A/N: Five months. FIVE. Wow, I suck. Seriously, why do you guys put up with me? If it helps, my laptop charger just met an early grave and as I don't yet have the replacement, I'm literally using the very last of my battery to give you guys this chapter (9% as I type this, yikes). So have mercy on me? Maybe? Please?

Previously on QPQD…

"Riddle me this, Detective: Why did you put a stop to my punishment tonight? Why not simply let that dung beetle end his former protégée?

"Or better yet," Lucifer forged on, in spite of the chill spreading through his palm and beyond, "if you were so determined to thwart his act of vengeance, why not fulfill your own—why not put a bullet in your old paparazzo pal yourself?"

Chapter 5: Righteous Indignation and Effective Ammunition

"I really should've added a proviso or two before this whole inquisition kicked off," he lamented in the beckoning silence. "You know, a sort of penance for if one of us fails to answer a question. Like… naked bartending. Naked line dancing. Running around the block naked. Or… well. You get the idea."

The detective blinked. Once, twice. "What—?" And a third time. "What on earth have I done to make you think I'm capable of cold-blooded murder?"

Always lovely, that righteous indignation. Like a favorite tune supplying the hordes of Lux and truthfully, he could dance all night.

Instead, Lucifer resumed an arc around his quarry.

"Call it a public service," he tossed over his shoulder. "Ridding the world of a bottom-feeder that wouldn't be missed by anyone but his gluttonous tabloid consumers. I can see the headline now: Hero Cop Takes Out Trash, Keeps City Clean. The fan mail practically writes itself, doesn't it?"

"Nick Hofmeister deserves a lot of things, but I'm pretty sure that's not what the law means by 'justifiable homicide.'"

"A flesh wound, then. He did have a gun on an unarmed civilian," he recalled the protégé—an apple even more toxic than the tree from whence it fell. "Just in case you needed the added incentive."

"A weapon's discharge is the last resort, Lucifer, not the first."

Typical police propaganda.

"And seriously, would you give it a rest with the lame interrogation bit? I'm a cop. I know the tricks, and this?" Her finger followed the narrow perimeter sketched by his feet. "Not working."

"Oh, I don't know. Based on your deer-in-headlights audition a moment ago, I'd say I got your feathers nice and fluffed. Fur? Feathers?" he deliberated aloud. "Mixed metaphors aside, I speak the truth."

"Your truth, maybe. Not mine."

"So you're saying," he redirected, "that even if you faced no consequences whatsoever for the deed, you'd still leave the dung beetle unscathed? Despite the scar he left on your person?"

"I am not," repeated the detective, "about to shoot someone out of a personal vendetta."

"No?" Lucifer gave an innocent tug on his lapel, unable to resist. "My good pal Giorgio Armani would beg to differ. Tell me, does that little act of villainy make me the exception to the rule… or the rule itself?"

Her mouth pinched, legs crossed. Contrary to recent criticism, it was almost too easy, this solo sleuthing business.

She did not yield.

"Why not exorcise your demon tonight?" he prodded again. "Why try to disarm him with words alone? Why the act of mercy?"

"Not mercy. Protocol."

Again with the cop drivel. A shield already rusting.

"Yes, Hammurabi's Code is hardly the LAPD slogan. Got it. Checked that box. Bought the T-shirt." He halted in front of her. "I applaud you for sticking to your guns, Detective—not literally, of course—but if it was a lesson in legality I was after, I'd pop over to Harvard and ask Reese Witherspoon."

One step forward.

"What I am asking," he spelled out, "is why you, Chloe Decker, fought so hard to spare the bastard who gatecrashed a man's funeral for nothing more than a cheap cover shot of his acclaimed, grieving daughter."

"It isn't vengeance that interests me, Lucifer. I told you. I'm not that girl anymore." Steady conviction, but every word struck like hammered steel.

Which he employed like armor. "Who we are—it's hardly a choice. Hate to break it to you, Detective, but free will? An illusion. The greatest lie in all of creation, designed to placate the fevered masses when really, we're all just marching to Dear Ol' Dad's drum. Playing whatever pitiful hand we're dealt."

"Says the world's leading expert on rebellion."

"Because that's who I am. Case in point."

"And what point is that, exactly? That I should follow your free-thinking footsteps? Shoot first, ask questions later—if ever?"

"I try to leave judgments to the non-black sheep of the family tree. No, I'm merely suggesting that Neo take the red pill. Set aside the great debate of Should vs. Shouldn't and simply face what is. I saw your eyes. I heard your voice." He wasn't sure where it was coming from, this fixed course, this swift sincerity, but it spurred him onward like a sinner towards fiery damnation.

He inched closer still. "You weren't spouting some flowery, pre-programmed cop sermon to talk a criminal off a ledge. You were entirely in earnest, every word. You thought your nemesis a changed man. A better man. I need to know why."

The shift was immediate, catching both parties unawares. Lucifer could feel it in his bones; could see it in the relaxing angles of the detective's posture, the swell of her puzzled pout, the shine of softening eyes that hid nothing but the most coveted of secrets.

Damn it all, he'd tipped his own hand.

"You… really see the worst in everyone, don't you?"

"Apparently it isn't only trigger-happy cops that fall victim to occupational hazard." Still clutching his pocket-sized medallion, he buried it deeper in a frigid fist.

"People can change, Lucifer."

Not this again.

But her aim felt as spot-on as the bullet designed to bleed the truth from him.

"Yes, and men the world over are still weeping for a certain young starlet who left the limelight." She did not take the bait. "Sure, change is possible—Botox here, nose job there—but human nature? That's eternal. Trust the expert. What you're talking about—redemption? More often than not, it's nothing but a sinner's pipedream. Exhibit A: Your charity case, Nick? He blew his shot. Literally. Plucked the bullet out of midair myself."

"Thanks to your angelic brother slowing down time?" she recalled with no less skepticism.

"Believe me, no one was more surprised by Big Bro's divine intervention than me, but he does have his moments… once or twice a millennium. So you see, Detective," he rallied, "you gave the poor dung beetle far too much credit. You didn't toss him a lifeline. You gave him just enough rope to hang himself."

"And you, Mr. Cynic? What's your excuse for stepping in and saving Josh, then?" She was regarding him with such budding intensity that his next rejoinder didn't make it past the gates.

Oh, he knew that look. She had caught a scent.

"Who were you really trying to save, Lucifer? Nick from crossing a line he couldn't come back from? Me from having to take him out? Or…" The thought evaporated, as did the remaining feeling in Lucifer's locked grasp. His shoulder prickled, burned.

Like a weeping wound.

The detective smiled. "So you do get it."

"Get what?"

"What it means to be human. Have hope. Grow. Embrace who you really are," she quoted him, amending with, "or who you're meant to become."

So simple, that sentiment. Almost unforgivably naïve. Yet there she sat, proud as a queen atop her throne, even as he still towered above her.

Slowly Lucifer sank onto the adjacent barstool. "So sure, are you, Detective, that such hope exists for the devil himself?"

"Jury's still out on that one," she admitted. "But you're right about one thing, at least. I do like evidence. So help me out—"

He stopped her there, recognizing the echo of a familiar challenge. "Do me a favor. No more boring questions please. Like how hot I kept the sauna, or which insipid celebrities greased whose palms to make the downstairs VIP list. Might sound spicy, but trust me: guaranteed mood-killer."

"Have you ever saved anyone? Besides me?"

Phantom pain once again stabbed his shoulder, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world when his gaze fell to the sling supporting hers. Were he human, no doubt they would sport twin scars—evidence, so it would seem, of a bond in the making. Something Lucifer had questioned since its inception. It only made sense that the detective did the same.

Except that she showed little concern for the significance of her own life; she cared more about the impulse that had saved it.

A gust of laughter snatched his attention, and idly Lucifer wondered how long he'd allowed his thoughts free rein. "Is this the part where you run around the block naked?"

"Is that a proposition?" he latched on. "Because while I'm up for anything, allow me to lay the disclaimer that it's quite brisk outside, which, as I'm sure you know, can have a devastating effect on—"

"Do not," she held up a hand, "finish that sentence."

"You opened that box, Pandora."

"Just answer the damn question."

"No."

"Oh come on, don't be a sore loser. Quid pro quo, Lucifer."

"I'm not refusing to answer, Clarice, I am answering."

The detective cocked her head, frowning. "So… you've never saved anyone before? Ever? Until me?"

"Nope. You popped that cherry. Don't look so surprised," for she did, sincerely. "Need I remind you that I was a bit preoccupied until my recent sabbatical? Punishing deviant souls didn't exactly leave me much time for side hobbies, I'm afraid, heroic or otherwise."

"A lot can change in five years."

"Oh, indeed." Lucifer leaned back, adjusting his view. "I can't help but notice, however, that you seem strangely determined to prove that. Tell me, does it make you feel better? Knowing you've been consorting with the devil so long as he comes in a newly minted, semi-refurbished model?"

"Does it make you feel better? Defining yourself by an outdated title? Falling back on a role you've always played because you've always played it?"

"Have a care. Just because I saved your life hardly makes you an expert on mine." The wall of ice spread from his fist to his speech so quickly, recklessly, it was a miracle neither of them had freezer burn. "We're not talking days of misspent youth, nor the token metaphor you humans toss around like free iPods. Hell, Detective. Demons. Torture. Horrors you can't fathom. Living nightmares stretching through infinite time and space.

"You think your line of work is grim?" he continued the assault. "It's Christmas in Disney World on uppers compared to mine—a career I crafted for millennia. And you want to talk about change? Had you any idea where I've been, what I'm capable of, you wouldn't think the word, let alone offer it like some saccharine cure-all. Or worse, a prayer. And see?" He flashed a smile that could cut diamonds. "What did I tell you? Mood-killer."

"You left," came the counterstrike, and it was evident that his warnings had crashed and burned as much now as they had with Maze. "You chose to leave all that behind and you're going to claim you're no different for it? Bull. Exhibit A: saving my life. Exhibit B: Nick and Josh's. Exhibit C: Delilah—"

"Oh yes, now there's a Lifetime movie for the ages. Struggling young ingénue crosses paths with yours truly, is thrust down the path to stardom only to be gunned down by a bitter ex the moment she decides to go straight. Role credits."

"You gave her a chance. The rest isn't on you." His combatant was defending her territory as though she'd sooner accept an early grave than forfeit one inch of headway. For the first time, his appreciation of her 'hopeless cases' fetish fell flat. "The day we met, you told me you had no control over people's choices. Their sins. That's on us. Are you telling me you somehow gained that ability since our first case?"

"I'm telling you that your delusions of grandeur where I am concerned are wildly, dare I say hilariously misguided."

"Please. I don't have you on some pedestal, Lucifer. I'm just following the advice you gave me that same day—trusting my instincts."

"Oh? And they're telling you to be my personal cheerleader, is that it? You and Dr. Martin should start a fan club—"

"Actually, right now they're telling me that you're full of crap."

Lucifer said nothing, assessing her spike in anger. Marveling at the sudden absence of his own. An advantage she did not waste.

"This whole… mysterious, smoke and mirrors, Jekyll and Hyde routine is pretty much your MO, I know that, but there gets to be a point where enough is enough—and we're there. I'm tired of being jerked around," she burst out, and all his uncertainty yielded in the face of triumph because finally. He'd done it. Achieved a level of vitriol not even her former stalker could inspire. Affected her on some deep, primal level no longer dammed behind a wall of denial or professionalism or a mountain of mental acuity.

"You put in all this leg work to win me over, and for what?" she demanded. "To become partners? Seduce me? Dissect my brain? But the minute I actually start believing in you, you throw on the brakes. Default to tired intimidation tactics. Probe me about my Achilles' heel so you don't have to talk about yours. Humans have a word for that, too. Fear.

"So yeah, maybe you are plagued by humanity. And maybe, somehow, I am to blame." But concession was merely a guise; those words heralded victory. "You know what, though? It doesn't matter. Because whatever is going on, it all comes down to you. Your choices, your consequences, your identity crisis. I'm not interested in who the devil is, Lucifer," she declared. "Saint, sinner, or something in between—I'm interested in evidence, not typecasting. So stop painting me as some deluded romantic with a redemption complex. Don't ignore what's right in front of you just because it might lead somewhere you aren't ready to go. And don't you dare tell me to swallow a reality pill if you aren't willing to do the same."

"Detective."

An army of cogent arguments at his disposal and that was his sole defense, for battle lines were already breaking with the alarming skirr of barstools.

To his astonishment, she stopped. Then looked back at him—through him, like a shade, a stranger, and that alone was worse than a handful of her barbs. But it wasn't until she uttered, "I bet you regret saving me now, don't you?" that he understood the magnitude of his folly.

It wasn't vitriol she fired at him. Never was. Some far more effective ammunition. Something he didn't think himself capable of eliciting from anyone outside family. Trigging something far from pride.

Carefully Lucifer attempted to navigate through the minefield, though in truth the nightclub had never felt more like a graveyard. Their skirmish, short as it was, had left a world of dead space between them—a change he found he could not abide. "If you truly believe that, Detective, then I suppose it's a good thing you're done waving your pom-poms for Team Lucifer. Despite the tempting visual."

Not even a hint of a smile. "I wasn't, you know… already dead when you saved me, was I?"

"Your overestimation of my capabilities is, once again, misplaced." Not an accusation this time. "I don't have those sorts of strings to pull. It was all very… by the book." Very human, he didn't say.

Aware of the point she was really driving at, and the reason behind it, Lucifer expanded. "You can relax, Freddie Mercury. Beelzebub does not have a devil put aside for you. And while I do enjoy the idea of you in my debt, I traffic in favors, not souls… and you can walk out of here knowing you owe me neither."

"So it didn't cost me anything. Good to know." Instead of pulling away, she looked at him—really looked at him. "And you?"

"Pardon?"

"Did it cost you anything?"

"Besides a series of migraines?" Not entirely in jest, for there was no denying that her life had already cost him a great deal.

Sanity. Identity. An unforeseeable number of hours on Dr. Freud's couch—

You don't know what's causing the change. Or who.

What little remained of his family's respect—

You saved a human life… simply because you cared about that detective.

The steadfast confidence of his most loyal shadow—

She'll be your ruin.

A grain of truth, perhaps.

Embrace who you really are.

But he liked his chances.

Inside his pocket, muscles flexed as pinpricks of awareness stabbed at thawing digits. His guarded heirloom, hell's fare and final tether, was all but forgotten.

Who you're meant to become.

Without warning or mercy that mantra filled him, dazed him, gripped him tight, pulled him from his very skin, rearranged the very stars—beacons he'd hardly glimpsed before, let alone aspired. Not until he'd stumbled into this lovely, albeit vexing, shepherdess's path. Or was it the other way around?

His empty hand retreated from his pocket altogether.

"Cost, Detective?" Lucifer held her eyes, at once impervious and engaging, nebulous and more clear than ever before. Reflecting treasures far more precious than secrets. "Nothing I can't live without."

Being who he was, it was the truth.

And being who she was, she stayed.

A/N: Stand by for some unsolicited rambling…or you know, skip it. If you want. Or not, maybe?

So yeah. By far the hardest chapter to date. And the longest. Some truth bombs dropping at this story's climax, and I really hope the balance of Luci's self-doubt and quasi-acceptance is believable. Some context: When I first saw Episode 2 (boy, how long ago that feels now), I couldn't help but think that Lucifer was a bit too comfortable too quickly with all the changes thrown at him, which provided the original inspiration to flesh out that emotional journey a bit more. I'll let you all decide on the success/failure of that come the final chapter. Speaking of which…

Guys, here's the deal. I really, really wanted to give you this chapter and the final chapter all at once. Dragging this out only makes for frustrated readers and disrupts the pacing of the story. Believe me, I know—the writer's guilt is ALL TOO REAL. I've been working on chapter six the past several weeks, and so far it's boiled down to the following process: churn out a few sentences, say "wow, that was crap," delete, retry, delete, bang my head on the keyboard, take a nap. Lather, rinse, repeat. Don't get me wrong: I have made progress, and I absolutely will finish. Let's just hope I don't go insane first.

In lieu of going insane, however, I've kept my head in the game by doing some editing on the previously posted chapters (which, admittedly, turned into a bit of a distraction in itself). No major changes, mostly just tweaked sentence structuring and diction. Frankly, it needed to be done, and when I get my hands on my new laptop charger, I'll have them posted. Oh, and I'm adding chapter titles. Just because.

Any happy thoughts you can send my way would be appreciated like you have no idea. And as always, thank you for your continued support and patience, and I look forward to seeing everybody at the finish line.