Goodnight, Lucifer
Week 8 (A Lucifer Earth Week)
Day 7
~o~
Watching Trixie and Lucifer interact in the days that follow the incident in the Penthouse feels like an emotion whirlwind to Chloe. Her daughter is an endless, rapturous stream of questions— directed at either herself or Lucifer—whichever one of them is accessible at a given time. Lucifer is…well, Lucifer. A master in emotion containment.
Neither of them are as indomitable as they appear.
Perhaps the most defining moment of all happens a few days later, on the evening marking the end of another Lucifer Earth Week—Lucifer is to return to Hell tomorrow.
"Will you show me?" Trixie asks of him. "Your devil face?"
It's the first time in the days that followed the incident that Lucifer's mastery slips. His eyes flick up to where Chloe stands several feet away, and the flash of desperation in them catches in Chloe's chest.
When Chloe's tiny nod signals her permission to the request, the returning hint of panic she registers in him has her folding her arms around herself to contain the overwhelming urge to go to him. The thing is, this is between Lucifer and her daughter; she has to allow it to play out without intervention. She knows this.
"I…" Lucifer starts. "I'm not sure that's…"
"Mom told me why you have that face," Trixie offers helpfully—in that candid way that only a child can. "She told me how you were made to see and do all these horrible things you didn't want to do, because God needed you to. In Hell. And that you've seen so much bad. That it broke parts of you, and made you feel like a monster." The child pauses, then adds, "But you're not. I know you're not."
Chloe has to cover a hand over her mouth.
Lucifer opens his mouth, then closes it.
"Will you show me? Please?" Trixie asks again, voice softer this time.
He does.
Lucifer shows her.
For Chloe, the sight only hurts her heart now. If he can conjure such a face, even now, if it still exists in some capacity, than there are parts of him, deep and dark, that remain broken; parts that forever see himself in such a hideous light, and this is unbearably tragic.
Trixie's head rears back noticeably, but she recovers. Shock morphing into fascination, she reaches a hand up to touch the gnarled and deformed skin, causing Lucifer himself to jerk back in surprise; however, the instant Trixie makes contact, Lucifer's face dissolves, her fingertips connecting instead with the line of his beard.
She frowns disapprovingly, thinking this was intentional on Lucifer's part—that he thought it too scary for her—but Chloe registers otherwise; she sees it from Lucifer's own bewilderment. The reaction was automatic. Uncontrollable. Clearly, maintaining such a face when Trixie is touching him like that is an impossibly for him.
"It's okay, you know," Trixie tells him. "All those bad things. They don't matter." A pause, and then, "You know why?"
"Can't say that I do," admits Lucifer, clearly dumfounded by her lack of reaction to the sight of his devil face—which is in part due to Chloe preparing her for it, and the rest due to Trixie's unwavering acceptance of him—something Chloe can't explain but is immensely grateful for.
"Something dad told me once," Trixie explains, smiling a little. "That you don't need to know everything about someone…" she lifts a hand to press her palm over her own heart, "…to know what's in their heart."
It's almost impossible for Chloe to hold herself in place now. She's never seen him look so…raw.
Tentatively, Trixie leans over to hug his neck. "Goodnight, Lucifer," she says. She seems to understand his silence, kissing his cheek quickly—and with a shyness that never would have existed in her younger years—before escaping to her bedroom.
Chloe follows—after taking a second to collect herself.
She brushes her fingers over Lucifer's shoulder as she passes him on her way out; it feels stiff beneath her fingers.
Chloe confirms that her daughter is all right, kisses her goodnight, tells her she loves her, then returns to the living room where Lucifer still hasn't moved.
"It would seem Daniel can provide useful advice on occasion after all," Lucifer manages to remark upon her re-entry, causing Chloe to choke out a laugh—both at the ribbing and at Lucifer's complete lack of ability to verbalize what he's actually feeling.
She goes to him then.
Wordlessly, she climbs onto his lap.
He ends up with his face against her shoulder, her fingers threading through his hair, the strands thick and silky against her skin.
They don't speak.
Eventually, Lucifer lifts his head, his hand coming up to cup her face as he leans in to kiss her softly. There's an invitation behind it that Chloe recognizes. She kisses him back with her own answering passion, and Lucifer shifts her in his lap and then lifts her into his arms. He carries her up the stairs to her bedroom, shouldering the door closed behind them before lowering her onto the bed.
He removes clothing slowly, kissing every inch of her bare skin as it's revealed to him.
It's extra slow, the way he makes love to her this time. He leaves no part of her untouched, no part of her unloved.
He doesn't utter a word, not even to echo her own whispered I love you.
He shows rather than tells; the words have been foreign to him for so long that regular utterances from him will take a while, Chloe knows, and even then she recognizes that vocalization of feelings will never be his strong suit. She's okay with this.
In fact, Chloe rather prefers being shown than told anyway.