24 Hours Later
Lux is empty when Chloe walks in.
It is too early for patrons to start their nightly debauchery, and the bartenders and bouncers are nowhere to be seen. Chloe half expects to find Maze waiting there for her, arms crossed over her chest in silent indignation. But Chloe is alone, and the normally active club is hauntingly quiet, the elevator on the back wall exuding an ominous presence. She creeps over to it slowly, acutely aware of every step she makes.
When Chloe presses the button and the doors slide open to reveal the golden interior, she half expects the car to burst into flame or drop her straight to Hell. She looks for something, anything inside to notify her that she is on her way to see the Devil. But her eyes spot nothing she has not already seen before. Everything is the same, and that makes Chloe even more nervous.
The elevator crawls at a snail's pace, dinging with each floor it passes. Chloe curses Lucifer's luxurious taste; of course he would choose to inhabit the penthouse of all places - the topmost floor of the building. It is like he wants her to suffer in this tiny claustrophobic box, and it's not like she hasn't before. There have been many elevator rides spent in limbo, but this one...this one takes the cake.
The doors open and Chloe is suddenly brimming with the urge to run away. She wants to hit the down button and retreat because until this very second, she has not weighed the impact of what she is doing.
Chloe Decker is about to confront the Devil. In his own home. Without backup or an escape plan.
God help her.
But since when has she ever needed to be saved from Lucifer? This extremely opulent apartment is the safest place Chloe knows. She has run there in countless times of need and associates it with the one person she trusts more than anything.
Used to trust. Still trusts. Desperately wants to trust.
Her head pounds.
Why must everything be so confusing?
Chloe only has a few seconds to jump out of the elevator before it closes. She catches a shaky breath and makes the plunge, completely and utterly terrified once the doors shut and leave her alone in the Devil's abode. Of course, she could always call the elevator back, but Lucifer is there - she can feel his presence like some kind of magnet drawn to her own - and he has heard her. He has to have heard her, if not the sound of her heeled boots hitting the floor then her rapid breathing.
This is such unfamiliar territory, even though everything looks exactly the same as it was yesterday. The baby grand still shines as the focal point of the living area. The bar still runs along the side, even though it looks as if there are a few more bottles than usual missing. The glass wall ahead still gives the best view of Los Angeles that she has ever seen.
And there are feathers.
The same feathers from her nightmares - pure white and speckled with red. They do not carpet the floor, but there are enough to make their appearance suspicious, as if someone has scattered them as one would rose petals. Up close, they do not glow. Instead, they look dull, and the red is actually many different shades, ranging from rust to sanguine.
Chloe steps closer and her heel crunches on shattered glass. It's hidden under the feathers, but still very much present and in large quantities. Her head swivels back up to the bar and connects the two together.
That solves the mystery of missing bottles.
In the reflection of the glass, Chloe sees him. She doesn't know how she missed him before, but he's there.
Lucifer's presence is foreboding, tall frame bent over the balcony, his back to her. She stares for what feels like hours, waiting for him to move, but he never does. It's like he's a statue.
He looks like himself, and if Chloe tries hard enough, she can pretend that the other Lucifer does not exist. But that will do neither of them any good, not when the unspoken thing between them is strained and fraying by the second, the enormity of their reality crushing in on all sides. Or maybe that's just her. Maybe Chloe is the only one left drowning in a sea of uncertainty. Lucifer seems to be doing just fine, unbothered as he stoically watches the horizon.
Then the statue moves, and it becomes apparent that Lucifer is not fine at all.
Everything about him is rumpled - from his hair to his shirt to his posture. Chloe thought she was tired, but Lucifer looks as though he is carrying the weight of the world upon his sagging shoulders, like it takes all his remaining energy to hold the glass of whiskey in his hand. When he looks at her, everything Chloe wants to say flies out the window. Her courage dies, her mouth goes dry, and her lips won't work. All those prepared speeches and mental rants hold no weight when faced with the Devil himself.
They stand in silence as he assesses her with mercifully brown eyes, trying to parse out if she is real or just another vision. Satisfied, he doesn't greet her, doesn't say a word, merely bypasses her completely and ducks behind the bar to fill his whiskey which isn't even empty.
"It is only fitting that things end as they began: just the two of us," he says unceremoniously, placing his glass down on the counter.
His attention is not even on her, focused solely on draining the bottle. He pours more than necessary for the early hour, but clearly he has been drinking all day. The scent of alcohol permeates from his skin along with smoke and something uncomfortably metallic.
"What do you mean, end?"
Chloe doesn't like the connotation of the word, and Lucifer is acting far too casual for someone who just had his biggest secret exposed. In fact, he's not acting like himself at all, far too reserved and not nearly larger-than-life enough.
Maybe, she thinks, that was all an act. Maybe the Devil isn't like that at all.
He doesn't answer her. Lucifer drains his glass and pours another, then another after that. She wonders how he can drink like that and not get alcohol poisoning. Then again, he always drinks like this and she has never seen him anything more than slightly buzzed. Even multiple bottles in, Lucifer doesn't look drunk. He just looks...miserable.
"Lucifer...you're scaring me."
"Good! Maybe now you'll finally understand!"
The rage comes out of nowhere, catching Chloe unaware.
His voice is so loud it rings in Chloe's ears and vibrates through her sternum like the base in Lux. He's so angry, angrier than she has ever seen him before, filled with so much hatred and he has nowhere to channel it except her. It makes her feel small, like an insect in comparison. She shies away from his touch but he snatches her wrist before she can dart to the elevator. His grip hurts, rougher than he's ever been with her before, and forces her fingers around a handle of something small and curved.
Maze's blade.
They are standing toe to toe now, invading each other's space. Their hands are intertwined, and if anyone walked in, they would think they were interrupting a lover's embrace. Except there was nothing romantic about this. Lucifer's larger hands are keeping hers in place over the knife he's brought to his chest - the only thing that can kill him on a good day. With her here, anything could kill him, but he still chooses this.
And he chooses her to be his deliverance.
Chloe lets out a stream of curses and protests. She won't do this. He can't make her do this.
"It's what I deserve! I did the unspeakable, and now must be punished!" he roars over her with such conviction that it makes Chloe jump. She tries to yank her arm away but his grip is tight, his strength so much more than that of a mortal man. The blade is digging into him now, a thin trickle of blood spreading just below his breast bone and Chloe knows she can't keep this fight up much longer. "Come now, Detective. I know you want to. You've seen my face, what I truly am. So come on! Do it!"
His eyes...his manic eyes are flashing, consuming the dark brown irises with that haunting crimson - the same eyes that have been plaguing Chloe ever since he turned around in that gallery. They pin her to the spot. They strike the fear of God - not God, the Devil - into her. And some primal part of her is tempted to drive the blade deep into his sternum and rid herself of this waking nightmare.
Her heart seizes but she forces herself to keep breathing. She forces herself not to cry, not to grovel, not to beg. She forces herself to hold it together long enough to look past the rage and the fire to see what really lies beneath: fear.
The Devil is afraid, and he is afraid of her.
Finally, Chloe understands.
"What you truly are..."
She reaches up and rests her free hand upon Lucifer's cheek. His skin is burning - though that has more to do with the literal hellfire licking across his jawline - but she keeps her palm flush against his stubble, holding him in place. Her other hand shifts forward on the blade, sharp edge biting into her palm, and rests it against his heart, the organ thundering in his chest much faster than usual.
She remembers his confession, the latest in a litany. She remembers the naked honesty in his expression as he took her in.
Detective...Chloe...I am the Devil.
No you're not, she'd said gently, still confused as to how the man in front of her could not see just how wonderful he really is. Not to me.
And then again, in the alleyway outside the gallery, right before everything went to Hell.
No more Devil talk. You may think that's what you are, but I don't see you that way.
All this time, she has been demonizing him, turning the person she knows and cares for into some preconceived notion of what the Devil should be. And perhaps he does have another face, one with eyes dark enough and fearsome enough to make the strongest man grovel for forgiveness, but that isn't his face. That isn't the man standing in front of her, so tormented with guilt and self loathing that it is eating him alive.
Lucifer has been isolated his whole life, and now what he fears more than everything is being rejected by the one person he cares about more than anything. And so he's pushing her away in the hopes that if he hurts her first, scares her off first, then he won't have to suffer that kind of loss again. He's running away, as usual.
Well, not this time.
"You are not evil. You are not a monster," she says and she means it. She means it now more than ever. The only trouble is getting Lucifer to believe it. "You are a good man. The best that I know and...and I'm sorry that I couldn't see that sooner. I'm so sorry, Lucifer."
Crimson irises die abruptly, dark brown seeping back in, shining and glassy to hold back tears. He looks frustrated, squeezing his eyes shut, as if he doesn't want to hear what she has to say.
"Pierce was never going to stop. Do you hear me? Even if you got us out, he was never going to stop hunting us. If you didn't stop him, he could have hurt so many more people we care about. Linda? Amenadiel? Ella? Trixie? Everyone is safe because of you," Chloe rambles, unable to stop the onslaught of words because as long as she keeps talking Lucifer stops shoving that blade further into his chest and just the feel of the metal shifting under her fingers is enough to make her tremble. "And me. I'm alive. So don't you dare, for one second, regret choosing to save my life."
That seems to do the trick.
Finally, finally, his grip loosens and Chloe prizes Maze's blade from his fingers. She tosses the infernal thing across the room. It skitters across the floor, vanishing under some piece of furniture or forgotten corner where hopefully no one ever finds it again. Maze can yell at her some other time. Right now that dagger can go right back to Hell.
It's like the spell is broken. Lucifer's dark eyes are blinking slowly, so wide and confused.
"Detective...?" he asks slowly, innocently, in a voice too broken to possibly come from him.
Then Lucifer is stumbling, and Chloe has to catch him before he falls to his knees. His body is like dead weight against hers as she fights to steady him.
"You're hurt," Chloe says rather stupidly, because of course he is hurt. Lucifer's body language screams that he is in pain and yet, there is no visible injury to be seen.
"Nothing I can't handle," Lucifer dismisses before another grimace dances across his face.
"Please, let me help."
"Detective."
His voice is like a whisper, a kind of desperation Chloe is not used to straining through his tone, and Chloe instantly knows that whatever is wrong, it is not anything human. It is something that will overwhelm her. It is something that she may not be ready for. And still, in excruciating physical and emotional pain, Lucifer is trying to protect her from it.
Chloe is so frustrated at him she could cry. Frustrated and terrified because what could there possibly be left for her to see? What secrets remain that would ruin her more than she already is?
She holds Lucifer's gaze, unwavering and and unwilling, until finally he is the one to break. He bows his head low and averts his gaze at the same moment he stretches his shoulders and reveals the source of the feathers.
"Wh-what...?"
Chloe doesn't have the words to comprehend what she is seeing.
Wings.
A pair of angel wings whose span takes up nearly half the room.
She takes a step back just so she can get a better look. They are beautiful, breathtakingly so, perhaps the most beautiful things she has ever seen in her life. But they are also the most grotesque, horrific sights. Blindingly white feathers are splattered in red, torn and shredded at the ends, some even sporting holes as if something has punched straight through them. They appear half-healed, as though trying to mend but not growing back just right. Mangled.
How did this happen? Chloe thinks, and she puts a hand over her mouth to stop the cry that's bubbling there.
Upon closer investigation, she notices that the holes are not just holes, but tiny symmetrical punctures. There are dozens of them at random, and then it clicks.
All the feathers at the gallery. All the men lying unconscious. All the casings she took to Ella for analysis.
"Did Pierce...?"
She doesn't even have to finish before the look on Lucifer's face tells her everything she needs to know.
"I thought you were dead. I - " Lucifer cuts himself off, swallowing thickly. There's that emotion in his eye again, the same one from the helicopter pad, and it makes Chloe's heart stutter in her chest. "I couldn't let him hurt you. Not again."
In so many words, Lucifer confirms her suspicions. He used his body as a shield and then flew her on broken wings to the helicopter pad.
The revelation is a startling one. The selflessness alone is enough to floor her.
Her hands rise against her will, hovering in the air mere inches from the damaged wings, and though she does not touch, Lucifer still flinches. Chloe backs away, giving him space, but unlike last time they engaged in this specific dance, Lucifer does not grab her wrist and tell her no. He does not do anything other than watch her, closely. So closely she feels as though she is being studied.
Chloe lifts her hand again, and there is no flinch. She inches slowly towards him, giving Lucifer every chance to back away, but he remains rooted in place.
Tips of her fingers brush down the arch of hollow bone and Lucifer shivers. The feathers are soft. So, so soft, just like in her nightmares. But that is all they are: soft as a cloud and thick as a pillow. Even the damaged edges have not grown rough, though the frayed larger ones look more like streamers than feathers. They glow, faintly, a characteristic that intensifies under her touch.
"They don't burn..." she mumbles, not meaning to say so out loud. Lucifer hears nonetheless and fixes her with a curious look, as if questioning why she would think something so ridiculous. Now is not the time to bring up the nightmares.
She comes across something hard and cold lodged in between the feathers, too small to be a knot and too firm to be natural.
"Lucifer," she gasps and pulls away, her fingers returning wet and sticky with blood. "You still have the bullets..."
"Yes, well, without you around, Detective, their removal is a bit difficult," he spins his excuse, sounding far too nonchalant for Chloe's liking. She has his blood on her hand and he can't even muster a bit more gravity? "And now, with you here, my wings are making it quite clear the little bastards are still in there. Dear Dad this hurts worse than the first time you shot me!"
Lucifer doubles over, and takes her with him, both of them stumbling towards the bar. Chloe props him on a stool before anything else happens and they both end up with broken bones - or, in Lucifer's case, more broken bones.
Despite all this, Chloe's mind is still racing.
"But the blade..."
She didn't understand. If Maze's dagger is powerful enough to kill celestial beings, then it has to be strong enough to make a few minor incisions. Lucifer only lowers his gaze, shifting his attention out the window, uncomfortable.
"To be completely honest, I wasn't all that focused on doing any mending. More the opposite, really."
At least Lucifer has the decency to look ashamed about the situation. At least he knows now that his bout of suicidal rage is nothing to be proud of.
Chloe sucks in a deep breath and shoves all of her conflicting feelings of anger and grief aside to focus on the problem at hand. Lucifer is bleeding. Lucifer is in pain. Lucifer needs her help.
"Take off your shirt."
Lucifer's eyebrows nearly shoot off his forehead. "I beg your pardon?"
Chloe can't blame him; she's not really sure what she's doing either. She's flying by the seat of her pants, just as she has been for the past day now, and trying not to think too hard about what is going on. Right now, all she knows is that Lucifer has bullets in his wings that need to come out before they cause even more damage, and though she may not be in any way qualified to do this, she will not have another failure weighing on her conscience.
"I said, take off your shirt," she repeats in the same emotionless tone and fixes him with an assessing look. "Unless you need me to do it for you."
Lucifer does not say anything this time. His fingers obediently find the buttons on his rumpled shirt, pulling the expensive garment apart until it comes down his arms and off his body entirely. Chloe does not let herself get distracted with the view, stalking off to get the proper supplies.
"Okay, we're going to need warm water, soap, some towels, and do you have tweezers?"
Again, Lucifer does not say a word. He leads her silently to the bathroom where he watches her rummage through his drawers, collecting the necessary tools. His expression is a puzzled one, as if he cannot fathom why Chloe is still there, why she is going to such lengths after all he has put her through. And honestly, Chloe does not know why herself. All she knows is that this is where she needs to be.
Prepared as she'll ever be, Chloe walks out of the bathroom and sits down unceremoniously upon the bed with her legs crossed on top of the black silk sheets, her back up against the headboard. Lucifer follows and stands at the edge of the bed, staring at her in wonder.
"And to think, this was all I needed to do to get you in bed."
His leer is less convincing than usual, but is reminiscent of the Lucifer Chloe cares so deeply for, and she cannot be bothered to correct his bad behavior.
She pats the bed encouragingly, scooting back so that Lucifer could lie on his stomach, his head lying comfortably in her lap. Each movement he makes is careful, and she appreciates the precaution. She thinks that his touch would be unwelcome given the seismic rift between them, but that is the furthest from the truth. Their position is beyond intimate, crossing over so many of their invisible lines, but it gives her the best access to his wings, their lengths spilling across the king sized bed down to the floor. She will have to lean pretty far to get the most axillary feathers, but it will be a small price to pay compared to what Lucifer is about to endure.
There are no pain killers, no anesthetics, only the bit of rubbing alcohol she managed to find in the bathroom as an antiseptic, and even that will burn. Unease rolls through Chloe's stomach, unsure if this is the right thing to do.
"This is going to hurt."
"Is that a promise?" he teases weakly, and Chloe's heart strains from the familiarity of it. For a moment, she thinks everything is going to be okay. However, this is no time for jokes, and the last thing Chloe wants to do is cause Lucifer more pain. He seems to sense her hesitation, tweezers poised in midair, frozen, and he grasps gently at her free wrist. "I can handle the pain, Detective. I trust you."
It is the most vulnerable he has ever been, and Chloe feels overwhelmingly humbled to have so much power over Lucifer. He is handing himself over to her and it is...it is almost too much.
Chloe gets a handle on her emotions long enough to ground herself in the moment, steeling herself to focus on the task at hand. The only way they are both going to get through this is if Chloe sets her own feelings aside and bites the bullet. Quite literally.
Silent tears streak down her cheeks, her heart breaking each time she rips one of the damned bullets out. She knows it's for the best. She knows that it has to be done so Lucifer can heal. But his muffled sobs are heartbreaking. He staves them off for as long as he can, but finally gives in and buries his face into her abdomen and screams. Each one sets a new crack in her already broken heart.
Who is the monster now? she thinks as she inflicts this kind of twisted torture. Then she turns her wrath onto God. Why me? Haven't we both already suffered enough?
Thirty-three bullets later and the torment is over.
A sigh of relief passes through her lips, her weary arms finally allowed rest. The tweezers fall to the floor amidst the mess of extracted metal, bloodied and spent, just like her hands. The white towels are now permanently stained red, and Chloe shoves them on the floor as well, not wanting to look at any more blood for as long as she lived.
Lucifer is passed out, his body limp except for where he clutches at the fabric of her shirt, twisting it in a vice grip. His eyeliner is in smudges from where his eyes have teared up, and his forehead is creased in pensive lines. Those will smooth over, Chloe knows, running her fingers gently over his brow. The skin is damp with sweat, and she can't help but push his hair back to cool him off.
Soon enough, Lucifer's breathing evens out and Chloe knows he's asleep while she remains wide awake and trapped in his bed. Not that she has any intention of moving anytime soon. It is addictive to run her fingers through his hair. Without all the product, the dark locks are starting to curl over his forehead. Like this - eyes closed, lips parted, face lax with sleep - he looks angelic. Chloe knows better than to voice anything of the sort; his newly restored divinity is still a sore spot, if her scrambled memory serves.
Her hands move to his wings, smoothing over the wrinkled feathers. Even with her humanizing presence, Lucifer is a fast healer - the bullet holes already starting to close properly this time. The healing does nothing to fix the damaged feathers, however; no amount of heavenly power enough to regrow angel wings. Chloe wonders, rather sadly, if Lucifer's tattered primaries would ever heal or if he would remain grounded for the rest of his life. She doubts he would care one way or another.
She brushes over his shoulder blades, knuckles lightly ghosting over the junction where the bone met feather. The last time she laid eyes on this part of his anatomy, there had been two grisly scars shaped like crescent moons. He cut them off once. Would he do it again? Just the thought is horrific. Why would anyone ever want to destroy something so intrinsic to their being? Then again, what does she know in the grand scheme of things? What right does she have to tell Lucifer what to do with his God-given gifts? All she knows is that she does not want to see him in such pain ever again. She does not want to cause him such pain ever again.
All you will ever do is cause him pain, she reminds herself, bringing everything back to reality. She makes him bleed. She makes him mortal. And that makes her want to run. The only thing that keeps her there - besides Lucifer's vice grip and deceptively heavy frame - is the knowledge that her leaving would hurt him more than the bullets.
Perhaps he is a masochist. Perhaps he is insane. Because any rational person, when faced with their own mortality, would push the offending agent away.
Not Lucifer.
Lucifer runs to her, chooses her, wants to be with her, no matter the personal cost. He's suffered for her, killed for her, endured unspeakable things for her. And she only knows little pieces collected within the last few hours. The whole story might break her - for the hundredth time or more (honestly she's lost count) - but she wants to hear it. She wants to know it all.
That can wait until the morning. Chloe has waited years to understand her partner. One more night won't hurt.
So, Chloe cants her head back against the headboard, the pillows just out of reach but she can't be bothered to get them without disturbing Lucifer. She decides she's comfortable enough, her partner's need for sleep outweighing her need for comfort. Besides, Chloe's eyes are already starting to become heavy, exhaustion creeping up on her as she remembers all the cups of coffee she's had to drink to remain awake for two days straight.
She falls asleep moments later, her hands still gently buried in Lucifer's hair.
A/N: I just wanted to thank everyone for following/favoriting/reviewing this story. All your words and support are truly overwhelming in the best way possible, as I did not expect this much love towards yet another post 3x24 fic. This is my first dabble into the Lucifer fandom (I binged all 3 seasons in greedy gulps over the span of 6 days) and hopefully it is not my last. Just like everyone else, I look forward to Season 4 and am so glad this wonderful show and these beloved characters get to finish out their story on Netflix.
Anyway, there will be one more chapter after this to wrap things up. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you again, from the bottom of my heart.