Author's Note: many thanks, once again, to my beta Tempest. You rock!

Lucifer and Trixie had stopped talking a while ago; they were now listening to the sounds of the rescue operations on the other side of the debris.

Another text from the Detective had come, informing them that the rescue squad was finally on site, and that they would be getting them out very soon. And indeed, soon enough, they'd begun hearing noises of the crew trying to dig them out – voices, thuds, metallic bangs, scraping sounds, vibrations – a whole range of different sounds that were hard to interpret but that were definitely getting closer. And louder.

And, in truth, Lucifer didn't really give a damn about how they were going to get them out, as long as they did it quickly; he was done with the whole trapped-rat predicament, and he definitely was in need of a healthy dose of bourbon. Or two.

Trapped and bleeding– and while swapping anecdotes with the urchin had been a bit of a distraction, it hadn't been enough to make him forget about the bloody thing in his side. And to add insult to injury, his faithful flask was empty.

"Do you think they'll be using dogs?" the urchin suddenly inquired, drawing him out of his morose thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"To get us out," she clarified. "I saw it on Netflix. Dogs are good at rescuing people."

The image of a St. Bernard digging around the debris, with a whiskey barrel around its neck, flashed before Lucifer's eyes – it was so ludicrous, he would've snickered at the thought had he not been so damn tired and sore.

"Only in avalanches, Urchin," he objected. "And in our case, the rescuers don't need to look for us – they already know where we are. So nope, no dogs I'm afraid."

The barrel of whiskey would have come in handy, though, and he was about to say it out loud when a noise way louder than the previous ones made them both jump.

He felt the deep, thunderous vibration and he knew what was about to happen, even before seeing the white-greyish dust sprinkling from a fissure in the concrete above their heads.

He lunged towards the child to shield her, just as pieces of debris began raining on them – or, at least, he tried to. His side exploded with pain at the abrupt movement, leaving him gasping for breath, and he realized with horrified clarity that he wouldn't be able to completely cover the child.

He reached with a hand, trying at least to protect her head and back, bracing himself for the pain he was sure was to come, knowing his efforts wouldn't probably be enough…

…and then he felt a sudden, powerful tug, and a weird sound in the midst of the thundering noise of the wreckage, and then something materialized out of thin air, shielding them both from the barrage of pieces of concrete tumbling down on them.

It went on for a few seconds – even if it seemed way longer than that – and then it suddenly stopped.

In the deafening silence that followed, it took a few seconds before the world made sense again.

Lucifer opened his eyes – he hadn't even realized he'd closed them – and gave a tentative look around, trying to get his bearings.

The spawn was alive. He was alive. The collapse had stopped.

And there was a huge, slightly glowing, white thing wrapped protectively around them.

Wings.

His wings.

Whoops.

It had to be a nightmare, Chloe was sure, for otherwise how could her life have gone to hell in such a short time?, and yet, deep down, she rationally knew she wasn't going to wake up in her bed and blessedly find out it had been just a horrible dream.

The last few hours kept replaying in her mind, dreadful scenes that seemed simply too absurd, too unreal to be true – more like scenes from a second-rank action movie. She already had to deal with her fair share of absurd, of weirdness on a daily basis – it was part of the job, after all, even without considering the fact that she was partner, and friend, with a man that pretended (believed?) to be the Devil. But this? Hell, things like this were not supposed to happen in real, everyday, common life. Explosions were things that belonged in books, in tv shows – or, well, in worst-case scenarios, on TV news reports about war zones. Not in L.A. Not in her precinct. And definitely not in a building where her child was. And ok, yes, she felt like a terrible human being for thinking this, but she couldn't help it…

One hell of a war zone – this was what her surroundings looked like. She stood on the street, looking up to where the side façade of the precinct used to be. No more a building, just a dilapidated heap of ruins – which held trapped her daughter and her partner.

It hadn't even been that huge an explosion – only the eastern part of the building had actually been involved in the blast and subsequent collapse. She should probably be glad of this, of the fact that very few people had been affected by the disaster and that the number of casualties was very small, and yet she couldn't help but feel it was an even crueler, sicker joke of fate that the bomb had gone off exactly where Lucifer and Trixie had been. The epitome of wrong time, wrong place.

Chloe paced and paced behind the cordon of barricades – the whole building had obviously been evacuated, even the areas farther away from the blast, and would be off-limits until the emergency services would see fit. There was nothing else she could do, because the other options – screaming until her throat hurt, crying her eyes out and digging her daughter out of the debris with her bare hands – were just not viable..

Dan was pacing, too, not far away from her. He had volunteered his help to the rescue crew, but the team leader had promptly turned down the offer, explaining that only qualified personnel were allowed on the field.

He was feeling responsible, she knew. He felt guilty for taking Trixie to the precinct this afternoon. And a small, petty part of Chloe – the part that needed someone to blame, to lash out against, to hurl things at for putting her child in such a situation – well, that part agreed with him. But then again, she rationally knew it would be unfair. Much as she would have liked to be able to take it out on him, she knew that what had happened was not actually Dan's fault.

Chloe herself had occasionally brought Trixie to the precinct (albeit just for a quick stop and not the whole damn afternoon, the petty voice whispered in her mind). Besides, the precinct was supposed to be a safe environment, swarming with police officers ready to protect innocent bystanders from any harm. No one, really, could have ever anticipated the day's events.

She fished her phone from her pocket for the umpteenth time, to make sure she hadn't missed any message from Trixie and Lucifer. She hadn't, obviously – she had turned the volume of the ringtone and text notifications all the way up as soon as she'd received their first text– but she couldn't help but check every couple of minutes or so.

And thank God they had this chance at communicating, meager and slow as it was. At least she knew that Trixie was fine – or, as fine as she could be whilst trapped under the rubble and with a broken arm.

The need to keep her phone line free was the excuse she'd used with Pierce a few minutes ago to put a quick end to his phone call. He'd called her as soon as he'd got the news, and promised he'd be back in L.A. in no time. Since they'd begun sort-of-dating, he'd proven to be thoughtful and supportive, as he was being right now. Yet, a part of her (the same, petty part?, she wondered) was almost relieved he wasn't here right now. It wasn't Pierce she wanted to see right now…

Her phone pinged loudly and her eyes flew to the screen- it wasn't a message, tough, but a low battery signal. Yet another thing to worry about.

Still nothing from Amenadiel. Chloe had tried contacting him, to tell him what was going on, but the call had gone straight to voicemail and her text, in which she asked him to call her as soon as possible, still had got no reaction from him.

Should she call someone else for Lucifer, she wondered? Maze was away on a bounty hunt, so she was out of the question. Linda, perhaps? But what could Linda do? It wasn't therapy Lucifer needed at the moment – in truth, if anyone was in dire need of a therapist right now, it was herself!

She slipped the phone away in her jeans pocket and focused her attention back on the rescue operation.

There were several teams at work – Lucifer and Trixie weren't the only ones caught in the blast – but, wrong as it might be, she only had eyes for the handful of people working to free her daughter and partner. Yet another proof of what a horrible person she was…

And a terrible officer of the law, also, a small voice in her head reminded her. Other agents were already looking into the bomb attack; she had vaguely heard them say that they had reason to believe that the person making the phone call wasn't the same one who had placed the bomb. Quite contrary, they thought that this someone had been actually trying to stop the attack, but they had no idea of his identity, nor the identity of the bomber. And yet, she couldn't really find it in herself to care. Some Detective she was…

She felt a presence beside her and turned slightly to see it was Dan. He was pale and drawn; his eyes, just like hers, were glued to the rescue team, he, too, totally focused on the operations. She grabbed his hand and gave a squeeze.

"They're gonna make it," Dan said hoarsely as he squeezed back, undoubtedly trying to reassure himself just as much as her. "They'll bring her back to us."

Chloe just nodded, unable to find words.

They stood like that for a while, side by side, motionless figures in the frenzied flurry of activity raging around them, fingers slightly interloped.

They'd grown far apart during the years, Palmetto and the divorce being the last straw. The rift between them might never be mended. Yet, they would forever be bound to each other, tied together by the most beautiful thing in their lives, the greatest accomplishment of both their existences – their smart, strong, wonderful child. A child that was now just a few meters away from them, and yet unreachable, in terrible danger.

And so they stood, hoping, praying someone above – someone Lucifer was so hellbent on despising – to save their child's life – and Lucifer's.

Chloe couldn't honestly say what tipped her off; maybe a change in the tone of the rescuers' shouts, or perhaps something different in the overlapping sounds of their digging efforts. She felt it in her bones that something was about to happen, an ominous sense of dread; and then they all heard it – a low, deep vibration that morphed into an intense rumbling, and then screams and yells and dust everywhere, and the horrible noise of pieces of concrete tumbling down over concrete, coming exactly from the pile of rubble that trapped Lucifer and Trixie.

She screamed, too – and Dan also, she vaguely heard, but whether he was screaming with her or at her she had no idea – and without even realizing what she was doing, she all but jumped the barriers and made a beeline to where the rescuers were.

The awful thundering of the collapse stopped, and other noises took over – alarmed shouts, and warnings and yells – but she couldn't really make sense of it over her own loud screaming.

It was a while before words actually registered.

"Ma'am, please, stay back," someone was saying. There were hands on her, too, trying to keep her back, and it took her addled brain a moment to realize it was the rescue team leader. "It's not safe for you here – and we don't have time to deal with any distractions."

Chloe saw red at the curt tone. "Distractions? I'm a distraction?!" she all but barked. "There's my child under the rubble!"

The man visibly bristled at the unspoken, but equally clear accusation in her voice. "We're doing our best, but as I've already explained to you before, the structure might be unsteady, and digging might cause shifting in the debris – we have to be careful."

"And this is being careful?" Chloe retorted in a high-pitched, screeching voice that had to be hers, waving her hand to indicate the dilapidated wall. "My daughter and my partner are under that rubble! You're supposed to dig them out, not dump even more concrete on them! "

She knew she was being not only unreasonable, but also rude – the rescuers were doing their job and it wasn't their fault that half-destroyed building was unstable. But the truth was, she didn't give a damn. The dramatic events of the last few hours, the ongoing dangerous situation her daughter was facing, and now another collapse. Things were supposed to get better, not worse! All of this, coupled with the irksome and condescending tone of the man in charge of the rescue – the same man that had just almost caused another tragic collapse… Well, it didn't exactly come as a surprise that her was fuse getting shorter and shorter and that she felt on the verge of a meltdown – or on the verge of punching the man into next week.

Before she could do either of the two things, though, hands were on her, and she felt someone lead her away in a gentle but firm way, until they were at a safe distance from the site, muttering reassuringly to her all the way.

Ella, Chloe's brain helpfully provided when the voice, and the words, finally registered.

"…everything is going to be fine, Chloe, but you have to calm down, OK? We can't have you assaulting the guy, huh?" the forensic scientist was saying.

"Calm down? Calm down? I won't fucking calm down," Chloe exploded. She was shouting in the middle of the street in front of the precinct building, probably attracting the attention of everyone – colleagues, rescuers, bystanders – but she didn't give a damn. Now that the dam was broken, she was apparently unable to hold back any longer. "My ten-year-old daughter and my partner are trapped under the rubble, she's hurt and scared and just a few meters away from me, and yet I'm completely useless…" She gestured wildly in the direction they'd just come from, and went on. "That moron is supposed to be helping us and instead is making things worse, nearly causing another collapse, and I am this close to smacking the daylights out of him! And I swear, if someone else tells me to calm down or go home and rest or whatever, I don't know what I'll do!"

Her rant finally came to an end. In the deafening silence that followed, all she could see was Ella gaping at her, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide and brimming, and Chloe suddenly felt rather self-conscious about her outburst – and quite awful, too, because if there was anyone in the world who definitely didn't deserve her wrath, it was Ella who, once again, was just trying her best to be positive and helpful.

"Sorry, sorry," Chloe hurried to backpedal, running a hand through her hair and then down her face. She pressed her fingertips against her temples, as if trying to curb the racing thoughts in her minds.

"It's OK, Chloe," the forensic was saying in an understanding, reassuring tone, clearly unoffended by her friend's telling off. "You have every right to feel like this – I just want you to know that I'm here for you."

At those words, the tears that Chloe had managed to keep at bay until now finally eluded her tight control. Warm, salty, treacherous drops trailed down her cheeks and a deep, strangled sob escaped her. Ella threw herself at her, enveloping her in a warm, very tight hug and held her as she cried, murmuring all the while a soothing stream of comforting words Chloe's brain didn't really register.

She didn't know how long they stayed like that, but sobs eventually gave way to hiccups and the tears stopped at last. Chloe took a deep, still shaking breath and finally disentangled herself from her friend's grasp.

"Thank you," she uttered, unsurprised by how brittle her voice sounded, then raised a hand to wipe away the wetness on her face. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable. "And, well, sorry for…"

Ella was quick to brush off both the thank-you and the apology. "Don't even mention it," she exclaimed, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture "you've totally earned yourself the right to freak out. Listen," she said after a brief hesitation, "you have every reason to feel like shit right now, and I know you don't want me to give you false reassurances or stuff. But, well, for starters, Trixie is a strong, brave girl and I just know she can take care of herself."

Chloe only nodded, not trusting her voice enough to speak.

"Besides," the forensic scientist went on, "she's not alone. Lucifer will do his damnedest to keep her distracted – he's probably telling her naughty jokes and inappropriate funny anecdotes as we speak, and tomorrow, all you'll have to worry about will be dealing with Trixie's embarrassing follow-up questions!"

Chloe gave a watery chuckle at Ella's last comment, the whole Trixie-is-a-hooker-name incident from a couple of years ago immediately springing to her mind, as she let her friend guide her back behind the barriers and then towards the café in front of the precinct. It was swarming with people – mostly officers and emergency personnel, and Chloe realized that they were probably using it as a temporary headquarters of sorts, since their whole building was off-limits.

"Now, first thing you'll have something to drink – maybe not coffee, though," Ella was saying. "Then we'll go and ask how they intend to proceed with the rescuing – together, OK?"

Before Chloe could utter a word, Ella had already beckoned a rookie close with her best bossy, no-nonsense tone. A couple of minutes later, a steaming paper cup of strong and very sweet tea was in Chloe's hands, along with a sandwich she didn't really want, but tried to nibble on anyway. She had drawn a line at the shock blanket – the overzealous rookie had indeed offered to bring her one, but she felt it was little overboard.

And maybe it was Ella's optimistic attitude rubbing off on her, or perhaps the hot, somehow reassuring sugary tea she was sipping, but when the rescue team leader confirmed that no further damage had occurred and the digging had begun once again at a slower but safer pace, well she felt that maybe, just maybe, things were actually going to be fine.