Chapter 13
The elevator doors open to an empty penthouse, and Chloe tries not to be too disappointed at Lucifer's absence. He'd warned her that he needed to meet with his mother, after all. She glances anxiously at the time, wondering when he'll return.
She curls into her claimed corner of the settee and considers ordering an early dinner, but her stomach is still in knots from the abysmal direction the trial had taken with their key witness turning up dead. Dan's testimony about what Boris had told them hadn't seemed to sway the jury at all… up until he'd mentioned that Chloe had been the one to call in Joe Fields' murder.
The sinking feeling in Chloe's chest had only worsened when Dan had thrown a desperate, apologetic look her way and continued to answer the rapid-fire questions. She'd found herself desperately wishing Lucifer had been sitting beside her as any attempts to defend her character had been immediately shot down or interrupted, and she knew then that Perry was going to walk free.
Because of me. Why did I follow that damn van?
She groans, burying her face into the fluffy grey softness of the blanket neatly folded over the back of the couch. The Perry case is out of her hands now, and dwelling on could-have-been situations isn't going to affect the outcome of it a single bit. She casts her mind around for a different subject to dwell on.
She runs her fingers restlessly over her bandages, wondering idly how long it will be before she can leave them off entirely. Honestly, if it weren't for the sheer number of still-intact blisters and the extreme tenderness of the burned skin, she would have been tempted to leave them off entirely this morning. She glances down and wrinkles her nose as she notices a few more yellowish spots scattered across the white wraps where more blisters have obviously burst throughout the day. Lucifer had done a good job with them, though, they're just as secure now as they had been this morning.
This morning. Her fingers ghost across her lips as she remembers their kiss. A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth as she considers his initial, wide-eyed surprise before he'd relaxed and leaned into it. Kissing him had felt so right, and it certainly seemed like he'd felt that way too. Maybe if she skips her pain meds this evening, she'll be able to convince him that her reaction to him isn't chemically induced…
She lets her thoughts drift to all the things they need to talk about, and how to approach them. They're already both on edge; Chloe with all her new, overwhelming information, and Lucifer with dealing with his family and their plotting. She glances out to the balcony, remembering waking to hear his furious rant to the sky— to his father—the night before. She hasn't really had a chance to think about what he was saying yet, her mind too occupied by the abrupt appearance of the enormous wings. He'd been shouting about a brother. Ariel? Yurich? Something that his father could have stopped, but didn't—
Her blood runs cold as Lucifer's grief-stricken words come back to her:
"You didn't, and he didn't, and I had to kill him to keep him from destroying Mum, and the Detective! I murdered my own bloody brother because You couldn't be bothered to just tell us what it is you want!"
Her breath catches in her chest. She recognizes the desolation she'd heard there—the same that had hung heavy in his tone from the sniper incident. Her partner had killed someone to protect her—killed his own brother to protect her—then stood in front of a man armed with a gun and repeatedly demanded to be shot.
"Every killer must be punished."
She blinks a tear from her eye, then pushes aside the sorrow in her heart and continues digging into the memory of his speech.
"All I asked, as I lay there dying, was that You keep the Detective safe, and I would have done anything You asked me to do— I would have stayed in Hell, but You didn't ask. You brought me back…"
Chloe isn't quite sure what to make of this. He'd been more angry than grieving during this part of his rant, and she'd only just been waking, so she may be misremembering… but the memory feels solid. Lucifer had died… and his father had brought him back? As part of a deal to keep her safe? Is that what he'd meant when he told her he'd gotten better after Malcolm shot him?
She pulls out her phone with a sigh and starts making notes, just like she would for any interrogation. Questions, fragments of remembered conversations, observations—they all flow from her fingertips into her Notes app. Her hands stutter into stillness when her memory presents her with another image of Lucifer's ravaged face when he'd awakened yesterday. Her breathing speeds as she contemplates his glowing eyes, but her fear is held at bay by his own obvious terror reflected within them.
What is the Devil afraid of? He'd been muttering in his sleep… her name.
"Detective, I'm sorry."
She wonders if maybe he's just wary of revealing his secret… But no, that doesn't make sense. He'd said it before—it isn't a secret if he's been telling her the answer the entire time he's known her. What if… he'd moved away from her as quickly as he could with his injuries. Once his shock had passed, he'd been very clear that he expected her to leave—to run—and had been utterly confused when she'd refused to go.
He'd been wary of getting near her to help with her bandages, as though she were a caged, wounded animal. When she kissed him he'd been shocked into immobility for a moment, and afterward he'd kept a careful distance between them, treating her with the exaggerated care of a delicate trinket that could shatter at any moment.
Is he afraid of her? Or… is he afraid of himself?
The questions continue to churn in her mind and she notes them all down, determined to get her answers but also worrying about how to frame the questions to Lucifer without triggering him into flight. Maybe literally. Her head snaps up as something occurs to her.
Linda. Linda knows.
She pulls up her messages and sends one marked urgent.
Are you free? I need a drink and a chat.
Gabriel stretches and shakes out her mottled brown wings before folding them away, loosening strained muscles unaccustomed to the strenuous journey between planes. It's been a long while since she's been needed to carry messages between the planes. It's not like anybody was corresponding with Lucifer after his fall, and Azrael doesn't even have time for a friendly chat with anybody, let alone send written missives.
She adjusts her battered leather satchel and strides purposefully toward her father's office, waving cheerily and occasionally stopping to converse animatedly with siblings she passes on the way. She doesn't stop to knock at the office door, merely sweeps inside with all the considerable authority of her Duty as the Messenger of God.
"Hello, Daughter," her father looks up from the scattered parchments before Him with a warm smile. "How was your visit to Earth?"
"Awk-ward!" She announces with a slightly nervous, but still bubbly laugh. It had been a long while since she'd been in her father's Presence, and she'd nearly forgotten how happy it makes her. Warmth wells in her chest, and it emerges in an excited burble, as always. "It was super weird talking to Lucifer again. I mean… he doesn't even respond to my monthly polls and e-mail blasts! Rude, right? But, ya know, sometimes you've just gotta power through and be professional when the Divine Duties come into play."
"Indeed," God replies indulgently, holding out His hand for the message He knows she bears. She pulls the sealed linen envelope from her bag, and twiddles it in her fingers for a moment before presenting it formally to him, resting like an offering on her upraised palms. He takes it gently, running his finger under the seal and breaking it open. "And thank you for not divulging your errand to your siblings. Your discretion is appreciated."
"Just because I enjoy hot goss, doesn't mean I can't be professional," Gabriel scowls, but her father's lifted eyebrow and knowing smirk cools her ire almost immediately. She can't stay mad at Him. "I, um… told Lucifer I'd let him know if there wasn't going to be a reply?"
"You will not need to deliver a reply," God responds absently, skimming the letter His estranged son had seen fit to send. A small smile flits across His face before a grimace pushes it aside. He looks up at His daughter, annoyed. "Please send for My Sword. I have an assignment for him."
Gabriel nods slowly and turns to go. When she reaches the door, she turns back hesitantly. "Lucifer seemed really concerned – like actually upset—that Earth might be in danger from Mom… You're sure you don't want to give him a hint of what to do?"
"There will be no need for you to deliver a reply, Gabriel, thank you," God dismisses her kindly. "Just see that My Sword attends me now, please."
Gabriel nods slowly and heads off to summon Michael, leaving God smiling down at the letter from His Lightbringer.
Dad,
In case you've been too bloody busy to notice, Mum's loose, and Amenadiel and I haven't had a way to get Her back to Hell. She wants to go back home, and She's starting to cause troubles among Your little science project down here. Since You've just seen fit to inflict my wings upon me again, I can only assume that You'd like me to deliver Her to You via Devil Delivery Service before I cut them off again.
If You have another idea that doesn't involve me trying to force Her back to Hell, I'd love to hear it. Otherwise, you can expect both Her and Amenadiel knocking at the Gates in one Earth week.
Have fun with that,
Old Scratch
God chuckles as he folds the letter and puts it away in one of the many drawers of his desk. He misses Samael's sass. He always did take after his mother in that. He's still smiling when His Sword deferentially knocks and enters the office with a deep, servile nod.
"You called for me, Father?"
"I have a job for you, Michael."
Lucifer has only just managed to stop growling in frustration by the time he arrives at the penthouse level of Lux. His meeting with his mother and brother had been full of emotional accusations (from Mum), measured interjections of reason (from Amenadiel), and snarky commentary interspersed with outright annoyance from himself. In short, a bloody waste of time for all involved. He'd finally left with the suggestion that they call him when they had an actual plan to get back to the Silver City.
He had managed to avoid revealing the return of his wings, though there had been a panicked moment after a particularly strong surge of annoyance where he'd felt them struggling to unfurl. Some breathing exercises the Doctor had recommended helped him keep them tightly folded away, but he'd found an excuse to leave shortly afterward.
A sigh escapes him as he surveys his echoingly empty flat. He has to work a little to convince himself that he's glad that the Detective isn't there waiting for him, and even then he doubts his success. He swallows, trying to force down the large lump that's taken residence in his throat.
Perhaps she finally came to her senses.
His shoulders sag as the last remnant of his thin veneer of recovery drains from him in a cold rush of lethargy. The sun hasn't even set yet, but he makes his way toward his bed with little thought for anything other than sleep. Healing is proving to be far more exhausting than he'd realized.
He shucks off his jacket and unbuttons his shirt, letting them both fall carelessly to the floor as he toes off his shoes and stumbles up the steps to his bedroom. His trousers follow as he clumsily kicks them off and topples into his nest of blankets in nothing but his boxer-briefs.
I knew she'd make the right choice, he thinks muzzily as he nuzzles into the pillow, catching hints of her scent from last night. His chest aches as he fights to accept that he won't be seeing her again. No more eye rolls, or reluctant chuckles. No more breathtaking smiles, comforting touches, or glinting blue-green glares. But she'll be safe. Well done, Detective.
His eyes burn with unshed tears as he squeezes them shut and wraps himself tightly in his blankets, cocooning himself away from the world as enervation pulls him inexorably into unconsciousness.
By the time Chloe and Linda finish their conversation in one of the secluded booths down in Lux, the sun has set and Linda should definitely not be driving. She'd gone a little overboard in her relief and celebration at having another human in the know. Rather than calling an Uber, Chloe places a call to her Lieutenant and requests a cancelation of her security detail, then asks Dawson to take Linda home on his way back to the office. She knows who the bomber is, after all, and she trusts Lucifer when he says she won't be targeted further. It takes some persuasion, but after a quick explanation of the private security employed by Lux and her intention to stay here until Lucifer is recovered, her harried superior officer caves to her request with nothing more than an admonition to be vigilant and a request to pass on get well wishes to her partner.
She sends Linda on her way with a heartfelt thanks and a hug, and meanders through the packed mezzanine toward the elevator. Her mind is buzzing with Linda's insights and advice on how to handle the onslaught of information over the past few days and still be able to move forward with Lucifer. Preferably without traumatizing either of them any further. Chloe had been gratified to learn that Linda was fierce in protecting Lucifer's privacy, while also being willing to help with suggestions… if only in theoretical or vague situations.
Chloe steps into the apartment and stops short at the haphazard trail of clothing leading to the bedroom, more than half afraid of what she might find at the end of it.
Okay, I'm being ridiculous. He knew I was coming back, he wouldn't bring someone up here for… that… if he thought I was going to be here…
That doesn't stop the anxiety and nausea from dancing in her gut, but she takes some solace in the silence in the apartment. She's certain that if there were someone in the bedroom with him, it wouldn't be this quiet.
She presses her hand to the plaque on the wall beside the elevator door and soft yellow lights flare to life here and there throughout the open area.
"Lucifer?" she calls out tentatively, just as she had yesterday when she'd arrived… just in case. She doesn't ask if he's here, the path of discarded clothing is evidence enough of his presence. Her partner is too much of a neat freak to allow a mess to stay for long.
She glances around when she doesn't receive a response. Twilight is past and the view out the windows is of dark sky made hazy by the reflecting city lights from below. She takes a fortifying breath and moves toward the bedroom, putting aside her nerves.
She stops at the top of the stairs, a small smile tipping the corner of her mouth at the disheveled tuft of dark, curly hair just visible from within the rolled lump of blankets. She leans against the stone wall and shakes her head, content for the time being to let him rest. They'll have time to talk once he's recovered fully.
This time she does order dinner, with extras in case Lucifer wakes— though he's showing no indication of that. While she's waiting, she makes herself at home at his desk and indulges in a long phone call with Trixie. Once she's listened to the recap of her daughter's day, and assured her of Lucifer's (and her own) continued healing, she promises to see her the next day and ends the call before pulling out her notes to prepare for her conversation with Lucifer.
She'd reordered her thoughts and moved them to paper during her chat with Linda—it was just easier for her than typing everything out on her phone. She glances over them, trying to map out the conversation in her mind, softening some questions, rephrasing others. She gets lost in the details until a voice rings out from the balcony doors.
"Well, Detective Decker, as I live and breathe," her eyes snap up from the desk to find her partner standing in the doorway in a soft beige pullover and dark brown trousers. His tone is odd, flatter somehow—he must have just woken up. "I did not expect to find you here."
"I told you I wasn't running, Lucifer," she points out shortly, lifting an eyebrow. "You knew I'd be back. How are you feeling? I didn't hear you get up."
"Right, you did say that, didn't you?" A slow smile spreads across his face. He clears his throat, and when he speaks again he sounds more like himself. "I guess I'm just surprised you'd keep your word to the Devil. Especially when he's the reason for your injuries?"
"I also told you this isn't your fault," she grabs onto her patience with both hands and willfully ignores the fact that he's talking about himself in the third person; something she's noticed he sometimes does when he's referring to himself as the Devil. "Are you hungry? I ordered us some dinner, it should be here soon."
"How very thoughtful of you," he coos, taking a few more steps into the room. He tilts his head as he regards her, and something in his manner strikes her as off about him. "You really are wrapped up tight with the Devil, aren't you?"
"Are you okay?" she eyes him with concern. "Did your mom say something, or are you still upset from this morning?"
"Why, Detective, are you worried?" He stalks a bit closer, and warning bells go off in her mind, though she's not sure exactly why. "Why don't you tell me what you're afraid of, hm?"
"Lucifer what are you—"
"Ugh, really?" He stops dead in his tracks and grimaces, looking back over his shoulder at the balcony with an annoyed sigh. "Well, we'll just have to put a pin in this little conversation. Duty calls. We'll talk again soon, Detective, you can count on it."
"What do you mean 'duty calls'? Are you going somewhere?" She calls after him, but he's already out the doors. He turns back with a cruel smirk, the low light casting ominous shadows around his face.
"Just think about this while I'm gone—how much do you really know about the Devil, hm?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" A thrill of unease threads through her, and she moves to follow him before she's distracted by a sound from the bedroom. She whips her head around, fumbling at her waist for the gun she's not wearing. She looks toward the balcony, but Lucifer is out of sight. She grabs a letter opener from the pen cup on the desk and sidles over against the wall, edging toward the sound.
"Detective?" Her jaw drops as her very rumpled-looking partner appears at the top of the stairs, wrapping his black silk robe around himself and fumbling to tie the crimson belt. He yawns, his broad palm scraping roughly over the new stubble now shading his chiseled jawline. His dark eyes light up with a wide, joyful smile when he spies her peeking around the corner, gaping at him. "You're here! Were you just talking to someone?"
Chapter 14
His tired eyes scan the room, looking for her conversation partner but finding no evidence of another guest. He belatedly realizes he probably should have checked for other humans before appearing, but mentally shrugs off the thought. I've told them I'm the Devil, if they come to my door they shouldn't be surprised when I'm proven right.
"How are you feeling? Did the trial go all right, darling?" He crosses the room to the bar, his robe fluttering around his thighs as he moves gracefully, no more hints of pain in his demeanor. Chloe can only watch him in a state of shock with the silver letter opener held defensively before her, confused blue eyes darting between the balcony and the sleep-rumpled man before her. "Maze was supposed to update me, but my new phone hasn't arrived yet so I find I'm a bit behind the times."
She stares at him, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Have I snapped? Am I hallucinating right now? Or was I before? Am I about to wind up in a cell with plexiglass walls like Jimmy Barnes, shrieking about the Devil?
"Detective?" He pours himself a glass, turning when her silence stretches to the point that it becomes conspicuous. The cheerfulness on his face implodes into sad acceptance when he registers her alert stance. He slowly sets down his glass, as though a sudden movement might send her into flight. She has to admit… it might. "Have you decided to kill me after all, then? I must admit, I'd prefer the gun versus the slow death that little trinket would bestow."
"Lucifer?" Her voice trembles, and she forces her frozen fingers open, dropping the letter opener with a clatter on the stone floor. "I was just… talking to you?"
"My apologies, Detective, but… I did hear your voice, but I'm afraid I didn't catch what you said," His eyebrows lift, and a detached part of her mind notices that they are truly eyebrows now, back to their normal expressive thickness, though his tousled hair is still not back to his customary length despite their day apart.
"You were talking to me! And, and dressed! And you went outside, and…" she gestures vaguely toward the open balcony doors and Lucifer's brows furrow as he turns to follow her direction. He stalks outside and surveys his empty balcony before slowly re-entering, a worried look settling on his tired face.
"You're quite certain you didn't nod off?" Lucifer asks, his tone dead serious for once, and not at all patronizing. "You weren't dreaming? Are you… are you quite all right? You haven't developed any… soul-eating, existential fears in the last 10 minutes?"
"I'm sure I didn't fall asleep," Chloe nods emphatically, and Lucifer's lips thin. His face slowly settles into a neutral expression that makes a ball of lead appear in Chloe's gut. She recalls the faint stirrings of unease she'd felt as… as the other Lucifer had approached her, and she evades his question about the fear. "Lucifer… what just happened? Who was here?"
"I… I wouldn't have thought it likely at all, but if you're positive that you didn't fall asleep—" he glances at her hopefully, but she only lifts a wrathful eyebrow in return as she bends to swipe the letter opener from the floor. "—then it would appear my brother Michael has decided to grace us with his presence." This last is said with a sneer, but he can't hide the slight tremor in his voice.
"You have a brother that looks just like you." Chloe closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, counting to five before she releases it and repeats the exercise. "And you never thought to mention that?"
"In my defense, Detective, my weaselly twin has never seen fit to really mingle down here on Earth. He much prefers it Upstairs where he can lord it over the others that he's Dad's Sword—"
"Does he have your… your mojo thing, too?" Chloe holds her breath as Lucifer considers. I'm immune to Lucifer. Am I immune to his brother? What about other angels' powers?
"It's… not the same. Michael holds dominion over Fear, rather than Desire," Lucifer sighs and rubs the back of his neck, running his hand backward through his short hair to his face, causing it to ruffle adorably. "It makes him a good Commander for God's Armies."
"Because the enemies fear him?"
"Mm, that too, I suppose," Lucifer shrugs, returning to the bar and his abandoned glass. "Not that there's a lot of my father's enemies out there boiling for a fight. But it certainly keeps his troops in line. If he was here, though, why did he leave?"
"He was asking me questions, and then he just… said he had to go. Something about 'duty calling.'"
A frown pulls at the corners of her partner's lips as he considers this information. "Dad must have needed him… but if Dad didn't send him in the first place, then what was he doing here? What did he say to you, Detective?"
"He didn't say much. He knew my name, but he was surprised I was here. He made some comments about wanting to know what I'm afraid of," Chloe shakes her head, confused. "Nothing really made much sense. Then he looked over his shoulder and said that duty called, and…" She trails off, a worried expression on her face.
"And what?" His voice is soft, the deep wells of his eyes brimming with concern as they watch her closely.
"He said he'd be back, and we'd talk more. He asked me… to think about how much I really know about you." Chloe worries her lip between her teeth, deep in thought. "He kinda gave me the creeps."
Lucifer had averted his gaze to the glass in his hand as she'd relayed his brother's parting thoughts, but he huffs a surprised laugh at her opinion.
"He let me think he was you," Chloe's eyes narrow in annoyance at this stranger trying to assume her partner's place, "he didn't try to correct me. His voice sounded different at first, and I… thought it was because you'd just woken up or something, but then he sounded more like you and I didn't think anything of it."
"Yes, he rather likes to do that," Lucifer runs his tongue over his teeth as he thinks, and Chloe returns the letter opener to the cup on the desk. "But… when he asked you what you were afraid of? Did you feel anything? Mind-numbing terror? Any… desires to run screaming away from me?"
"Aside from just a general 'this is really weird' vibe, no. Does he normally have that kind of effect? People running and screaming?" Chloe turns back to him, rolling her eyes. "That's kind of weird, since he looks just like you, and you draw people like flies to honey. I mean, unless you're trying to terrify them."
"Hazards of being the Demiurge, darling, we're opposites in quite literally every way," Lucifer shrugs lightly, a small smirk playing around his mouth.
"Ah, so where you're arrogant, annoying, and lewd, he's humble, endearing, and polite?" Chloe teases, lifting her eyebrows in playful query as her partner nearly chokes on the scotch he'd been sipping.
"I beg your pardon?" he splutters, wiping his chin with a nearby bar towel. He watches her with dark eyes, and Chloe thinks she sees real hurt swimming in their depths. "Detective, is that truly what you think of me?"
The slight tremble in his voice is enough to make Chloe drop the joke immediately. "Lucifer, if that was really all I thought you were, we never would have started working together. I mean," she gives him a small, encouraging smile, "sure, that's how you came across at first. But then it was clear that you really cared about justice for your friend, and I found out you were smart, and you told me to trust myself, and you stuck up for my kid with her bully. And that was all in the first day I even met you."
His expression has gotten more and more confused as she's gone on, until she finally sighs and crosses the room toward him. She leans on the bar and reaches out to touch his hand, resting on the cold marble. She ducks her head to meet his downturned gaze, and wraps her fingers around his. "The point is, I know you. I know you're a good man, and I know you don't lie. So if you tell me that you have… an evil twin… I believe you."
His eyes search hers, searching for falsehoods. The dawning expression of hope that lights his face triggers a broad smile on her own. He lifts his glass and takes another deep drink. "You're really not frightened of me?"
"Really, really," she takes his hand and tugs, and he follows her into the sitting room, allowing himself to be pulled down beside her on the couch. "I've got to admit that the whole… adjustment on the world-view thing is… overwhelming, and that stack of papers on your desk over there only holds the questions that I've been able to actually put words to so far. But as far as being afraid of you?" She shakes her head, a fond smile on her lips. "Not gonna happen. You just saved my life. I don't think I've got anything to fear from you."
He blinks at her wordlessly for a moment before his eyes are drawn down to the stained bandages coating her arms. "Have you had your pain medication this evening, Detective?"
"I knew you were going to ask me that, and no, I haven't," she chuckles dryly. "I'm not really sore enough to need it, and I wanted to keep my head clear for this exact reason. You can't blame the drugs for what I say if I'm not taking any!"
"That… doesn't seem like a valid reason to skip your pain medication," Lucifer protests, a distressed crease appearing between his brows. "Should you be—"
"We're having this conversation," Chloe crosses her arms before she remembers how tender they are, and a vindicated expression appears on her partner's face as she winces and uncrosses them immediately. "I'll have Trixie back from Mom after the trial, and we have a lot to talk about."
His fathomless dark eyes watch her for a long moment, and she meets his unblinking stare without hesitation. He finally huffs an annoyed breath from his long nose and shakes his head. "All right, but you will take your meds when you get tired. I won't have your sleep disrupted by pain because you're too stubborn to see sense."
Chloe starts to argue when her phone chimes in her pocket. She pulls it out and glances at the text in puzzlement.
No worries, Decker, I gotchu. It's gonna be taken care of.
"Any idea what Maze means by this?" She asks cautiously, holding the phone out for him to see.
"Hm," he leans forward curiously, narrowing his eyes at the screen. "Did something happen today? For the trial, perhaps?"
"He's going to get off," Chloe's face contorts in disgust. "It slipped that I was first on scene, and that was more than enough to plant reasonable doubt, even if Boris hadn't been beheaded."
"How on earth did that come up in discussion?" Lucifer spits angrily "You would never have done something so vile! How dare they besmirch your morals—"
"Lucifer!" Chloe interjects before he can get too far into his indignant rage. "It's really my fault, I shouldn't have followed the van, and I knew that when I was doing it. The investigation is still ongoing. Maybe we can link him to something else…"
"Might I borrow your phone for a moment, Detective?" He holds out his hand imperiously, long fingers flexing impatiently. She narrows her eyes, but hands it over. He touches the contact and holds the receiver to his ear.
"Mazikeen," he says shortly in greeting, before switching to a strange, guttural language Chloe thinks might be what Maze uses to mutter under her breath at home sometimes. A wicked grin crinkles his eyes, and he nods to himself, ending the conversation with a curt word.
He hands the phone back to her with a smug expression, and she lifts an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.
"Mazikeen has it handled, Detective, don't worry."
"What exactly is she handling, and how?" she asks suspiciously, but Lucifer only shrugs and leans back against the bar.
"I find it's often better not to know these things, Detective, plausible deniability and all." At Chloe's worried expression he hurries to reassure her, "Truly, Maze is under a strict no-kill order while she's here on Earth, darling, she's very good at what she does, and she's aware of the outcome if she's too obvious in her… convincing."
"Lucifer…"
"Mazikeen can handle it, I have every faith in her capabilities." His eyes shine with satisfaction. "It's what we do, Detective, deal with guilt."
A small quiver of unease shimmies in her stomach, but she really can't argue with the literal truth—the Devil and his demons punish the guilty, and Perry is absolutely guilty. She takes a steadying breath and changes the subject, deciding for once that plausible deniability isn't such a bad thing right now.
"How did your meeting with your Mom go?"
"She missed her calling as an actor in a telenovela. All drama, no direction," he scoffs in annoyance, and takes a slow sip of his whiskey. Chloe feels like she pulls a muscle concealing her smile at the irony of Lucifer describing someone else that way. "I managed to avoid them finding out about my wings returning, but it was a close thing. The good news is, I'll be rid of her in a week, one way or another."
"Really?" her voice nearly squeaks in surprise. "How?"
He glances toward the balcony door, then back to her. "It's… a work in progress, Detective, and as my slimy brother has ways of eavesdropping, I'd really rather not say."
Her own eyes flicker to the balcony as well and nods slowly, recalling Michael's knowledge of who she was, and of things she'd said. She takes a deep breath and holds it for a moment before releasing it, working herself up for the difficult conversation to come. "Okay… then how about you tell me about your brother?"
Surprise flickers across his face and he's opening his mouth to answer when the elevator chimes, announcing the arrival of the dinner Chloe had ordered them. Lucifer tips the immediately-enamored delivery girl handsomely and gives her a gentle nudge back into the carriage when she seems disinclined to leave.
"I must say, I don't think much of your security detail, if they're letting random delivery people up here." He takes the bags in one hand and his whiskey in the other. "Shall we eat on the balcony?"
"I canceled my detail, sent Linda home with him." At Lucifer's off look, she grimaces. "We know who set the bomb, it's not like they could protect from your Mom anyway, and… I trust you when you say I'm not in any more danger from her."
She opens the balcony door, turning to hold it for him, only to find him frozen in place where she'd left him. His brows are lowered, his lips set in a scowl. "What's wrong?"
"Why do you trust me, Detective?" he growls, stalking toward her. She opens the door further, allowing him to sweep through before closing it behind them. "It doesn't make any bloody sense, I'm the Devil!"
"I'm aware," she groans, exasperated. "You've told me every damn day since we met, Lucifer, and now I believe you. What is your issue here?"
"My issue!?" He grumbles, setting the bags down on his low table in a rustle of plastic and cardboard. "My issue is your… your lack of issue with my—my Devil-ness! My 'Lucifer-ness' as you so quaintly called it. You should be running away terrified, not… not standing here on my balcony about to have dinner and… interview me like I'm Tom bloody Cruise!" His face falls suddenly, his anger collapsing into hopeless dejection. "Oh. Of course. It's the bloody wings, isn't it?"
"It's… what?" Chloe tilts her head back, staring up at him in confusion. "What about your wings?"
"My wings, Detective!" He bellows, his despairing voice echoing emptily in the still night air. "You've seen me heal, and you've seen my incredible, angelic wings, and now you can't believe any ill of me. Bloody Hell, I really didn't want to show you my face…"
The last words were spoken as a low mutter, more to himself than to her, but the pain in them is too much for her to ignore. Linda had been adamant that Chloe needed to be nothing less than absolutely honest with him during this conversation… but she'd really hoped to approach it a bit more gently. She should have known it wouldn't be so simple.
"Lucifer, I've seen your face, okay?" She steps closer to comfort him, palms out toward him in a placating gesture. "I saw it yesterday, before you woke up—it was… different from your burns. Older, more…I don't know, it's hard to describe, but your eyes were like fire. And you looked so afraid."
His mouth opens, his throat works, but no sound emerges. She takes that as a good sign and continues, edging closer to him all the while. "So whatever… glamor, or disillusionment you think I'm under, Lucifer, I'm not. It's not the pain meds, or your wings, or that I'm in shock. I knew who you were before all this, and now I've seen you, too. Both sides of you, okay? It doesn't change what I've seen in you. It doesn't change what you've done for me. It certainly doesn't change who you are to me. You're still my partner, and my best friend. None of this… celestial crap is going to change that."
The flames from the outdoor fireplace beside them reflect in his black eyes and to Chloe, it almost looks as though tears are standing in them. She sidles up to him and takes the tumbler of scotch from his trembling hand, guiding him back into the seat just behind him as he continues to stare blankly at her. She watches him for a minute then starts to set out dinner, giving him time to gather himself without her eyes upon him.
She's pulling her bottle of soda from a bag when she hears him shift in his seat, clearing his throat quietly.
"My apologies, Detective," he murmurs, his voice gravelly. "I wasn't aware that I'd shifted to that face as I was sleeping. It's… not something I would have chosen to show you without preparation of what to expect."
"I think you were having a bad dream," she offers quietly in return, handing him a plastic packet of silverware. When he doesn't reach to take it, she sets it beside his meal container like a peace offering. "You were talking in your sleep… apologizing to me for something."
"Were you watching me sleep, Detective?" He lifts an eyebrow in a blatant attempt at deflecting her worry. Forcing a chuckle, he continues, "How voyeuristic, I wouldn't have thought it of you."
She gives him the eye roll he's clearly hoping for, but doesn't respond to his evasion further. "Why were you apologizing to me, Lucifer?"
"I was apologizing for… being me, I suppose," he reaches for his silverware, opening up the packet and pulling out his utensils as he opens his meal. "I showed you my face, and you reacted."
"You were afraid of me when you woke up," she reminds him gently. "How did I react in your dream?"
"It doesn't matter," he waves off dream-Chloe's reaction uncomfortably. "It wasn't real. We have more important things to discuss before you can medicate yourself. You wanted to know about my brother, you said?"
"Fine. Tell me about Michael." She sighs and nods, twirling a forkful of pasta before bringing it to her lips.
Half an hour later she knows that Michael, in addition to being a dick with the ability to draw out people's fears, also has raggedy black wings to Lucifer's graceful white ones, a severe inferiority complex, a sinister talent for strategy and playing the long game, a habit of pretending to be his twin and causing trouble, and absolutely no taste in clothing.
"Why would he have come here tonight?" she wonders idly, packing away the scraps of her fettuccini. "I mean, he must have been after something?"
"He might have been looking for someone," Lucifer prevaricates, causing her to lift an eyebrow in his direction. He lifts his eyebrows back at her, tugging on his earlobe conspicuously.
Right. He has ways of listening in… She'll have to think and see if she can find a way around that little issue, she doesn't like not knowing what Lucifer is planning.
"I think that exhausts the Michael topic, Detective," a small, hopeful smile lights his face. "I'm afraid he's just not as interesting as I am. What other pressing questions did you have for this evening? Or are you ready for your medication now?"
"I have so many more questions," she laughs, and he joins her. "You knew you weren't going to get out of this so easily."
"I would expect nothing less of you, darling, but I'm going to need a refill before we continue." He holds up his empty tumbler, and Chloe shakes her head with a rueful smile. They both stand and gather their meal containers. Chloe finishes her soda and they both move inside to dispose of everything. Chloe grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator behind the bar, and Lucifer carefully choosing one of his many bottles from his immaculately arranged shelves.
Lucifer nods back to the balcony and Chloe follows him without complaint, nearly walking into his solid back when he stops short just after passing through the doorway.
"Azrael!" He sounds breathless, and Chloe peers around his broad shoulders to see a short woman with Asian features standing uncertainly at the railing, hands fidgeting before her. "I… didn't expect to see you."
"Hey, Lu," the tiny woman wiggles the first three fingers of her right hand at them in a shy wave. "I don't have a lot of time, but… Gabe says you have something of mine."
"And if I return it to you, you'll take better care to guard it from homicidal siblings in the future?" Lucifer asks acerbically, carefully keeping himself between Chloe and his sister. She's already had to deal with Michael today, and he hasn't spoken to Azrael since his fall. He has no way to know if she's fallen under Michael's sway, and he won't stand for yet another family member targeting his Detective. Especially not one with a soul-eating blade.
"I didn't even know it was gone, Lu, I swear," Azrael's hooded eyes go wide, and Lucifer fights a smirk at his sister's use of her puppy eyes. Classic. "I've had it in the same hiding place for eons, I don't even know how Uriel found it!"
"You know he was intending to use it on Mum?" he can't keep the faint accusation from his tone. If his baby sister had guarded her blade better, perhaps Uriel would still be alive.
Perhaps I wouldn't be a murderer.
His shoulders stiffen at the thought, and he feels a light touch at the small of his back. Chloe.
"It's in my safe," he gestures to the other end of the balcony, where the door leading to his bedroom is. "After you."
His tiny sister turns and moves in that direction, and he rests a heavy hand on Chloe's shoulder, leaning in to whisper in her ear, "Stay here, please. I'll… explain later."
Chloe nods shortly, because she doesn't know who this sibling is or what they're capable of, but her eyes don't leave her partner as he follows his sister into his bedroom. She does move to the railing, to keep him in sight as he opens the safe in the Assyrian wall and removes a small silver blade, about the length of her forearm.
He presents it to her, hilt first, and she takes it awkwardly, storing it in a clunky-looking sheath at her hip. She handles it as though it's foreign to her, and from what she said that would be accurate, but she also handles it as though it's a grenade that could go off at any moment, and that makes Chloe nervous.
Uriel. That was the name Lucifer was shouting about, on the balcony last night. The one that God didn't stop. The one that Lucifer…
Oh.
Well, she was going to ask about that anyway. Talk about a convenient segue. They're coming back out onto the balcony now, Azrael's quiet voice drifting to her in the still night air.
"…I was going to, but, you know, a day turned into a week, which turned to, you know, a thousand years, and then it just seemed weird." Her tone is apologetic, but Lucifer still carries himself stiffly.
"Well, congratulations. Weirdness averted," he laughs bitterly, and she turns to him with a small smile.
"I do miss my favorite big brother," she says shyly, and Lucifer gives her a small but genuine smile in return.
"I'll be sure to let Amenadiel know," his tone is lighter now, joking, and Azrael giggles.
"Does he still make that hilarious angry face?"
"Still angry," he agrees, smiling wider, "still hilarious."
"I really do have to go," she sounds reluctant, but Lucifer nods easily. "Can I… come back and visit sometimes? When I get a break?"
"I'd… like that very much, sister." Azrael's smile widens until it lights her entire face, then she turns and unfurls smoky wings, gone nearly before Chloe can register their appearance.
Lucifer stands at the other end of the balcony, lost in thought for a moment before he seems to shake himself free and returns to the table, catching Chloe's eye and gesturing to her seat as though nothing unusual had happened.
"So, you have more questions," he heaves a resigned sigh and pours himself a measure of whiskey, sure that more questions have been added to the queue following his sister's visit. He's not wrong. "Fire away, Detective. If I can't answer, I'll at least say so. I won't, of course, lie."
"Will you tell me about… Uriel?" She looks up him through her lashes, watching as he freezes in the act of bringing the glass to his lips. Grief swirls in his eyes before he shutters them, swallowing hard. "I… heard you talking about him out here, last night. Before, you know, the wings."
A deep, shuddering breath falls from his lips, and he brings the glass up to empty it in one long draught. He pours himself another, his eyes fixed on the rippling amber liquid inside.
"Uriel was… my brother. Stubborn, annoying little git, really," he chuffs a laugh, but it's more of a sob. "He could… his gift was patterns. Playing with events to see what would change, you see? The whole butterfly theory was Uriel's life's work."
Chloe's heart breaks for her partner as the story unfolds like a butterfly's wing. Question after gentle question, answer after trembling answer, she listens as Lucifer bears his flayed and bleeding soul to her.
Finally he falls silent, only his shuddering breathing breaking the silence enveloping the balcony and its occupants as Chloe considers everything he's told her.
"This happened around Halloween, didn't it?" she decides, finally putting the puzzles pieces together.
"Every killer must be punished."
"You can't understand, Detective. And you never will."
He nods, not daring to look in her direction. She leans toward him, touching his cheek and turning him to face her, but his gaze refuses to meet hers.
"I understand now, Lucifer," she murmurs softly, "why you were such a wreck for that case. Why you stood in front of that sniper and begged him to shoot you. I… I'm so sorry that you couldn't tell me what was going on. I'm so sorry you had to go through that alone. You were forced to make a terrible choice, and you did the absolute best that you could. That… that never should have happened, but it still changes nothing about how I feel about you. Understand?"
His ragged breathing stops, and his incredulous, red-rimmed eyes slowly rise to meet hers. Confusion, guilt, grief, and despair dance like flames in them, and a lump forms in her throat until she can barely breathe in response.
In a heartbeat, she's out of her chair and around the table, standing before him and wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him into her embrace. He remains stiff for an instant before he sags into her, his cheek resting against the racing thrum of her heartbeat as the warmth of his shivering exhale washes across the fabric of her shirt.
After a long moment, his arms close around her waist and she steps into the space between his knees, gathering his head to her chest and resting her chin against the wild mop of his hair. Her fingers soothingly stroke through his disheveled hair while the other hand rubs calming circles in the center of his back. Keening sobs wrack his frame as they huddle there together, and she glares at the sky above, sending malevolent thoughts to the being that had abandoned the beloved creature she cradles in her arms to the cruelest fate possible— alone and unloved, far from everything he'd known and worst of all; believing himself deserving of all it… believing himself a monster.