imagine he'd like seeing you all wrapped in bandages this way—"
"Mom," Chloe says a little more firmly, though her voice still trembles. Penelope stops talking, and Chloe turns her eyes away from her partner for the first time to look back at her mother's teary expression.
"Chloe, no," she pleads, her voice trembling.
"He shielded me, Mom," Chloe sobs stiltedly, and suddenly Penelope is fluttering over her, unable to really embrace her because of her burned and wrapped limbs, but determinedly patting every bit of her shoulders she can reach, stroking her hair reassuringly. "He wrapped himself around me and took the full force of that blast when he couldn't get me far enough away in time."
Tears are running freely down both their faces now, and Chloe sniffles, frustrated at not being able to wipe them away. For once, Penelope reads her daughter well. She dries Chloe's face once the tears have slowed, holding the tissue primly to her nose and commanding, "Blow," in a motherly tone that Chloe hasn't heard since her dad had been killed.
She does, and they both chuckle at the alien familiarity of the gesture. Chloe's eyes continue to be drawn back to her partner, and Penelope finds her own straying and lingering there as well.
"Have they told you anything? Doesn't he have any family?"
"They only told me that his burns are extensive and severe, and that his recovery is going to be a long process," Chloe shakes her head. "I gave the hospital his brother's contact information, but I don't know if he'll come. They're not really close. Speaking of, where's Dan? He's my secondary emergency contact, but maybe he decided to stay with Trixie…"
"Dan sent me a text to let me know you were here, but I didn't see him in the waiting room," her mother responds, irritated. Then, curiously, "Dan is your secondary contact?"
"I changed Lucifer to my primary after my car accident. I was still pissed at Dan for Palmetto." Chloe ignores her mother's knowing look, and frowns then, perplexed. "Maybe he's still being interviewed. They've got guards on the room, so they're probably screening anyone before they'll let them back here."
"Guards?" Penelope's eyes widen and dart out to notice the uniformed officers lingering in the hallway. "I… didn't realize those were here for you… Oh my God Chloe, your car blew up! Someone tried to kill you!".
Penelope's breathing speeds up, and her hands start to flutter, twisting in front of her in a gesture so like Chloe's own nervous habit that Chloe gives her a wry smile as she wishes she could do the same. She glances down at her own bandaged hands, and forces herself to hold them still.
"Honestly, I don't know if the bomb was meant for me or Lucifer. We go places together often enough that it could have been either of us they were after, or both of us, if it was regarding a case."
"Do you think it's that horrible man that had your father—?" Penelope can't finish the sentence, and Chloe helplessly shakes her head.
"I don't know, Mom. I'm sure the people working the case will be in to talk to me when they're ready. And hopefully Lucifer, too." She glances back over at him again.
"Were you working a case tonight? Do you think it has to do with your current case?"
"Um, no," Chloe stammers a little, "We, uh, we weren't working tonight, just… having dinner."
Penelope's eyebrows lift, and a corner of her lips lifts just a little. "Really. And how often do you two just have dinner together?"
"Mom, we're partners. We eat together all the time."
"When you're not working?" Her mother asks airily, "How often does that happen?"
"He came over a month or so ago after we caught Perry, and I made Hawaiian egg sandwiches," and he told me Dad would be proud of me, and I hugged him for a good five minutes before I managed to pull away, she doesn't say out loud. "So not very often. Can we… can we talk about something else right now, Mom? I… I can't right now."
"Oh, honey, of course, I'm sorry," Penelope instantly apologizes, "I just… got distracted."
Distraction. Mom's specialty. Chloe doesn't roll her eyes, thanks to her years of practice at repressing that reflex with her mother. Luckily Lucifer gives her plenty of opportunity to roll them… but she doesn't want to think about that right now either.
"Did Dan say anything about Trixie?"
"I only got one, very vague text," Penelope shakes her head, "I found it when I woke up and came straight here. He wasn't answering his phone."
"The investigators are probably talking to him," Chloe murmurs, suddenly exhausted. The pain is starting to make itself insistently known, and she breathes a sigh of relief when a nurse enters the room.
"Ms. Decker, it's good to see you awake!" It's the same one from last night, with the friendly eyes. What was her name? Frieda? She approaches the bed and Chloe catches sight of her badge. Freya. She repeats it to herself so she won't forget. "How are you feeling?"
"Starting to have some discomfort," Chloe admits with a sigh, and her mother grumbles next to her. "But not too bad yet. Can you tell me anything about Lucifer?"
"Let's take care of you first," Freya suggests quietly after a glance at the other bed, "and then we'll see. We'll remove your dressings and see how your burns are looking." Her eyes dart to Penelope. "Ma'am, do you mind stepping out of the room while we do this? It can be… uncomfortable."
"Oh, yes, of course," Penelope stammers, standing up quickly, "I'll… see if I can get hold of Dan and find out what's being done with Trixie, okay Pumpkin?"
"Thanks Mom," Chloe loads heavy gratitude into her tone, and Penelope gives her a weary smile, her blue eyes still harboring so much worry. She leans down and plants a kiss on Chloe's forehead.
"I'll be back a little later." Chloe nods, not missing the way Penelope's hand trails carefully along the railing at the bottom of Lucifer's bed as she leaves. Her footsteps recede briskly down the hall and Chloe glances warily at Freya.
"How much pain am I in for?"
Freya crosses to her IV pump and presses a few buttons, changing out a couple of the smaller nearly empty bags and replacing them with others covered in brightly colored stickers.
"Don't worry, I'll be gentle with you," her warm brown eyes crinkle in a friendly smile. "I upped your pain meds just a little to help get you through the removal. Your burns are mostly fairly surface, but you had several deeper spots plus the lacerations. Surface burns are typically even more painful than deeper burns, because the nerve endings are still intact, so I'm sorry to say you're going to have some discomfort."
"How long am I going to be trussed up like Nefertiti?" Chloe smirks up at the nurse, who rewards her with a dry chuckle. Trixie's been on an ancient Egypt kick lately, and Chloe gets a little satisfaction out of lifting her spirits with thoughts of her daughter.
"We'll get you de-mummified and see what your injuries look like this morning, shall we? Maybe then we'll have a better idea."
Lucifer drifts in and out of consciousness, always attended by a constant, deeply throbbing pain. If he were more aware he would groan and complain with the weight of it, but he remains just under the threshold of true consciousness.
He dimly registers being moved somewhere, surrounded by mechanical beeps and whirs and hums. His muscles twitch restlessly as his celestial healing starts painstakingly rebuilding the pathways of nerves destroyed by the devouring flames. It's an agonizing process, made worse by taking far longer than normal.
Is he in Hell? That could explain it… healing always takes longer on the Infernal plane.
No. That can't be right. The pain levels are too low for Hell, that soothing trickle is still emanating from his left arm, and the surface he's lying on is soft and… well, not exactly comfortable. But certainly not as uncomfortable as Hell.
Another sound, distant. Music. Humming? Definitely not Hell, then. While not high quality, there is something soothing to it, something caring. He lets it seep into the ashy crevices of his mind, gently soaking up the residual affection like dry soil in a gentle spring rain.
His body relaxes with the gentle, simple melody, and he falls into a light doze. Occasional words spoken with familiar voices filter into his inert brain. His name, spoken with heartbreaking anguish, nearly makes him break through the slippery barrier of consciousness, but then the voices dull back into murmurs once more and he merely clings to the wreckage of his awareness.
At some point, his drugged, detached mind makes the connection of why these voices sound familiar… The Detective. For a moment he's elated—she's safe, and aware. But then… Bollocks. If they've placed us in close proximity I'm never going to bloody heal properly. I'll need to get out of here quickly. I also need to track down Mum and Amenadiel and have a little discussion.
A sick feeling settles in his stomach at the thought that nips at his mind, Mum. My fault.
With that disheartening memory, he gives up his shaky grip on sensibility and slips deeper into sleep.
Chapter 4
"What do you know about Patrick O'Neil, Detective Espinoza?" Ramey doesn't waste time, which Dan appreciates.
"I'm sure you've read my interrogation notes," Dan replies, as a neon arrow starts pointing him in the direction this interrogation is going to take. "So you know as much as I do, he builds bombs for the mob, and my interrogation didn't get much further than that before his… lawyer…" Dan's voice trails off as the dots connect in his mind, glowing threads leading from one to the next and drawing tight in a glowing web of deceit and ill intentions.
"Care to tell us what just occurred to you?" Ramey asks intently, taking in Dan's suddenly slack expression. Ryan leans forward, his keen blue eyes darting from his partner to Dan curiously.
"I didn't get 5 minutes into my interrogation before a lawyer turned up to defend the guy," Dan says slowly, putting the pieces together as he speaks. "It was weird, though, because he didn't expect her at all, he was just really eager to have her when she offered her services."
"So a random lawyer shows up and just says she'll represent him?" Ryan sneers skeptically, rolling his eyes and leaning back dramatically. "Does the guy have a guardian angel or something?"
"Well, I can tell you this, the woman out in the waiting room with Lucifer's brother?" Dan barks a hard-edged laugh and waves a hand toward the waiting room. "That's the lawyer, and I've seen her around the precinct recently talking to Lucifer. Almost stalking him, since he always seems to be pretty eager for her to leave."
"Even if she's stalking Lucifer, why would she need to rig Decker's vehicle to blow?" Ramey muses quietly, inviting Dan's input, "Jealousy? Or hoping to get Lucifer too? Revenge for a conviction?"
"Yeah, I dunno what her deal is with Lucifer, but she's been really cozy whispering with his brother while we've all been out in the waiting room." Dan shakes his head, unable to work out the motive from the current information available. He is able to work out the line of questioning, though. "O'Neil is the one that built the bomb that blew Chloe's car, isn't he?"
"It's looking like his 'Solo Delivery Special'," Ryan smirks, "You put that together pretty smoothly, Espinoza."
"I may not hold the rank anymore, but I've been doing the job for a while now," Dan shoots back hotly, holding desperately onto the fraying edges of his temper with the last of his strength. "I just want to go see the mother of my child and make sure she's okay with my own eyes. What else do you need from me?"
"These actually look pretty good," Freya considers the newly uncovered lighter burns and injuries on Chloe's legs. The skin is painful, tight, and shiny red, but no worse than that horrible sunburn Chloe had gotten when she was 14 and had defiantly refused sunscreen on a beach day. She'd gotten sun sickness afterward, and it had been the most miserable week of her young life.
The lacerations from the shrapnel have varying degrees of depth and associated pain, but they are neat and clean, with a minimum of discharge and swelling. "I think we can leave your legs unwrapped, unless having the sheet over them will irritate you, Chloe."
"Can we leave them unwrapped, and put wraps on later if it's too uncomfortable?" Chloe hates the idea of being restricted by bandages, and feels a swell of relief when Freya nods affably.
"Ready to see how your arms look, darlin'?"
Chloe takes a deep breath and nods. They'd started with the leg wraps, because the leg burns had been lighter, being primarily from the blast of heated air. Her arms had borne the blast, and had been wrapped tightly around Lucifer's burning torso until he'd roughly shoved her away to relative safety.
Freya skillfully wields her bandage scissors. Now that the boosted pain meds have had some time to take effect, the discomfort of loosening the bandage material and peeling the absorbent non-stick layers away from her weeping skin is definitely lessened.
Chloe keeps her eyes fixed on Lucifer's still form as Freya works, a little afraid to see the damage. Her hands… She listens distantly to the gentle tugging and slight wet sounds of the padding being pulled away, followed by the astringent smell and gentle sting of cleansing solution.
In her mind, though, she retreats to a couple nights ago when Lucifer had pulled her determinedly out onto Lux's dance floor as his guest of honor at the staged sit-in for Lux. Her initial awkwardness and his frenetic energy melding perfectly as his broad hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her into a loose swing position and they'd found a perfect rhythm together. They held each other close and grinned into one another's eyes, and the warmth of his incandescent happiness at having her staunchly beside him had bathed her in blissful contentment. That's the moment where she stays, until Freya draws her back to the present.
"I want your doctor to look at your arms before we wrap them again, Chloe, but I think you were incredibly lucky," The quiet voice pulls her away from her happy place in a laughing Lucifer's arms. "Your palms appear to have escaped burns altogether, with the backs of your forearms taking the worst damage."
Her arms had been snaked tightly around Lucifer's waist. If her arms got the worst damage, then Lucifer's back… Sure, he'd been wearing a jacket, but the jacket had been on fire. She turns her head warily away from her partner to take in her own damage, the brittle, singed ends of her hair rattling lightly across her collarbones
She sucks in a wavering breath as she examines the ravaged, reddened skin of her forearms. The fine, downy hairs are all burned away leaving only shiny, weeping red skin with patchy blistered areas where flames had lingered longer than others. She sighs, and even just the gentle rush of air over the raw skin causes a tingle of mild pain. She makes a mental note to avoid unnecessary movements.
Freya checks her IV site, instructs her to gently flex her hands, and wipes down Chloe's face as well before professing herself satisfied. "We'll leave those bandages off for now, since the doctor will be here shortly to look you over and give the orders for your next round of dressings. Do you promise to keep still if I leave you to your own devices for a minute while I snag some backup to help me with your roommate?"
"Scout's honor," Chloe intones solemnly, "I'd make the hand signal, but…"
"Yeah, not necessary," Freya chuckles lightly, "just stay still and rest, and I'll be back in two shakes."
Chloe inspects her arms more closely as Freya leaves the room. The blistered areas are thankfully few, but they're incredibly sensitive, and throb painfully with the slightest brush of air or movement. Her eyes find the bandaged lump in the bed next to her again, and the flutter of fear and nausea revives in her stomach. She yanks her thoughts forcibly away from his lengthy healing process and forces herself to think instead about the investigation. If they've come across any leads yet.
Are the investigators waiting for Lucifer to wake so they can question them together? Or are they already chasing down leads? She needs to make sure they know about Perry Smith as a potential…
Shit. She sits bolt upright in the bed with a gasp, a sharp jolt of pain stabbing down her arms at the sudden movement. The trial!
Freya comes in with a young man in tow and moves toward Lucifer's bed, but stops when her eyes rake quickly over her other patient, now several shades paler and breathing heavily. "Chloe? Are you in pain? What happened?"
"It's Monday, right?" Chloe pants, wild-eyed. "Where did my mom go?"
"Yes, of course, why?" Freya asks, going over to Chloe's IV pump and adjusting some settings. "I'm not sure where your mother is, did you need something?"
"Tomorrow's the day the trial for my father's murderer begins," Chloe says faintly, and Freya's eyes widen in understanding. "I don't… Can I get out of here? I have to be there, I can't miss this, not after all the work I've put in—"
"Easy, Chloe, stay calm. The doctor will come evaluate you, but I don't know that you're going to be ready for discharge today. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that you won't be."
"But—"
"You're also under police protection after having your car blown up," Freya reminds her gently, "I can tell this is really important to you, but your recovery is also important, hon."
Chloe drops her head back onto the thin pillow with a groan, but works on deepening her breathing and calming herself. Freya watches for a moment until she's satisfied, then crosses the room to start helping remove Lucifer's dressings.
She tries not to look, because she's already feeling sick simply from the intensifying smell of burnt flesh and hair as the layers of bandages are removed and his injuries are exposed to the air again.
In the end, though, she has to know. Her view is obstructed by Freya, but she sees enough as the nurse bustles around her patient.
Lucifer's body is devastated. The scars that had been so prominent on the smooth planes of his broad back are no more, completely obliterated by the vivid crimson and black of charred deep tissue. Her eyes linger on the ridges and whorls of melted skin, tracing the deep cracks and crevices, and she's shocked at how dry and stiff they appear, like long-healed scars. As they remove the bandages from his head, she again hears the wet sound of them peeling away from weeping flesh in places, but manages to spy the scorched surface of what appears to be a section of the back of his skull. The miasma of charred flesh hangs thickly enough in the air that she can taste it, and that's the point where she realizes she's crying.
Three days ago, she'd stopped this infuriating man-child from completing a lewd drawing on a suspect's body cast. Two days ago, she'd stepped in to support his sit-in to save his home and he'd held her close as they laughed on the dance floor. Just last night, they'd shared a lovely dinner before all Hell broke loose, and now… What happens now?
She's suddenly glad Freya had asked her mother to leave. She can barely contain her own reaction, she wouldn't be able to bear her mother's dramatics. As it is, hot tears pour unchecked down her face as she tries to contain her sobs.
Oh, Lucifer. Is this my fault?
"Amenadiel?" The word falls stiltedly from the older detective's lips as Dan slips past him and into the waiting area. The former angel straightens from his slumped position in his uncomfortable chair and turns his head toward the sound of his name. "Can we speak with you a moment about Lucifer Morningstar?"
"Of course," his deep voice portrays only the faintest hint of worry. "Do you have any update on his condition? We've been waiting for hours with no news."
"I'm Detective Ramey, this is my partner, Detective Ryan," the older man introduces shortly, "and you are?"
"Amenadiel Canaan," he answers steadily, "Lucifer is my brother."
"You are Morningstar's brother?" Ryan asks incredulously, "How is that even possible? The guy is British. And white."
"Adoption is a fairly common phenomenon, Detective." Amenadiel sighs with unfeigned annoyance. "Can we please move on so I can see my brother? I understand he was severely burned."
"Yes, about that," Ramey begins, "Where were you between 8:30 and 10 PM yesterday?"
"I was taking a walk with Charlotte Richards. We're planning a trip, er, up north, and needed to discuss logistics. Travel arrangements, plans, you know."
"That's a long walk," Ryan challenges, "Especially at that time of night."
"More of a stroll, really. Charlotte's neighborhood is exceptionally safe," Amenadiel offers, deciding to adopt Lucifer's method of telling pieces of the truth and letting people draw their own conclusions. "We had much to discuss. We're planning to visit family that we haven't seen in quite some time, so it will require delicate handling. We're hoping to convince my brother to come with us, as well."
"Can you think of anyone that would want to hurt your brother, or Detective Decker?"
"My brother is well-known in many less-than-savory circles," Amenadiel shakes his head sadly. "He has made good progress in cleaning up his image, but there are many that could hold grudges against him. Even those that might target him for claiming to be the Devil. I'm afraid I don't have any names for you."
"And Detective Decker?"
"I have only met Chloe a few times, but she is a police officer and my brother says she is quite a good one. I would assume that would make her likely to draw the anger of a lot of criminal elements. Do you have any leads?"
"I'm sorry, we can't discuss the case. Here is my card. If you think of anything, don't hesitate to call, that is my cell number and I always have it on me. I'm sorry this has happened to your brother, but we're going to do everything we can to find out who is responsible and bring them to justice."
"Thank you, Detective," Amenadiel reaches out and takes the card gingerly. "Do you know when I'll be able to see my brother?"
"He and Detective Decker are currently under police protection. At this time, the visitors list is restricted to those that have been absolutely cleared of involvement. We'll need to verify your alibi before we can clear you to visit."
Amenadiel nods solemnly. "Do you have an idea of a time frame? Would it be better to wait here or at home? Will I be notified when I am cleared?"
"I am sorry, but the process can take a while. It may be more comfortable for you to wait at home."
"I appreciate your efforts to keep my brother and his partner safe. I'll be sure to be in touch if I think of anything helpful."
Detective Ramey rises when Amenadiel does and follows him into the waiting room, where Charlotte is watching Dan talk to Chloe's mother.
"Ms. Richards, please come with me, we'd like to speak with you about last night's incident."
Amenadiel watches as they disappear into the small room, hoping beyond hope that his mercurial mother can stick to their story.
When Penelope walks back into the waiting room, she finds her ex-son-in-law slumped in one of the thinly padded chairs near the windows. A fleeting, bitter twist crosses her face before she slides her public mask back into place. It's the first time she's seen him since Palmetto and everything he'd put her daughter through came to light. Guilt writhes heavily in her stomach at all the plugs she'd put in for him, pushing for Chloe to give him another chance, to keep their marriage intact.
I won't make a scene. Chloe deserves better than that.
Chloe has been telling her that he's been making more of an effort, both with Trixie and at work to be more supportive, to be better. She can give him some grace for that, for Chloe, even if he had told her about this incident with a single text and then not responded to any of her queries afterward.
"Daniel," She greets him, and her voice is colder than she intended. His head pops up from where it had been lolling, propped on the back of his chair. "Have you been here the whole time?"
"Penny, hey!" Dan croaks, clearing his throat awkwardly. "How long have you been here? Did they let you back to see Chloe?"
"I just came from their room, the nurse shooed me out so they could change the dressings." Penny sniffs. "Have you caught the bomber yet?"
"They're not letting me anywhere near this case," Dan admits sourly. "I just got out of an interview with the Detectives on it. They seem competent. Is… is Chloe okay?"
He assumes she is, more or less. Penny doesn't seem overly distressed, so she must at least have been awake and aware.
"She's covered in bandages on her arms and legs, but the rest of her seems to have escaped too much harm, thank God." A distraught look flickers in her eyes, "Or, I suppose, thank Lucifer."
Dan sighs. Thank Lucifer. Yeah, okay. The guy is nuts, but he has managed to be there to protect Chloe every time Dan hasn't. "Did you talk to him? How's he feeling?"
Penny can only shake her head and make a small, strangled noise until she manages to swallow thickly. "I didn't even know it was him in the other bed. Covered top to toe in bandages and still out cold. He… it looks bad, Dan."
"They've got them sharing a room?" The indignant question slips past his filter before he realizes that it makes sense. "Oh, right. They're under guard and they don't know which is the target. Guarding one double room is much easier than two single rooms."
Penelope graces him with a skeptical lift of an eyebrow that very eloquently tells him that his lack of concern for Lucifer and his initial caveman reaction hadn't gone unnoticed. Fortunately, his phone chooses that moment to ring.
"Oh, so your phone is functional," Penelope grouses as he fumbles it from his pocket. He heaves a sigh as he answers.
"Hey Ella, what's up?" He's a little confused. He's not on call today, obviously, but maybe Ella just wants an update on Chloe? "We don't know much about - oh. No, I'm not expecting anything. It's what? Yeah, definitely open it."
"What!?" His face goes pale, and he sinks down into the chair behind him. Penny takes a concerned step forward, but Dan holds up a hand. "You think it's really him? You got that good a look at him when we brought him in for questioning?"
He heaves a heavier sigh. A long pause. "Okay. Okay, Ella, I'm coming in. No, they won't let me back to see her yet anyway, yeah they're under guard. Chloe's mom is here, she's been back there, but I haven't… right. Well, I don't know how much of a hug either one of them will… yeah, okay, I'll tell her. Yeah. See you in a few."
"Well, that conversation sure took a lot out of you," Penelope observes, taking in his pale face and shaking hands.
"That was our forensic scientist, she wanted to let me know there was a package on my desk that was, uh, bleeding. When she opened it, she found a head… and she thinks it belonged to the key witness for us in your husband's trial."
"… horrible setback, Mom, he was the key to linking Perry to Dad's murder," the Detective's voice fades in as Lucifer claws his way to unmoving awareness once again. "Did Dan say anything else?"
"No honey, he left right after that, he said he was going to meet your friend and see what he could find out. Will they… will they delay the trial?"
"I'm sure they'll try," Chloe's voice sounds strained, and he listens hard to catch her next soft words. "Mom, what if… what if he gets away with it?"
"Pumpkin, we can't do anything about that right now," Penelope assures her gently, and the faint sound of fabric rustling reaches him through the layers of bandaging blanketing his tender head. "I'm more concerned about you right now. We just have to trust Dan and your forensic friend to do their jobs."
"I am not missing the start of the trial tomorrow, Mom," he registers the familiar note of steel in her tone and a wave of relief rushes through him.
If she leaves, I can heal. And he knows her level of determination. She'll be at the trial, which means he'll have a chance to escape.
"Is leaving a good idea? They have guards on your room for a reason, right? What if the bomber comes after you once you're out?"
Mum. Would she go after Chloe again? He needs to speak to Amendiel. But in order to do that he needs to get out of here. He wonders how quickly he'll start to heal once the Detective is out of range.
He tries to move, to cross that final, stubborn barrier between himself and full consciousness but it resists him. He wonders vaguely if it's the drugs, or the energy drain of his body's extended efforts to heal.
"If it is Boris… Mom… there's a really good chance Perry could avoid conviction."
Boris? Human lie detector Boris? What did I miss? His hazy mind tries to piece together what he's hearing. Perry… The weaselly warden that was responsible for The Detective's father's murder… Well. At least he'll have something to look into while the Detective thinks he's healing.
The moment he can move he's got to call Maze. She can bring him some clothing and give him a ride back to Lux.
"It's out of our hands, Chloe," Penelope reminds her sternly, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now, will you tell me what the doctor said about your injuries?"
Lucifer focuses so intensely it's nearly painful, very interested in this answer.
"The doctor said they look much better this morning. They didn't even need to wrap my legs this time," a soft breath escapes him as he feels tension that he hadn't been aware of drains from him. "She told me they'd reevaluate in the morning, but if it still looks okay I might be able to make the trial."
He knows Chloe well enough to know that she takes that as a challenge. She won't be kept away from that trial, not for anything.
"Well, the bandages are certainly lighter, how are your hands feeling?"
"Stiff, and sore, but I can move them, and they gave me stretching exercises to make sure they don't stiffen with the burned skin."
Penelope makes a skeptical noise, and he's absolutely sure the Detective rolls her eyes. There's a moment of tense silence, then Penelope asks tentatively, "It looks like they changed Lucifer's dressings as well… did they tell you anything about his condition?"
"They wouldn't tell me anything specific, but… they did change his dressings and I saw…" a choking sound, and Penelope makes soft, soothing noises in response. He worries for a moment. Had something happened? Was she in more pain than she was letting on? "Mom, his burns are… his recovery is going to be so painful for him! You know how he was about his looks, and his entire head is just… and his back? He looks utterly destroyed, and I'm terrified what that's going to do to his mental state. He did that to save me, Mom, he ran toward the car to pull me away."
"You'll be there for him as he's recovering, Chloe, and I'm sure that will mean the world to him" Small sniffling noises, and he puzzles through to the conclusion that she must feel guilty for him getting wounded to shield her. It certainly makes more sense than the unlikely possibility that she might be worried for him.
"I will be," she states confidently, and his heart swells a little at the unfamiliar emotion in her voice. "I'm not going to let him push me away."
Oh, Detective, his mind whispers, already drifting back into oblivion, I still have so much to tell you… you shouldn't make promises you can't keep.