A/N: A little aimless something I wrote before we learn how Chloe and Lucifer will really deal with their immortal romance in Season 6.
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Equal
It's embarrassing, really – how long it takes Lucifer to notice.
They have known each other for years before it first registers with him that his vulnerability is not the only thing Chloe's presence in his life lets him experience. She makes him more human, affects him in more ways than either of them could have guessed, yes; and there is one crucial consequence that he failed to anticipate: He is ageing in Chloe's presence, however slowly. A grey hair here, a wrinkle there and his face turning from boyish to, well, manly. "Ageing" might be the wrong word altogether. "Changing" is maybe more appropriate.
It is so very subtle at first, and Lucifer tells himself that this is why he didn't register the shifts in his body before, but eventually, he has to acknowledge that the pictures on Lux's ever-growing guest photo wall don't show quite the same visage he came to Earth with all those years ago.
He doesn't really know what to do with this realisation, but he doesn't have to ruminate on it too much because after he becomes god, the process comes to a halt.
Again, it takes an embarrassing amount of time for him to realise when they look at their reflections together in the mirror in the morning that Chloe continues to mature, be he just seems to have… stopped, frozen in time - an animated, unchanging image.
Chloe doesn't seem to mind – or even notice – that she is living with a virtual Dorian Grey, but he does as the months slip by, and then, in the blink of an eye, a handful of years are gone. The lines on Chloe's face deepen. She is no less beautiful than the day they met, but inexorably, her visual age is not only catching up, but overtaking his.
One evening, as they are cuddling on the couch with her head on his shoulder, he is running his fingers through her golden hair and discovers that her roots are no longer standing out dark against her scalp. Rather, some are becoming lighter than the rest of the strands. It's silly and superficial, but this is what drives the point home to him that, while she is God's wife, Chloe is still mortal and will always remain so, because, despite everything, it is not within his power to change this fundamental rule.
He watches other couples – on the street, at the supermarket, at the beach and even in his club – holding hands, the history of their shared lives noticeable not only in the ease with which they interact, but also in their matching age. They have gone through the same world together, forging their unique connections to each other through the challenges they faced together, and it shows.
It's endearing, comforting to know that love like that exists in the universe he now rules, and he wants that for Chloe and himself. He wants their bond, their shared history to be visible beyond the identical rings on their fingers, but if they continue to quite literally grow apart in age, he knows it will only be a few more years before he'll be regarded as nothing more than her boy-toy, or her a middle-aged lady greedy for a young lover, which is oh-so-ironic because he will always be the older out of the two of them by a good margin of several billion years. Judgement will be in all the eyes around them, and it's not fair. It would dishonour what they have, what they have built between them.
Besides, he muses, ageing would be something novel for him, one of the very few things he has yet to experience. Being in command of all the "omnis" has left him with so little novelty in his life, and he can't deny that he longs for a change in his static eternity.
There is another, much bigger, much more sinister element: eventually, after traversing several more decades, Chloe will inevitably die – and he will not. While Heaven is no longer inaccessible to him, the thought of being separated by the invisible line dividing life and death deeply disturbs him.
It's also completely unpredictable how her demise might impact their relationship. Death changes people – both those who pass on and those left behind – and he is wary of the consequences of Chloe finding everlasting joy in paradise. There are no guarantees that he will be part of her happiness any longer.
He makes a decision: he wants to grow old with her – and not only that. He wants to experience a mortal's death, walk the same path that she will inevitably tread, lest the experience pushes them apart.
He debates with himself over whether he should bring it up with Chloe first – that he intends to join her in her mortals' journey – or simply adjust things quietly behind the scenes. It seems unavoidable that an argument will arise from his proposition, but he is determined.
Eventually, he decides to announce his intentions. The years of living with Chloe have taught him that she needs to be kept in the loop and would not appreciate being excluded from his thought process, especially not over something so monumental that will affect both of them so profoundly.
There is only one problem: Even he does not know with certainty what will happen to him when he reaches the end of the life span he is about to allot himself. Thus, it will be hard to convince Chloe, who deals best in facts. This is a precedent that has never arisen in the history of the universe: god choosing to die. An angel's essence is not the same as a soul – and to complicate matters, he is an angel no longer.
Will his essence automatically be converted into a soul once he turns his back on immortality? Or is this something even he cannot change?
Secretly, he believes the case to be the latter: Just like he can't make Chloe immortal, he may not be able to fully become a mortal himself, and where would that leave him, a celestial with the unnatural ability to die? This is not what is intended for his kind. And yet he wants to take that risk.
When he finally works up the courage to share his plan with Chloe, it goes about as well as can be expected. She pleads with him not to give up his immortality for her sake, unmoved by his argument that he wants to age and grow old alongside her.
"Can't you adjust your appearance?" she queries, a note of desperation in her voice.
He is tempted to make a joke of it, about his vanity and her desire for his youthful looks, but he refrains. The matter is too serious. So he takes her hand and pulls her down onto the sofa, and explains that the physical side of things is just an outward expression of a deeper rift threatening to form between them: that death might separate them in a way that is ultimately not fixable.
She looks upon him with sympathy, then. Maybe this is something she has secretly considered as well? She places a slender hand against his jaw. "Lucifer, you know I will never stop loving you, paradise or no." Her thumb caresses his cheek. "But I hear what you are saying, and if you are this worried about it, then I support your decision. Whatever happens after, we have this lifetime, and I am grateful for that."
He just stares at her – his miracle – and is filled with such boundless gratitude and love he can feel it threatening to spill liquid from his eyes.
They kiss tenderly, sealing their pact. "Till death do us part, my love," he whispers against her lips, renewing their promise.
"God, I hope not!" she whispers back, smiling at her own pun.
Many happy decades pass. Their crow's feet and laughter lines spread in tandem across their faces until they are both deeply wrinkled. Lucifer's hair had retained its shade for a little longer than Chloe's, but by now, they are both ash-white. It suites them, Lucifer thinks; their matching hair colour. If he were to grow out his beard, he would truly look like the benevolent grandfather figure god is often portrayed as in films.
As it stands, he only is a grandfather to Trixie's children.
He has long since begun to feel the small aches and pains that come with age – creaky knees, arthritic knuckles,… His sexual appetite is not what it was either, but that's fine since Chloe is the only person he would ever want and she has slowed down as well, so they still match perfectly in that department, too. When they make love now, it is slow and reverent in a way that he has never experienced before, both of them savouring the rare occasions when their bodies still let them enjoy such a union.
He had secretly hoped that death would take him first, though he had refused to look that far ahead when they chose their path, not wanting that knowledge to mare their years together. He has absolutely no desire to see her die before him ever again – once had been more than enough – and he knows that she is so much stronger than him to weather the inevitable grief that will spring from their (hopefully) short separation.
It turns out he timed it well when he gave himself his finite span of years.
Eventually, he feels the darkness approaching, like a wall of grey fog on the horizon. It doesn't frighten him. His succession has been sorted, not left a mess like his dad did to them. What follows after death, if anything, is supposed to be theirs, and theirs alone, for the rest of eternity.
When the time comes, they are in their bedroom, moved downstairs years ago on account of their diminishing mobility.
She is leaning against the headboard, cradling him in her lap. His head is resting on her chest between her sagging breasts, "Hot Tub High School" days long gone. The room is quiet safe for their breathing – his wheezing and ragged, hers hitching with tears.
They both know that this is the end.
She runs her frail fingers through his thin hair, over and over, caressing his scalp. The motion is comforting for them both. He curls closer to her warmth, not really able to re-position himself other than drawing up his knees a little more, but it causes her to wrap one arm around his shoulders to hug him tighter. Her other hand slips down to his cheek, pressing him more firmly against her chest, thumb stroking back and forth across the crescent of his cheek bone right under his eye. It's an odd sensation, his paper-thin skin being shifted across bone by her caress.
Nothing is left unsaid between them, so they just bask in each other's closeness for what could very well be the last time.
Lucifer allows his eyes to drift shut when his lids become too heavy, inhaling Chloe's sweet scent and hanging on to it for as long as he can. He is not scared. Chloe was right all those years ago: they had a lifetime together, and whatever happens to him now, nothing and no one can take that from them. It helps to have certainty that, no matter what, she will ultimately find happiness in paradise with or without him when it is her turn to leave her body behind and ascend. As for him, on top of the sadness, he feels a muted kind of excitement to see what comes next.
His heart stutters in his chest, the contractions of the muscle becoming uneven and ever further apart. The lack of oxygen gradually dims his senses. It's peaceful to drift like that, surrounded by the warmth of the woman he loves.
He feels Chloe kiss his forehead in farewell, lips wet with salt, then nothing…
Their hope becomes a certainty not long after: He does not vanish into nothingness. It appears that, somewhere along his long, winding path, he has repeated Maze's feat of building himself a soul, or something close enough to one.
He doesn't have to wait long for their reunion in paradise either. It feels like just the next morning when Chloe walks up to him, radiant and smiling, and they kiss under the eternally blue sky of their new home - without the burden of godhood on his shoulders, to live out the rest of eternity, now with nothing standing between them.
Equals at last.
End
Notes: Thanks for reading! All comments welcome.