Well, Linda thought, Chloe certainly has a type.

The doctor sat across from the detective, watching her friend struggle with the bone-deep realization that she did not want to marry Marcus Pierce. A man who the doctor knew was in fact Cain, first murderer and famous Biblical figure. And Chloe's other immediate choice, the man looming over this entire conversation, was the Devil. The Devil, a completely different species, billions of years old and barely past his angry teenage years due to a disrupted adolescence enacted by the most powerful beings in the universe. There was a joke in there about a rock and a hard place, but given Cain's choice of murder weapon, Linda's thoughts shied away.

What a mess.

It wasn't that Chloe had an affinity for immortal Biblical men – she had a penchant for difficult men. Men who lied, who withheld, who hurt her with all the best intentions: Dan, who'd left her alone against the constant onslaught of hatred from her fellow officers; Marcus, who'd boomeranged from a cold breakup to falling to one knee; and Lucifer, terrified of his own devilish shadow and Chloe's inevitable fear of him.

Linda couldn't force Chloe to just talk with Lucifer, especially since Chloe was understandably afraid that Lucifer might freeze or run. Perhaps a comical combination of the two. Either way, Linda could only provide guidance as either a friend or therapist. She chose to be a friend for now and let the therapist side of her settle for a moment.

"You don't have to choose either of them, Chlo'," she said. Chloe's eyes widened; she blinked, creased her brow, leaned back in her chair. She huffed a small burst of air, a sudden expulsion of stress via a soft "huh." Linda watched the realization take root in her, expand through her until Chloe looked downright relieved.

Wanting a man didn't mean she had to want these men.

"Linda, you're the best," Chloe said. Strongly, with enunciation and feeling. Linda saluted her with the fruity drink.

"That's what they pay me the big bucks for," she said between sips. Chloe's relieved sigh eased the doctor's mind. Chloe didn't need to feel pressured about this decision. She didn't need to make any decision. And while Linda was mostly helping her friend, she also knew that if Chloe chose the Devil, and he realized sometime later that she'd felt pressured…

Linda had more than one friend's well-being in mind today. Lucifer would tear himself apart if he thought Chloe were forced into a decision to be with him, his own desires be damned. Even when holding back tears at his own disastrous attempt to convince Chloe into a choice he couldn't properly articulate – even then, he'd held himself back from begging, because what if Chloe didn't have a choice.

The thought always haunted his actions with her, causing emotional whiplash which a human woman could only stand for so long. He couldn't see how his actions drove her away because this was all new to him, and though he was always honest, he was never fully truthful with her.

Chloe couldn't be blamed for not knowing what he was willing to do for her. He'd never told her. And because he hadn't, Chloe's choice was inhibited. She only saw Lucifer's behavior without the full context, and though it was all symptomatic of a man terrified of even the hint of intimacy, it was also reflective of an immortal nonhuman protecting a mortal human from a slew of deadly celestial threats. And Chloe might not believe that he was The Devil, but she knew he was holding back – so she held back too.

Chloe didn't know, and Linda couldn't tell her. Is he worth it? she'd asked her friend who also knew Lucifer better than any other living being, human or celestial. She'd asked because she wanted him to be. She wanted Linda to sing his praises, perhaps share some sex tips. Ease the discomfort of knowing she'd fallen for a man who might not be capable of sticking around and was certainly capable of withholding information. For someone with Dan's lies in her past, Chloe couldn't fully trust that Lucifer was on her side without proof.

And he wouldn't tell her.

Linda took a bite of her sandwich to suppress her frustrated groan. Lucifer was the physical embodiment of show don't tell, and Chloe had been hurt by a lack of communication too many times to just trust that his concealed actions were well intentioned.

Chloe dug into her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. She'd been applying so much pressure to herself; the sudden rush of realizing there's no rush here left her somewhat drowsy. Lucifer seemed like he would wait indefinitely, and Marcus…

Well. She might need to have a conversation with him. Because even though she didn't have to choose, here she was, still balancing Lucifer's existence with the rest of her life.

You're a detective, Decker. Get with the program.

Whether he was worth it or not didn't matter. It wasn't her heart that was struggling with this; her head was spinning, trying to justify her recent choices, trying to force a square-jawed peg into a bonkers nightmare hole.

She'd lived the steady, stable life for years with Dan. Had experienced it again with Marcus, briefly. Lucifer's ranting jealousy aside, it was Marcus who'd broken their relationship and left her reeling in pain from the blow.

It's just not worth it, he'd said, letting her stumble through I'm not worth it without correction, leaving her gutted as he stormed out of her house.

She couldn't see Lucifer doing that. When he ran, he disappeared before he could watch her eyes fill with tears.

"Linda," she said quietly. A fleck of lettuce flew from her mouth to the plate in front of her. Linda reached across and offered a hand. Chloe took it, her expression both hopeful and terrified.

Linda had one tidbit she could offer, outside of therapy and with knowledge of both friends.

"Tell him," she said, letting Chloe decide who him might be. "He'll listen."

Chloe squeezed her hand. Hopeful, and terrified. There was only one way to settle on one over the other.

She pulled out her phone and sent two identical text messages – Can we talk? - to two very different men. Linda's slurping at the last of her drink provided the soundtrack to what she hoped could be the rest of her life.


Still no text message from Chloe.

That could mean a lot of things, Ella reasoned. That could mean Decker was busy, or distracted, or maybe possibly avoiding the very tall very I'm not jealous why do you keep looking at me like that British man who'd haunted her lab for the entire morning.

They were riding their way back to LUX now, Lucifer pouting at the side mirror while she navigated the turns. Traffic was generally okay, which helped ease the tension in a car a tiny bit. Still, Lucifer's general agitation was getting to her. She wanted to be happy for Chloe, but she couldn't while Lucifer was failing to be noble.

She should talk about something totally unrelated. They had some shared interests. She could talk his ear off about the PCR analysis running back in her lab. She could regale him with tales of Bob the turtle's adventures. She could –

"Why don't you like the Lieutenant?" she blurted. The car swerved slightly, her hands reacting to her impulses, and Lucifer turned his glare from some poor pedestrian to right into the side of her cheek.

She could make everything worse.

"I mean, well, it's just that –"

She wasn't looking at him because she couldn't bear to meet his eyes, and also whoa traffic was suddenly very interesting, and she thought that if he stared any harder her cheek might actually burst into flames.

"I want to be happy for Chloe," she said, now rambling into the silence, "but I don't want to be happy at you, that's super not cool, and you're my friend too, and this is just all so awkward –"

"Breathe, Miss Lopez," Lucifer said. She snapped her lips shut and vowed to never speak again. His glare had softened enough that her flaming cheeks were only her own embarrassment. She chanced a side eye and saw an honest, if small, smile on his face. Downright fond, and not at all insulted.

Ok. I can work with this.

She broke her vow immediately.

"I want to know why." Ella felt a rush of courage, reminded herself that Lucifer didn't lie, and plunged right in.

"Why don't you like Pierce? Is it just because he's with Decker?"

"No," Lucifer said. He wasn't looking at her anymore; he was watching the road, using the same distractions she was to keep the conversation bearable. Ella shifted her palms against the steering wheel.

"Something happened," she said. "You were best buds for a hot second. You were fake married."

Lucifer seemed to find the traffic signs absolutely enthralling.

"He and I made a deal," he finally said when she let the awkward silence sit long enough. "I hate to break a deal, but our actions put the Detective in danger."

And there it is. Ella huffed.

"Buddy, friend, pal, I gotta say – you are the worst at getting a clue," she said. Lucifer's eyes darted from the road to her; he looked downright baffled if her peripheral view could be trusted. Then, given enough time, he looked insulted.

"I'm the best at clue getting!" he insisted. "I'm a police consultant!"

They were almost at LUX, which meant that Ella might be able to play this for an epic final word.

"Maybe at murders, which like, hey, relatable," she said, "but you and Decker both drive me wild."

"The Detective made her choice." Lucifer's insult had carried over into a petulant scoff. "Baffling and terrible though it may be, I will respect it."

Ella laughed, once. Loudly. She was pulling into the parking spot right now, and she couldn't have timed it better.

"Tell her you almost died last night, buddy," Ella said. Her hand slapped the car into park. "I bet that ring comes flying off."

She didn't give Lucifer a chance to turn that into a euphemism, shoving her door open and popping the trunk for her kit in one graceful movement.


It was ridiculous, really, that the same trick worked on both of these men. If they were truly brothers though, it made sense. The woman stood next to the far larger man, sometimes glancing up at him through her dewy eyelashes.

"Lucifer's brother?" she said. It wasn't the most relevant question, but it passed the time as the elevator descended. The doors were opening while he rumbled a reply.

"Yes," he said, "I was looking for him when you arrived."

She nodded, keeping her eyes wet and her posture hunched. She'd been mildly surprised that the penthouse wasn't blocked off with police tape when she arrived today, but all of her previous research had prepared her for an eccentric who hated locked doors. There were enough photos and accounts of every square inch of the penthouse from hundreds of lovers over the years; she was able to navigate LUX with ease, grateful for Lucifer Morningstar's aversion to privacy.

None of her research had turned up this brother. Amenadiel. An unusual name, which meant it might be easier to find him. Although…

"Amenadiel Morningstar," she said lightly, her accent thickly Peruvian. The man walking at her side made a face and raised a hand, rejecting the surname.

"No, just – just Amenadiel."

So maybe not brothers by birth, but by strong friendship or adoption.

"Just Amenadiel," she said with a hesitant smile. They took a seat together in a booth, her twisting her hands in apparent nerves and fear, him doing his best to look as non-threatening as possible.

"What's your name?" He kept his voice soothing and warm. She let herself respond with a tentative smile.

"Grisela," she said. She extended a hand, trembling slightly. "Mami called me Gris."

He wrapped his fingers around her own, surrounding her hand in a safe warmth. Her mind sparked with new possibilities while Grisela sat halfway charmed already, ready to accept whatever help Amenadiel, her rescuer, had to offer. He responded of course, as good men did, protective instincts rising to the surface to keep him gentle, calm, patronizing. He might pat her head if she let him.

"Tell me what's happened, Gris," he said. She spun the tale she'd prepared for Lucifer Morningstar: a sister, a ransom, Latin American politics. Things Americans wouldn't know enough to question, things media would have them believe were unanimously true across South America. Amenadiel listened closely, asking questions when expected, directing her to revealing more of the story than she appeared to want to. The conversation was going well.

A loud ruckus interrupted them; she recognized one voice for the accent alone, and shrank into the booth with a look of abject terror and a despairing, silent plea to the man she'd chosen as her protector. Amenadiel fell so easily, she felt a twinge of regret.

"Wait here," he murmured, gesturing her backward to hide her slight form from sight. He stood and approached his raucous brother and someone else with cheerful greetings – Ella, Miss Lopez - she filed the information away, listening closely to what she could hear.

"You could join us, I suppose," Lucifer Morningstar was saying. Ella Lopez agreed, and the ping of the elevator summoned them.

"I'll join you soon," Amenadiel said. He revealed nothing of his guest, his self-assigned responsibility. The twinge became an ache. She never liked to trick good men.

The elevator doors closed, and now Amenadiel was back. He gave her assurances, told her he would help her as best he could, asked her if she still wanted to meet Lucifer. She shook her head, letting fear flutter over her face again. Amenadiel reached out a hand to help her stand, and she took that warm safety with a grateful smile.

"Let's go somewhere safe," he said. She nodded.

"I've been staying somewhere," she offered, and they left together.


"What are we doing here?" Lucifer looked longingly toward his closet, wishing he could dive back into his wardrobe for another ten sets of clothes. Ella was walking the full perimeter of the penthouse with slow, careful steps, counting to herself as she went.

"Wanted to see it in the daylight," she said. "I might've missed something."

Lucifer's resulting scoff was downright flattering, and Ella smirked at him from a distance.

"I appreciate the faith, but I want to make sure."

"Of course, Miss Lopez." Lucifer poured himself a drink as he waited, taking a long swig while Ella paced into the bedroom.

"It was quiet there last night," he called to her. "No company, except for your lovely presence of course."

"Yeah ok," she said. Her voice was somewhat muffled due to the wall between them, and he heard faint knocking against stone.

"What are you doing?" His curiosity drove him into his bedroom, where he found Ella knocking a knuckle against the Assyrian wall.

"Checking for hollow spots," she said. "You've gotta keep the vest somewhere."

"Ah," Lucifer said. He took another sip of his bourbon to avoid saying anything further. He'd forgotten her secret bulletproof vest theory.

"I assure you," he relented, "I would not hide it in the wall. That would hardly be convenient."

"Closet, then." Ella turned and started toward the wide-open closet; he reached his hand forward, stopping her forward momentum with the gesture.

"Does it matter?"

"It's evidence." She raised both eyebrows. "In your attempted murder."

"It's not relevant."

"I say it is."

"It's not."

She quirked her mouth to one side and crossed her arms. Lucifer grasped for what he could.

"You've gotten me committed to your blasted services – twice – have I not earned a little faith?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I'm here, aren't I?" She waved a hand through the air, gesturing to their general surroundings. "Last time you gave me context. I'm upping my ante."

"Blast and damn." He scowled.

"Ohhh yeah, we're snug-and-ice-creaming it up tonight. I hear that's how to get you talking." Ella's grin was downright predatory, her canines crisp white. Lucifer took another sip. She turned and entered the closet.

"Watch out for the drawers," he said with a leer. "You might like what you find too much."

"Gross, Lucifer," she called out with enough honesty that he knew she'd dared open the first drawer she found. He smiled, triumphant, and finished his drink in the same moment his cell phone pinged. He glanced at the preview - The Detective: Can we talk? - and went to pour another drink.