Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"It's all true."

Chloe takes a halting step backward. Then another. Her grip on reality threatens to unravel. It's an actual physical feeling, her mind breaking a little. The bottom step of the staircase catches the backs of her calves and she sits, hard, one hand above her on the railing, the other beside her squeezing the stair. Maybe if she holds on tightly enough she won't fly apart.

"Detective?" Lucifer asks.

"You...you're..." is all she can manage. She stares at the wreck of his face. He looks scarred...burned. Her next thought comes from the corner of her brain that's still coherent. Of course he's burned. He was literally cast into a lake of fire.

Hell is a real place. God is real. Heaven. Demons. Three years and it's not a metaphor and—

Lucifer takes a step forward, lifting a hand. He blinks, stopping as he catches sight of his skin. His eyes close and even as strange and terrible as his face is to her now, she sees him wince. Then his face shifts—there's no other way to describe it—and the Lucifer she thought she knew is standing in front of her.

"Not how I'd hoped to show you," he says. The words are without his usual certainty. Tentative. Like he expects her to bolt.

"I..."

"You're doing better than Linda. She was left a mess, couldn't speak at all." He sounds like he's trying to fill the dead air between them, but Chloe latches onto the one detail that feels tangible.

"Linda knows?"

"She does." He answers slowly, like for once he's considering his words. "As I said, she couldn't speak at all. You're verbal. I believe that counts as a victory, Detective."

Right. A win. From where she's sitting, it's not even close.

"You're the devil." Another random thought fires. He's the devil and they've kissed. She's kissed the actual devil. The threads tethering her mind fray a bit more.

"I am."

"I..." Chloe nods, once, the movement too quick, jerking her head like it's on springs. "Alright. The devil."

"Covering the same ground. Might have to rethink that 'victory' bit," Lucifer says. If he's teasing her, it feels off, flat.

She doesn't get the chance to reply because they both hear the voices at the same time. Shouts, echoing through the building. Calls of 'clear' and 'LAPD' as the voices get steadily louder, working their way toward the loft.

"Backup," she says. She understands this. Her brain finally begins to engage, like a car put in gear. "Dan must have called for backup."

"A little late for that, now." He gestures widely, and Chloe takes in their surroundings.

She pushes herself to her feet. The mess around them defies explanation. Bullet holes pock the floor, stone pillars, and artwork. Everywhere she looks there are bloody feathers—don't think about why there are feathers—and chunks of plaster and dust. And then there are the bodies. In the middle of it all, Pierce lies still, curved blade jutting from his chest.

"Is he...?"

Lucifer's eyes narrow, and he adjusts a cufflink. "Dead? Very."

She feels...she's not sure how she feels. He was Cain. The Sinnerman. He wanted to kill Lucifer. Tried to have them both killed. Should she feel as relieved as she does? Guilty for feeling relieved?

"You killed him."

"Yes." The I'd do it again is implied.

The shouts are louder now, backup has almost arrived.

"It was self-defense," she says quickly. "When you give your statement—"

"I'll manage, Detective."

And then they're surrounded by uniformed officers descending on the scene with weapons drawn.

*

Outside, on the street below the loft, patrol cars litter the area. Lights flash in the bright California sunshine. An officer unwinds crime scene tape from a roll, blocking off the crowd of curious onlookers who've gathered. Cops scurry in and out of the building. Radios squawk. It reminds Chloe of an ant hill that's been kicked over.

She sits in the open door of an ambulance. The uniforms inside are treating the crime scene like any other, which means they escorted the two of them out to preserve evidence. Lucifer stands further down the street, beside one of the patrol cars, talking to an officer.

The medic examining her shakes his head. "Another quarter of an inch and the bullet would have missed your vest. How do you feel?"

How does she feel? Her view of the world has just exploded. A shudder goes through her. She blames it on the aftereffects of adrenaline.

"Fine," she says. "Sore."

"You will be. Get a hell of a bruise, too." The medic starts packing up his gear, and Chloe stands up slowly.

An unmarked car pulls up, dash lights flashing. The lights cut out as the car parks, and Chief of Police Olivia Monroe steps out, slamming the door behind her. She pauses beside the car, taking in the scene before marching forward, ducking under the crime tape. She heads straight for Chloe.

"Decker," she says. She crosses her arms over her chest. Her expression is unfriendly. "Do I have to tell you how this looks?"

Chloe meets her gaze levelly. "No. But there's an explanation."

"Pierce is the Sinnerman? That's what you told my uniforms."

"Yes. He is...was," Chloe says. "Charlotte Richards was investigating him."

Olivia doesn't even blink. "And now he's dead."

"Yes, but it was self-defense."

"The evidence better support that. Before I go in there," she tips her head toward the door of the building, "anything you want to add?"

What can she add? That despite being attacked by five armed gunman she'd escaped with only a bruise to show for it? And, oh, by the way, her partner really is what he says.

"No. Nothing."

"I want you—and your consultant—back at the precinct until I figure out if I'm going to have you both arrested or not. I'll have my officers give you rides back. Separately." Olivia continues, "I don't want you and Lucifer comparing notes. Is that clear?"

"As crystal."

*

Chloe sits at her desk and watches the chaos that the precinct has become. Chief Monroe has called in the FBI. Agents trot back and forth from one of the side rooms, carrying folders taken from Pierce's office. Others use the interview room. Uniforms stand in groups, muttering to one another. All of them glance at her from time to time, passing private judgment.

So that's how it's going to be, Chloe thinks. Guilty until proven innocent. It's Palmetto Street all over again.

Hours have passed since she left the crime scene. Her eyes feel like sand has been poured into them. When had she last slept? Two days ago? When had she last done more than give Trixie a quick hug before dashing back out the door?

The interview room door opens and Lucifer steps out. He turns back halfway out of the door, as though someone inside has said something to him. He grins, and Chloe knows he's working his normal charm.

Now she knows how he does it. The refrain of he's the actual devil plays in her head again, and she feels the tether to reality slip a bit more. He looks across the room and for a second catches her eyes. She drops her gaze to her desk. She can't handle him...his Luciferness right now.

She's already had her turn in the hot seat, the interview had gone as well as she expected it to. There are a lot of questions she hadn't been able to answer. The agents had been skeptical about her explanation of passing out after being shot, missing the entire gun battle and Lucifer killing Pierce.

Now she's just waiting on Chief Monroe to pass verdict on her career.

The door to Pierce's office opens and the women in question looks directly at Chloe.

"Decker!" The room goes silent, people turning to look at her.

Chloe pushes her chair back, standing up too quickly, wracking her knee against the underside of the desk. The sound is loud in the quiet. She ignores the looks she gets as she crosses the room and enters the office.

"Close the door," Olivia says, sitting down.

Chloe does as she's told, moving to stand behind one of the two chairs in front of the desk. Olivia doesn't ask her to sit.

"I'll cut to the chase," she says. "The FBI and I have reviewed the case file Charlotte Richards put together. It points toward Pierce being involved in criminal activities."

Chloe lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

"However, if he was the Sinnerman remains to be seen. It will take time to determine if what you and your partner claim is true." She pauses, frowning. "The evidence from the crime scene is still being collected. Until it's processed we have only your and your partner's interviews as proof of what happened in that loft. And there are a lot of questions."

"Questions?"

Olivia's frown deepens, but she doesn't elaborate. "Not important right now. They can wait until after the evidence is processed."

"Okay." Chloe nods. "What does this mean for me?"

"Until further notice you're suspended with pay."

It hurts. She thought she'd prepared herself for the possibility, but she really hadn't.

"I'll need your badge and gun," Olivia says.

Chloe grips her badge with one hand, feeling the raised lettering against her palm. Then she pulls it free from her belt and sets it on the desk. Her sidearm follows.

"We'll be in touch if we need anything. It should go without saying that you shouldn't leave town."

Chloe swallows the lump building in her throat. "Got it."

"Then you're dismissed."

She turns and lifts her chin and walks from the office, closing the door without a sound behind her. She keeps her stiff posture as she walks to her desk to collect her purse. No one says a word to her, but she feels eyes following her movements, heavy on her back as she walks to the elevator.

Behind her she hears Olivia call for Lucifer. She doesn't look back as the elevator opens. By the time she steps in and turns around, Lucifer has disappeared into Pierce's office.

She rides the elevator to the ground floor before she realizes she doesn't have a car—hers is still parked on the street at the crime scene.

"Shit," she mutters, pulling her cell phone out. Uber it is. No way she's going back inside to wait, though.

As she closes the app she looks around the parking lot, habit more than anything making her look to where Lucifer has parked his Corvette. She peers more closely.

"What..." she mutters to herself.

There's something on the hood.

It's smaller than her purse, but...lumpier. As black as the car, making it harder to see. Curiosity gets the better of her and she starts toward the car, peering at the whatever it is. It's not until she is beside the Corvette, almost touching it, that she realizes what she's looking at.

"Oh...god."

It's a dead bird. She stares at it, repulsed. It's a crow or a raven, she thinks. It lays as though displayed, wings spread out wide. Flies buzz around it, circling and landing, crawling over the corpse. She lifts a hand to her mouth. Who would put something like this on Lucifer's car? It didn't drop out of the air dead.

Not exactly sure why, she finds herself digging into her jacket pocket for one of the gloves she keeps there. Maybe she means to move the bird before Lucifer sees it. Snapping on the glove she steps closer, until her legs rest against the car. Leaning forward she extends her gloved hand and cautiously touches one of the outstretched wings.

She's definitely not prepared for what happens next. It feels as though she's been shocked. Like static electricity times ten. She jerks back with a yelp, shaking her hand. Her fingers tingle.

Well, that's weird.

"Detective?"

She turns quickly, flexing her hand, startled. She doesn't try to hide it, but her body blocks the bird from view.

"Are you quite all right?" he asks. He eyes her gloved hand, giving her a puzzled look.

"Yeah. I..." She takes a step sideways so he can see.

"What the bloody hell?" he says, stepping beside her to stare at the mess on the hood of his car.

His reaction isn't what she expects. He turns toward her and his face is tight with anger. He grabs her wrist.

"Did you touch it?" He holds up her hand as though it's evidence of a crime.

"What!"

"Did. You. Touch. It?" he snaps the words out, biting each of them off.

"I was wearing a glove. What's wrong with you?" She tries to pull away from him but his grip is like iron. She tugs, hard. "Let go, Lucifer."

He blinks, looking at his hand, and then releases her. He takes a half a step backward, glancing at the bird, then at her again. His expression softens.

"What's going on with you?" she tries again. "It's just a dead bird."

"Don't touch it again."

"Why not? Someone has to get it off of your car."

"That someone is me," he says, pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket. The brightly colored bit of cloth flutters in the wind.

"You're not answering me."

He says nothing, only leans over and uses the handkerchief to grab one of the bird's wings. Then with a disgusted curl of his lips, he walks toward the sidewalk, holding the bird as far from himself as he can. The whole affair, handkerchief and bird alike, gets tossed into a nearby trashcan.

"I could have done that," she says, as he walks back. She pulls off her glove with a snap, stuffing it back into a pocket. Lucifer looks at the hood of his car, then at her again. His expression hasn't changed from worry.

She crosses her arms.

"Did you notice its eyes, Detective?"

"Um...no?"

"It didn't have any."

"What?"

"It was missing both eyes!"

Okay. Getting weirder. "How is a dead bird—"

"It was a raven."

"Lucifer. You're making less sense than usual. Please, tell me what's got you so freaked out!"

He makes a frustrated sound, runs his fingers through his hair.

"It's a curse," he says.

Definitely weirder.

"A curse," she says.

"Yes."

"As in an evil witch cast a spell? That kind of curse?"

"Possibly. There are other entities more than capable of cursing others."

She hasn't had to face anything like untethering reality in the last twenty minutes, so she isn't surprised that it rears up again and smacks her again.

"So..." She takes a breath and rushes through her next words. "Curses and witches are real?

"Very."

"Right." She leans against the car. She looks at the hand she touched the bird with. "I've just been cursed?"

"Possibly," he repeats, hedging. "Perhaps it didn't...take."

Suddenly, she can't deal with anything. She's reached maximum saturation for her daily weirdness. The tether in her mind snaps and she makes a choking noise. She pushes away from the car. She can't deal. Not with one single thing more.

Across the parking lot she spots rescue. Her ride has arrived.

"Detective?" Lucifer's voice comes as though from a distance.

"I can't do this. Not now," she says, walking away.

Chapter Text

Chloe sits in the back seat of the Uber, trying to take calming breaths. Her chest aches, and not just from the bullet she took. All she wants is to get home, hug her daughter, gets some sleep, and stop thinking about things like curses and celestial beings.

The driver glances back at her from time to time, but so far she's been quiet, thankfully. Chloe isn't sure she could handle a conversation right now. She rests her head against the window and watches the landscape scroll by.

Then the car swerves, and knocks her head against the glass. There's a thump as something strikes the undercarriage. "Shit!" the driver swears.

"What did we hit?"

"Piece of retread. Thought I missed it, but—"

The tell-tale thump-thump-thump of a tire going flat sounds through the car. The driver starts to slow down, signaling her intent to pull to the edge of the road.

Perfect. A flat when she really doesn't need one.

The driver sighs, pulling the car to a stop. "Sorry. It'll be a while before Triple-A shows up. I'll call you a new ride."

Chloe nods, tiredly. She tilts her head back and lays it on the headrest. She refuses to think about curses.

The girl gets on her phone and calls in. Twenty minutes later another car pulls in behind them. Chloe thanks the driver, and makes her way back toward the second car, keeping to the far edge of the road. Cars zip by on the freeway. When she reaches the car, she turns and looks at the original vehicle. As she does, the driver pops open the door, phone up to her ear.

She's not paying attention.

Before she can get out a late-model sedan swerves and rips off her door, skidding as the driver tries to avoid the collision. The sedan's driver overcorrects, sending the car into the neighboring lane where it clips the bumper of a pick-up truck. The truck's driver responds by slamming on his brakes.

Chloe watches the inevitable pile-up with a sense of horror. By the time the vehicles come to a stop she's running to the first Uber driver's car to make sure the girl is okay. She gives Chloe a shaky wave.

The other cars, moving at freeway speeds, have traveled farther down the road. Chloe pulls out her phone and dials 911, reporting the accident as she jogs down the freeway.

By the time she reaches the pick-up she's out of breath and has a stitch in her side. The driver climbs out of the passenger side door, shaking his head. She moves on to the next vehicle, a Prius that has crumpled against the inside guardrail. A woman slumps behind the wheel, airbag wilted in her lap. Blood trickles from her nose.

Chloe pulls on the door, but it's jammed shut. Running around to the other side yields the same results.

Sirens echo in the distance. Chloe's never been so glad to hear them.

"Help will be here soon," she says, through the window of the Prius. The woman doesn't move, and Chloe knows she needs to leave her for the emergency crews, that she can do more good by moving on.

She makes her way to the next car, and the next. Broken bones and what looks like head trauma and there's really nothing she can do except repeat that help is on the way. She gets to the last car. The occupant hadn't been wearing a seat belt. Blood and brain matter cover the interior. She's seen a lot as a detective, and this almost makes her retch.

The thought of Lucifer telling her that curses are real flits through her mind. She shoves it down.

The emergency vehicles swoop in then, and the paramedics and Highway Patrol take over. She gives her statement, but it's an hour before the accident is cleared enough for traffic to start crawling by. She's not ashamed that she falls asleep on the way home.

She cracks her eyes as the car pulls off of the freeway, onto side streets, watching as they arrive at her complex. She opens the door of her apartment to Trixie's squeal.

"Mommy!"

"Hey, Monkey." She kneels down and spreads her arms and Trixie runs in for a hug, wrapping her arms around Chloe's neck. The little girl is too perceptive.

"You're extra sad tonight," she whispers in her ear, squeezing harder.

Chloe returns the gesture, holding on tightly.

"Yeah, a little. It wasn't a good day, today."

Trixie pulls back slightly. "Is Lucifer okay?"

She considers the question and answers as honestly as she can. On top of everything else that's happened in the last forty-eight hours, she hadn't left things in a good place when she walked off earlier.

"It wasn't a good day for either of us."

Olga comes toward them from the living room. She wears her same permanent scowl. Chloe stands and walks back to the door with her, but Olga says only a succinct goodnight and marches out, closing the door firmly behind her.

"Were you good for Olga?" she asks.

"Yes! I was really, really good."

"You know what that means?"

"Chocolate cake?"

"Yeah. Put your pajamas on and we'll watch a movie and eat chocolate cake together." She pauses. "And I have a surprise. I'm off tomorrow."

Trixie's face lights up. "Can we go to the playground?"

"Sure, as long as you brush your teeth extra good tonight. Now go get your pajamas on, and I'll get the cake."

Trixie darts off to her room and Chloe does as she's promised, cutting slices of chocolaty goodness from a sheet cake on the counter. When Trixie comes back they curl up on the couch under an afghan and watch Finding Dory again.

"I'm sorry you had a bad day," Trixie whispers during the credits.

"It's okay, Monkey. Bad days happen."

"Do you think Lucifer's okay?"

Chloe looks down at her daughter. "Why are you so worried about Lucifer all of a sudden?"

"Because, Mommy," she says as though it's obvious. "He doesn't have anyone to watch movies and eat cake with. You should text him and tell him to come over."

Her heart squeezes a little at Trixie's innocence. "It's not that simple, Trixie-babe."

"It should be."

"Let's put in another movie, okay?"

Trixie spots the redirection for what it is. She frowns a little, but then nods, climbing off of the couch to put in Mulan.

Chloe isn't sure when she dozes off, but when she wakes up Trixie is snuggled into her hip, fast asleep, and the DVD has cycled back to the main screen. She stands up carefully, then gently brushes a stray hair out of Trixie's face. She tucks the afghan around her. It won't hurt to let her sleep on the couch one night.

*

The next day dawns sunny and clear, a perfect day to go to the local playground. As they walk down the sidewalk Trixie chatters nonstop about school and her friends. Chloe soaks it up. She hasn't been home enough lately.

When they reach the playground, Trixie immediately runs off to the wooden jungle gym that makes up the bulk of the equipment. Chloe finds a bench, sits down, and watches her daughter scramble up a climbing wall.

Her phone rings. Dan. She picks up on the second ring, waving back to Trixie who has climbed to the top of the jungle gym.

"Hey, Dan."

"Hey. I just wanted to check on you, you know."

"I'm okay."

"You took a bullet."

"I was wearing a vest."

Trixie has made her way to the monkey bars, grabbing the first rung, swinging out over the sawdust-covered ground. Chloe thinks that it's awfully high.

There's a beat of silence on the line. "I, uh, heard about your suspension."

"Yeah," she answers, feeling a little guilty for not sticking around the precinct long enough to find out his fate. "Are you and Ella okay?"

"Uh-huh. We're fine. It looks like they're going to clear me in the next few days. Ella, too."

"Really? That's great."

"Look, Chloe. I heard about that crime scene. Crazy. You need anyone to talk about it to, I'm here."

She doesn't get the chance to respond. Trixie is half-way through the monkey bars when her hands slip. She falls so quickly Chloe can't even blink before she hits the ground. Chloe is up and running before she knows what she's doing, because Trixie is screaming, one arm twisted behind her back.

*

The ambulance ride to the hospital is tense. Chloe holds Trixie's good hand while the little girl cries nonstop. She calls Dan back, and explains what happened. She sounds calmer than she feels.

Fortunately the ER isn't too busy at this time of day and the triage nurse gets them into a room fairly quickly. Then there are x-rays and a doctor who tries to be gentle while explaining Trixie will need surgery, that the break to the humerus is severe. She'll make a full recovery, he says.

Chloe signs the authorization form, feeling dazed. It's after the nurses have left her alone in the waiting room that she remembers the dead raven on Lucifer's car. If curses are real...well, after the two days she's had she's definitely feeling cursed.

She picks up her phone before she can stop herself, tapping Lucifer's name on her list of recent texts.

I need to talk to you.

She sets the phone on her lap, staring at the screen. Nothing. She waits a long, unhappy five minutes before she sends the next one.

It's important. Trixie's in the hospital. She broke her arm.

This time the reply is instant.

Which hospital?

Children's.

Once again the reply comes immediately.

On my way.

The relief she feels surprises her. She's come to rely on Lucifer, yes, but she hadn't known how much. It took sitting alone in a hospital waiting room to realize it. She scrubs a tired hand over her face, wiping away a few errant tears.

Her phone chirps again and she looks at the screen, expecting another text from Lucifer. Instead it's one from Dan.

Stuck in traffic. How is she?

Still in surgery. I'll call if anything changes.

She puts her phone on the chair beside her. Leaning forward she rests her elbows on her knees, head in her hands. She's still sitting like that when twenty minutes later Lucifer comes in. He looks like he'd just rolled out of bed. His hair is mussed, his suit rumpled. He sees her and hurries over, stopping uncertainly in front of her.

She stands up. Before, she would have gone in for a hug. His arms would wrap around her and he would smell like cologne and smoke. But now...

"How is she?" he asks, ignoring the awkward tableau.

"Still in surgery. They need to put in pins and a metal plate," she says. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course."

She nods, and gestures to the hard plastic chairs lining the waiting room. They sit down beside one another.

"How did this happen?" he asks.

"She fell off of the monkey bars at the playground," she says. "One second she was fine, swinging and the next..." She sucks in a breath, chest aching, thinking of Trixie on the ground screaming.

"I need to talk to you," she continues, when she feels like she can breathe again.

His expression becomes guarded. "Has anything good ever come after those words?"

"I'm serious, Lucifer."

"Right. Well, I'm here."

She hesitates, gesturing vaguely. "I think this curse thing is real."

He's frustrated now, hand going through his hair.

"Of course it's real!" he snaps. "I told you as much yesterday."

She holds up her hands, placating. "That's not what I mean. I mean, I think it's working."

He looks away, eyes fixing on the opposite wall. "Because your spawn broke a bone? Isn't that what children do?"

"Not just that. There was an accident yesterday." She tells him about it, from start to finish. "Does that sound like bad luck, or this curse?"

He glances at her, then away again. The muscles in his jaw tighten. He drums his fingers on his thigh.

"It was meant for me," he says, finally. "You got in the way."

"Clearly. So, my question: How do we stop it?"

"We don't."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Lucifer. You can't charge off by yourself, like you're—"

"What?" His grin is sharp as he finally looks at her. "The devil?"

Her eyes water unexpectedly. Now it's her turn to turn away. She was doing so good, too. Not thinking.

"Detective. You have no idea what you're dealing with."

Witches. Curses. Demons. God. Hell...

"No, you're right! I don't!" She twists in her chair to face him. "But that's why we're still partners, isn't it?"

"Partners."

"Look, I know I didn't leave things in a good place yesterday, but—"

She doesn't get to finish what she's going to say because the door to the waiting room opens and a doctor dressed in surgery scrubs comes in. He pulls his mask from around his neck, the paper fabric popping as it breaks.

"Chloe Decker?" he asks. "I'm—"

She stands, blurting out, "How is she?"

The surgeon makes a calming gesture. "In recovery. The surgery went well."

Relief fills her. Muscles she didn't realize were tensed relax.

"Can I see her?"

"Of course. One of the nurses will be in to take you to her soon," he says. "Do you have any questions?"

She shakes her head. "No. I just want to see her."

The surgeon nods, heading for the door. "I'll make sure the nurse is on her way."

Within a few minutes, the aforementioned nurse comes in, smiling at Chloe.

"Right this way," she says.

Chloe and Lucifer follow the nurse down the hall, through a set of double doors, and into the recovery room. Privacy curtains between hospital beds partition the room. The nurse points them to the second bed on the left.

"Oh, Trix," Chloe murmurs, as she sees her daughter. Trixie looks so small and pale against the white of the sheets. In contrast, the white cast that covers her broken arm from wrist to shoulder looks huge and unwieldy.

Chloe stops beside the bed, taking Trixie's good hand. She sweeps her thumb over her knuckles and Trixie's eyes blink open, half-mast.

"Mommy?" she says.

"I'm here, Monkey."

"'m thirsty, Mommy."

"I know, sweetheart." She remembers how it felt coming out of anesthesia after being shot. She squeezes Trixie's hand. "Sorry, but you can't have anything right now."

Trixie looks around blearily, then she focuses on Lucifer, standing behind Chloe.

"Lucifer," she says.

"I'm here, Spawn."

"Will you sign my cast?" she asks sleepily.

"Of course. Far be it from me to deny you my signature."

Trixie nods, her eyes drifting closed again. Chloe doesn't release her hand, as though she's the one drawing strength from the little girl instead of the other way around. Now that she sees her daughter is safe, anger bubbles up in her stomach.

"If someone... If this curse is real—I mean I know you say it's real." She shakes her head, keeping her voice down for Trixie's sake. "What I trying to ask is will it get worse?"

"Curses tend to work that way."

"If someone did this to Trixie, I need to stop them. We need to stop them. Will you help me?"

Silence. Chloe looks over her shoulder at him. He's watching Trixie, but looks up at her. His eyes seem darker than normal. She wonders if it's a trick of the light or if it's some side effect of his supernatural—stop, she tells herself. Not going down the celestial rabbit-hole right now.

"Detective. It's too dangerous. I assure you—"

"You realize what I do for a living?"

He gives a humorless chuckle. "Yes, I suppose there is that. But..."

"But?"

He takes a breath in, fidgets with a cufflink. His uncertainty is palpable.

"You still want to work with me, knowing what I am?"

Knowing what he is...

Her mind supplies the image of his face in the loft. His horribly burned skin. His red eyes. So much for not thinking about it. She goes through the revelation again, part of her wondering how many times her sanity can take this.

"I..."

"And we're back to nonverbal, are we?" he asks. If she's not mistaken there's real hurt behind the words.

"No!" she manages to say. "I just...I'm coping. Okay?"

"Coping."

"Yes. Coping," she says. Then, more firmly, "You're my partner."

They're interrupted then by Dan, rushing in behind a nurse. He stands at the foot of the bed, staring at Trixie the same way Chloe had. He grips the hard plastic footboard of the bed.

"She looks so..."

"I know," Chloe says.

Lucifer steps backward, fiddling with his cufflink again.

"I'll leave you to it, then."

"Thank you for coming, Lucifer." Chloe isn't willing to let go of Trixie's hand, but she smiles at him. She hopes he understands how much it means to her that he came. "I'll text you when I get home."

Then he's gone, walking out as quickly as he walked in.

Dan takes his place beside Chloe. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and together they watch Trixie sleep.

Chapter Text

Dan convinces Chloe that Trixie should go home with him. He'll likely be reinstated in the next few days, and he wants to spend what little time he has off with her. Chloe reluctantly agrees. She doesn't tell him that she needs the time, too. She has a curse to deal with, before someone else gets hurt.

As she gets home from the hospital and closes the door to the apartment behind her, her phone buzzes. A new text from Lucifer.

I have some thoughts about this curse. May I come over?

Since when has he asked permission? And does she want him to come over? Being around him is a constant reminder of who he is. Of things that she is now forced to believe. She hadn't lied; he's still her partner, but she can't help the relief she feels at being away from the constant pressure of coming unraveled.

Detective?

She bites the inside of her cheek.

I'm here. Yes, come over.

She sets her phone on the counter and pulls off her boots, placing them beside the door. Then she goes around the counter and finds a wine glass in the cupboard. Pulling out a bottle of something red that Lucifer had left behind, she pours a healthy amount in the glass.

Immediate need met, she gets her laptop from the living room and boots it up. Time to research curses.

After fifteen minutes she's realizing that the internet is as helpful with curses as it had been when she tried googling Lucifer. There's an utter lack of anything concrete. Just link after link of what people—the ones who haven't been exposed to divinity—think a curse should be. None of it applies to her. She'll have to wait until Lucifer arrives.

As if summoned by her thoughts, she hears a knock on the door. First he asks to come over and now he's knocking? She walks to the door and opens it.

Lucifer stands in the doorway, looking uncertain. He's changed his suit, though, and his hair is in its normal perfect state.

"Detective."

"Lucifer. What, you have to be invited in now like some sort of—" She's going to say 'vampire,' but the word catches in her throat. She won't ask if vampires exist. She won't ask if—

"They do."

She's coping. Barely.

"Just come in," she says, turning away from him. She hears the door close as she walks back to her wine on the counter. After refilling the glass, she feels steady enough to turn back to him. "Wine? It's yours after all."

"Please."

"You said you had something on this curse?" she asks as she fills a glass for him. She slides it across the counter. Her fingers touch his accidentally as he takes it, and she pulls back from the contact.

"Yes." If he noticed her response to his touch he doesn't react. "I believe I have a starting point. A lead, if you will."

"Okay. Good! That's great."

He swirls his wine, eyes on the liquid. "I fear you won't like it."

"What does that mean?"

"Just what I said, Detective. Given how you've reacted to..." he gestures at his face, "I can only imagine this will have a negative effect on you as well."

Well. That's a little unsettling. Only one way to find out.

"Just spit it out, Lucifer."

"I know of a certain nightclub which caters to beings not of this world."

Beings not of the world. A nightclub just for them. Yep. There it goes. Her sanity slips a little.

"How many of you are there?" she blurts.

"Of me, darling?" He grins, a flash of his old self. "I'm a one-of-a-kind model."

It helps, surprisingly. She huffs out a laugh, takes a drink of her wine.

"Seriously," she says. "How many 'beings not of this world' live here?"

"In Los Angeles?" he shrugs, elegantly. "A thousand. Perhaps more."

"That's..."

"Not many."

Not many. Their ideas of what constitutes 'many' is vastly different. She shakes her head. "And you think someone at this nightclub might know the witch that cursed me."

"Hmm. Yes and no. It might not be a witch, Detective. A number of creatures could have placed the curse. Dad knows even a particularly talented human could do it."

"Creature?" she asks, half dreading the answer.

"Yes. A demon, certainly. A changeling as well. Vampires, fairies, and werewolves have been known to curse others. It could be an angel for all I know."

Chloe pulls out a bar stool and sits, heavily. She rests her cheek in one palm, elbow on the counter. She takes a gulp of wine. Then another.

"Detective? Are you quite all right?"

She looks at him, at the uneasy way he's shifting from foot to foot. She expects him to start messing with his cufflinks soon.

"Not really," she says.

"This is why I hesitated in telling you."

"I'm..." She was going to say 'okay,' but she's a hell of a long ways from 'okay.'

"Coping. Yes. I know."

He drains his wine; she watches as he refills the glass.

"This club," she says. "It's our only lead."

"The only one I can think of."

"All right. Let's check it out."

"You're certain?" He sets his glass down and, here at last, his fingers go to his cufflink.

She pictures Trixie, laying in the hospital bed, so pale. What choice does she have?

"Yes. I'm sure."

He appraises her clothing. "You'll need a change of wardrobe."

*

Apparently, he approves of her choice—the outfit she wore to Bianca Ruiz's tequila-fueled party—because he lifts his eyebrows and makes no comment. He's seen her in it before, of course, so maybe that's what's keeping him quiet.

They walk to the Corvette together and she gets into the passenger seat. Lucifer settles behind the wheel, still silent. It's uncomfortable and Chloe keeps her eyes on the passing scenery rather than looking at him.

Half an hour later and they're in an older warehouse district, winding through narrow streets, past buildings that look abandoned. Trash litters the ground; graffiti covers the walls. Streetlights buzz overhead, occasionally flickering off and on.

"There's a club here?"

"Yes. It's not exactly Lux, Detective."

He pulls the car up to a garage door, gets out, and walks to a man-door beside the larger door. Tapping on it, he grins up at a camera positioned just above the frame. The door opens a crack. Chloe is too far away to hear the words clearly but she's sure the conversation isn't in English. The garage door starts to roll up and Lucifer returns to the car.

As they pull into the building, Chloe looks around, eyes widening. The Corvette is in good company. Classic muscle cars are parked around the perimeter of what serves as an indoor, makeshift parking lot. She sees a Coronet, a few Mustangs, a Cyclone, and plenty she can't identify as anything other than fast.

"Is having a nice car a prerequisite to entrance into this club?"

"Live as long as some of us have, you acquire certain tastes—not to mention the funds required to finance those tastes."

Because he's as old as the universe. Her partner saw the dinosaurs come and go. Saw humans crawl out of the primordial soup and start walking upright and begin to use tools and... She swallows the lump in her throat.

Lucifer parks beside a gleaming red Charger, turning his car off. For a few long seconds, he sits staring at the wall in front of them, hands tight on the steering wheel.

"I've done it again, haven't I?"

She swallows again. "What?"

"Forced you to...cope." He grips the wheel harder, knuckles whitening. "Every bloody word and you act like your world is falling apart. And it's my doing."

Is that why he was so quiet on the ride over?

"Lucifer, it's not your fault."

He gives her a disbelieving look. "Then whose fault is it?" he asks, eyebrows arched.

"Not yours," she says. "It's just...a lot right now. But I'll get there."

"'Get there,'" he echoes, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Yes. I just need a little time, I think." She gives him a weak smile. "And time is something you have a lot of, yeah?"

"I do."

"It's just a lot," she repeats. "You don't hold back."

Now he turns in his seat. "Would my silence on certain...topics be helpful?"

"We're about to go into a nightclub of 'topics.' I don't think putting a muzzle on you is necessary."

It says something about his state of mind that he doesn't take her to task about the muzzle comment.

"Still..." he says.

"Let's just go in, okay?"

They get out of the car and walk together toward another closed door. The sound of heavy bass seeps through the metal. This time all Lucifer does is tap on it and the door swings open.

Chloe isn't sure what she expected the inside of a club for otherworldly beings to look like, but it isn't this. For starters it's dark inside. She grips Lucifer's arm through his jacket.

"Easy," he murmurs, leaning closer to make himself heard over the thump of the music. "Your eyes will adjust."

She doesn't ask how he can see, but she thinks they really need to have a sit-down to discuss his abilities. It doesn't surprise her that excellent night-vision is one of them.

Her eyes do adjust, somewhat. It isn't like Lux. The only similarities are the crowd of people dancing in the middle of the club and a bar at the opposite end of the room. Around the edges there are small, curtained booths and tables. The cop in her notices the lack of fire exits, the way the bouncers carry firearms, the obvious haze of pot smoke in the air. She sees a man with a lighter, flame under a spoon, tourniquet around his arm, and from the way he nods he's well past sober.

But the biggest difference is the clientele. Chloe gapes.

Most of the people on the dance floor aren't...people. Strictly speaking. There's a laundry list of supernatural beings bumping and grinding, and Chloe is coping the best she can. She sees tall, pale men and women with shining teeth that must be vampires; horribly scarred creatures that remind her of what she'd seen of Lucifer in the loft; numerous furry figures; and something that looks like a fairy. Different sizes and shapes of beings fill the floor, from the diminutive to those that would tower over Lucifer. There are a few human-looking beings scattered throughout, but they're in the minority.

"Detective. You're staring."

"Sorry," she says, automatically. She takes in a deep breath. She lets go of Lucifer's arm. She can do this.

"We've already drawn attention." He nods toward a bouncer, eyeing them. "Treat this as you would an interview with any mortal suspect."

She nods. "Where do we start?"

"The bartender. I know him."

"Okay." Something else occurs to her. "All of these...people. They know what you are?"

There's a flash of hurt across his features, and Chloe wishes she could take the words back. A what is a creature, a thing, a monster.

"Why, yes. But it hardly gets me free drinks, if that's what you're thinking."

They skirt the edge of the dance floor, Chloe determined to keep her eyes to herself. She's so focused on not looking in that she makes the mistake of looking out, into one of the booths where the curtains aren't quite drawn all the way. Two creatures that look like dragons are engaged in what she thinks is a sex act.

"Got an eyeful, did we?" Lucifer chuckles. Chloe, shocked in every sense of the word, drops her gaze to the floor. That seems safe enough.

They reach the bar without further incident, taking an empty spot between two partygoers, one of which has gossamer wings. Chloe tries not to look, she really does, but...

Lucifer's voice is warm in her ear. "You're staring again."

"Can't help it," she hisses back, jerking her eyes away. The winged creature glances Chloe's way, makes a disgusted noise, and pushes back from the bar. Her wings flutter a little as she sashays away.

The bartender is at the other end serving drinks. Chloe's relieved to see that he looks human. She's not sure if she could handle a conversation with something that looked like it fell out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting.

"Let me do the talking," Lucifer says.

For once that's fine with her.

He leans on the bar, giving the bartender a little wave. The bartender lifts a hand in response, hurrying down the length of the bar.

"Lucifer!" There's real surprise and delight in the word.

"Hello, Paimon." Lucifer all but purrs the words, turning on the charm. Chloe sees it wash over the man, and suddenly realizes that Lucifer really is magnetic. All of these years and she's ignored the truth smacking her in the face. His mind...thingy is real.

Because he's the Devil.

Mentally, Chloe shakes herself. Neither of the men notices that she's taken a little trip to la-la land. Lucifer is leaning in, and Paimon smiles like he's just won the lottery.

"This is an old, old acquaintance of mine," Lucifer says. "Paimon, meet Chloe."

"Acquaintance?" Paimon asks, ignoring Chloe.

Lucifer's smile widens. "Most loyal of all the Kings of Hell."

Wait. What?

"Damned straight." Paimon grins. He glances at Chloe, then back at Lucifer.

"A human?"

"Careful." Lucifer's smile chills a degree. It sends a shiver down her spine; she knows now exactly how dangerous he is.

"Peace, boss." Paimon holds up his hands. Reaching behind the bar, he pulls out two shot glasses and an unlabeled bottle of something amber-colored. He fills the glasses with a flourish. "On the house."

Lucifer picks up one of the glasses, pointedly looking between the other and Chloe.

She isn't here to drink, but she's said she'll let Lucifer do the talking, and she can play along. She picks up her shot glass. Wondering what it is, trusting that Lucifer would warn her if it wasn't safe, she lifts the glass toward him and tips the shot back.

It burns all the way down. The aftertaste is smoky and oddly sweet. It makes her eyes water a bit. She's still not sure what it is.

"Paimon," Lucifer says, leaning in again as he sets his glass down. "I've come to call in my favor."

Paimon's glances down the bar, abruptly nervous. "Should I be worried?" He pours another round of shots.

"All I desire from you is information."

"Information...okay."

Lucifer nods and downs his drink. Chloe glances at him and he looks at her expectantly. This isn't how she planned on this interview going. Then again, nothing with Lucifer ever goes to plan. She drinks her shot, and manages not to shudder.

"You hear everything," Lucifer says. "What do you hear about someone laying curses?"

"Curses?"

"Yes, specifically ones involving an eyeless raven."

Paimon's eyebrows lift. "That's a nasty one."

"It is," Lucifer agrees. "So, tell me. Who would employ such a thing?"

Paimon looks away, pulling a white rag from behind the bar. He swipes at the counter needlessly. "I don't know."

"Or you won't say."

"I don't know." He still won't lift his eyes and Chloe realizes something else. All this time and it's been Lucifer's gaze that makes suspects spill their guts. This is why the man they first thought was the Sinnerman gouged out his own eyes. This is what he did to Nick Hofmeister. This is what he did to everyone but her.

Her mind reels. Why wasn't she affected?

"Do not lie to me!" Lucifer snaps.

"Look," Paimon says, desperately. "If I say anything people will know it was me. I don't want—"

"Tell me, now. I command it." He reaches across the bar, grabbing the bartender's shirt, pulling him closer, forcing him to meet his eyes. Paimon struggles, weakly—prey snared by an apex predator.

"Lucifer!" Chloe lifts a hand to put it on his arm, but stops midway. Her heart starts to race in her chest. Lucifer's eyes glow red.

Paimon seems as though he's about to wet himself, if hasn't already. He nods frantically. "All right! A few weeks ago rumors started floating around about a witch who was making discrete inquiries into your business."

Lucifer's anger is palpable. "And you didn't think to contact me? You, my most loyal of kings?"

"They were just rumors! I never got a name! I swear."

Lucifer gives him a little shake. Chloe swallows hard; she's seen the power of those hands, and knows the damage they can inflict. Paimon is helpless in his grasp.

"From whom did you hear these rumors?"

"A changeling named Ros."

"And that's all you know. You're certain."

"Positive!"

Chloe sees a bouncer heading toward them. He's as tall as Lucifer and twice his width, and even knowing what she does, Chloe doesn't want to get into a bar fight. She injects herself into the conversation, putting a hand on Lucifer's arm.

"Lucifer," she looks pointedly at the bouncer. Paimon glances at her and the spell is broken; he sucks in a breath and sets his jaw.

"He knows more than he's telling us," Lucifer says, pensively. He releases Paimon's shirt and gives him a little push backward. The bartender stumbles against the shelves behind him, bottles clinking together in the collision.

Lucifer looks at Chloe and her heart rate starts to decelerate some. His eyes are their normal dark brown.

"Ready, Detective?" he asks, smiling as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Something in her expression catches him off guard and his smile fades.

"Sorry," she says. "Coping."

"Right. Well," he gestures toward the door, "shall we?"

She nods stiffly and leads the way out.

*

Once again, they ride in the Corvette without speaking. The night is warm and slightly humid, and any other time Chloe would be enjoying herself. As it is, the silence wears at her. She clears her throat.

"Can I ask you something?"

He looks at her, then back at the road. It's clear the question makes him uneasy. With the way she's been reacting to him, she can't say it's unexpected.

"Yes," he says.

"Kings of Hell?"

He hums an affirmative. "Someone hasn't read her Ars Goetia."

"My Ars-what?"

"A text. On demonology. Surprisingly accurate. No doubt because—"

"Hold on. Paimon is a demon?"

"Yes. Do keep up, Detective. He was one of my most loyal underlings when I ruled Hell."

"You brought him here with you, like Maze?"

"He is nothing like Mazikeen," he says. "Paimon commanded two hundred legions. She is—was—a torturer. My best."

Okay. This is going someplace she doesn't want. She changes the subject before she can think too much about Satan's best torturer babysitting Trixie.

"So, how do we find this Ros?" she asks. "Is there like a supernatural..."

"White pages?"

"Too much to hope for?"

"Yes."

"Right," she says. "And it's not like I can put out a BOLO on him."

"I can call in some favors, attempt to discover his whereabouts."

"Then what? In the meantime something else happens? The curse strikes again?"

Lucifer glances at her again. "It's all I have to offer."

"Sorry," she apologizes. She seems to be doing a lot of that lately.

"No need to apologize."

The conversation dies there, the uncomfortable silence descending on the car again, remaining in place until they reach her apartment complex. Lucifer parks the Corvette, turning off the ignition. The engine ticks. The sound of crickets fills the air.

Lucifer speaks only when Chloe reaches for her door handle.

"Do I frighten you, Detective?"

The question catches her off guard. Lucifer's staring at her seriously, eyes dark and unreadable.

Does he? She considers it. Thinks about all she's seen in the past few days. The last time he'd asked her this she hadn't known anything. Not really. She hadn't been forced to believe.

"A lot of things scare me. And some of the things you can do are frightening, yes," she says. "But you're still you. My partner. Who doesn't frighten me. I trust you."

His serious expression doesn't shift, but he nods, slowly.

"I see," he says. "That...means a great deal to me."

She gives him a small smile, getting out of the car, closing the door gently.

"Goodnight, Lucifer."

"Goodnight, Detective."

Chapter Text

Chloe wakes with the sunrise, tossing and turning in her bed, unable to go back to sleep. Her chest aches where she was shot. She's worried about the next disaster to fall out of the sky. She's thinking too much about Lucifer.

In the loft, she'd seen more than his face. There had been bloody feathers everywhere. Feathers! The analytical part of her mind can't just ignore that. The rest of her brain does a damn good job of pushing it away. She shoves off her blankets and swings her legs out of bed.

Coffee. She needs coffee.

Shuffling down the stairs in her pajamas, she sees her laptop and picks it up before heading to the coffee machine. While she fills the filter with fresh coffee, she opens the laptop and on a whim types in 'Ros.' All that comes up are links for robotics and robot operating systems. Not helpful. But what did she expect, searching for that?

Her phone buzzes. A text from Lucifer. Wondering if he slept at all last night, she taps the screen to bring up the message.

I have an address for Ros.

That answered her question. He must have been up all night, calling in favors to find the changeling.

Don't go after him alone.

She waits uneasily, until his reply comes.

On my way to pick you up now.

Good, she thinks. She rushes back up the stairs, pulling on her bullet-proof vest before dressing quickly in jeans and a loose top that hides the darkening bruise on her chest. She opens the small safe under her bed, pulling out her personal sidearm. She has just enough time to fill a travel mug with coffee before she hears Lucifer knock.

When she opens the door he breezes in. If he's been up all night, she can't tell. He's impeccably dressed, as always; his hair is perfectly coiffed. She smells the faint smell of his cologne, something she's never been brave enough to ask the brand of. He looks...normal. Happy.

"Do you sleep?" she asks without thinking. Then she feels stupid. How can she forget the week he spent awake? Or how he fell apart while she was preoccupied with Marcus?

"Yes," he answers, some of his cheer fading.

"You got the address," she says, pushing through the uncomfortable feeling she's introduced into the conversation. "Thank you."

"I did. No thanks necessary." He tosses a small slip of paper on the counter, then looks at her travel mug. "All set?"

"Yeah," she picks up the paper, reading the address. "Let's do this."

Lucifer turns on the radio and drums his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. Chloe sips her coffee. Again, it feels normal. Like working any of the cases they've been on. If thoughts of Trixie in her cast didn't keep intruding, she might have been able to relax.

Half an hour later they pull into a run-down neighborhood, in front of a single-story beige house. Broken shutters frame the windows, which are covered from the inside with tinfoil. The faded paint peels from neglected siding. The lawn is an overgrown tangle.

"Do we have a last name for Ros?" Chloe asks.

"Williams."

"Okay. Let me take the lead. We don't know if he has a gun."

Lucifer looks like he might argue, but then he nods.

They get out of the car, quietly closing the doors. The sidewalk is buckled; weeds poke through the cracks. Chloe walks up the chipped concrete steps, stopping in front of the door. Lucifer waits on the sidewalk beneath her.

"Ros Williams?" she shouts, pounding on the door. She won't invoke the name of the LAPD now, not while she's suspended. It feels weird not saying it, though.

No answer. No movement inside.

"Ros Williams!" she shouts again. This time when she strikes the door, Lucifer comes up the steps beside her.

"For Dad's sake," he says, and kicks the door in.

"Lucifer! You know—"

"Don't you smell that?" he asks, frowning.

"Smell what?" But now that the door is open she does smell something. Something dead. She pulls her Glock. "Yeah, I do."

She eases into the doorway, then down a short hallway, checking her corners as she goes. The house is a disaster. She steps over trash and cardboard boxes and piles of old newspapers. Dirty brown cobwebs cling to the ceiling and walls. The smell of death permeates the rooms as she clears them one by one.

The last room she has to check is at the rear of the house. The kitchen. She ducks her head around the door frame and immediately sees the body. She checks the corners.

"Clear," she calls back to Lucifer. When she looks over her shoulder he's carefully navigating the mess in the hallway with his lips set in disgust. He reminds her of a cat, and despite everything she smiles for a second.

She approaches the body cautiously. The smell alone tells her there's no point in checking for a pulse. She pulls out a latex glove, snapping it on. Then she grips the body by the shoulder and pulls it over onto its back. Rigor mortis has come and gone, and the body flops over onto the linoleum with a dull thump.

"Is this him?" she asks Lucifer.

"Not much to look at now, is he? But from the description I received? Yes."

Chloe curses under her breath, standing up. She scans the kitchen. Dirty dishes form a mountain in the sink. More trash is heaped on the counters. The table is a landscape of empty pizza boxes and takeout containers.

"If I could run his known associates, we might get a hit." She shakes her head. "I have to call this in."

"Your adherence to the rules—"

"I know." She peels off the glove, stuffing it back into her pocket.

"What?"

"I'll call it in anonymously. I don't need any more questions right now."

*

They're just settling back into the Corvette when Chloe's phone rings.

"Hi, Dan," she answers.

"Chloe. Trixie's fine, but there's been an accident." His voice is strained, like he's suffering enormous pain.

"Oh, God! Are you okay? What happened?"

"Yeah. Broke my leg. Hit my head. Pile-up on the freeway." A pause. "Look, they want to take me to surgery, but I won't leave Trixie alone."

"What hospital? I'm on my way."

"UCLA."

She mouths the letters to Lucifer. He guns the engine, and they shoot out into the street.

*

For the second time in as many days, Chloe stands in a hospital recovery room, looking down at a loved one. This time Trixie is beside her, holding her hand. Lucifer had opted to wait outside, claiming he needed a cigarette.

"Hey, Dan," she says as he opens his eyes.

"Chlo'." He focuses on Trixie. "Trixie."

"Hi, Daddy," she says. A frown creases her face as she looks at his cast sticking out of the blankets and the bandage wound around his head.

"It's okay, munchkin," he says. "The doctors fixed me all up. It doesn't even hurt."

He's on massive painkillers; of course it doesn't hurt.

"I talked to your doctor. They're keeping you overnight for observation."

"You should take Trixie home." His eyes close. "I think I'm going to sleep for a while, if that's okay."

"Yeah. I'll be here tomorrow when they discharge you, help you get home and settled in."

He nods, but from the way his breathing levels out, Chloe knows he's fallen asleep. She watches him for a minute, feeling helpless and so very angry. She needs to find out who put this curse on her and stop it, now. Unfortunately, with their main lead dead and now having Trixie to care for, she's not going to be able to do much.

"Mommy?" Trixie looks up at her, concerned.

"Come on, Trixie-babe. Let's go home."

They find Lucifer outside, sitting on a bench beside the entrance.

"Lucifer!" Trixie says. She's not quite her normal exuberant self, but she does manage a one-armed hug around his legs.

"Spawn," he says, but he smiles.

"You haven't signed my cast yet," she says. "You said you would."

"And my word is my bond. I will." He looks at Chloe. "Are you going home?"

"I have an Uber ride coming," she says.

"Forgive me if I don't trust in their competence right now." He shoves his hand in his pockets, scowling out at the parking lot as though the offending Uber driver is sitting there.

"Follow us home, then." She makes the offer without really thinking. Then she realizes what she's said. As weird as she's been with him lately she won't be surprised if he turns her down. "I mean, if you want."

"I'd...yes."

"Okay. Good." She smiles, feeling oddly awkward.

Trixie starts to talk then, chattering about how she's the first kid in her class to break a bone and when she goes back to school all of her friends will sign her cast. Chloe listens with half an ear, watching for her ride. When it comes, Lucifer gives her a small wave and heads off to his car.

The ride home is uneventful. Thankfully. Tense, Chloe turns around in her seat once, and true to his word, Lucifer follows them a few car-lengths back. When they arrive at the complex, he parks in his usual spot and walks with them to the door.

Trixie trots ahead of them into the apartment, making a beeline for her room. She comes out a few seconds later with a marker in her good hand.

"Here, Lucifer," she says, holding out the marker. "You'll have to sign Daddy's, too!"

"Gladly," he says with a grin that spells trouble. He bends over and in precise, flowing script signs his full name. Chloe thinks of the times she's dismissed his name as a bit of eccentricity, the way she asked him if it was a stage name when they first met. Now it's a part of her and her daughter's lives.

Trixie blows on the fresh ink, then hurries to the couch. "Mommy said we're going to eat ice cream and watch movies. You should stay."

Lucifer looks at Chloe like he's gauging her. Like he's afraid of her coping.

"Please, please," Trixie begs.

"It would be my pleasure," he says, tentatively. He'll go if Chloe wants, his expression says.

That's how they all end up on the couch, Lucifer at one end, Chloe at the other, and Trixie sprawled out between them. They each have a bowl of ice cream and Chloe thinks how right it feels. This is the way things should be, not her hurting him every time she's faced with the truth.

Trixie falls asleep half-way through Moana, Chloe combing her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"Any more thoughts on finding our witch?" she asks, quietly.

Lucifer shakes his head. "None that you'd like."

"Tell me."

"Daniel is useless now. He won't be able to return to duty until he's healed. But Ms. Lopez..."

"Drag Ella into this mess? No."

The last time she'd enlisted the forensic tech's help she'd gotten her suspended. Not something she's in a hurry to repeat.

"Ms. Lopez has friends at the station," he says. "What choice do we have?"

Chloe blows out a breath of frustration. "There must be something."

"I've exhausted the favors in my network."

She feels a pang of guilt.

"Isn't it one small computer search?" he asks after a moment.

"Yeah."

"Well then."

He'd said it. What choice did they have?

She pulls out her cell phone and dials Ella.

*

Ella comes through. Easy peasy, she says before going into a long story about the officer she got to help her and how he was a sweetie-pants, but he came off as harsh to everyone else. Chloe backs out of the conversation as gracefully as she can, thanking the tech profusely.

The list of names drops into Chloe's email not long after Lucifer leaves for the evening. She texts him.

Ella sent the list.

She doesn't have to wait long for a reply.

Well done, Ms. Lopez.

We have five suspects. I want to end this tomorrow.

She'd be out there now, pounding on doors, if she could get a sitter for Trixie on such short notice.

What time shall I pick you up?

Chapter Text

Lucifer arrives at seven o'clock sharp the next morning. Chloe is ready, and after untangling Trixie from his legs and giving the sitter instructions, she and Lucifer head out together.

"Do you have the list?" he asks as he starts the Corvette.

"Yes." She holds up a piece of paper.

"May I?" He gestures at it. She's reasonably proud that when they touch accidentally, she doesn't flinch from him.

"Hmm," he says. "We should start here. With Emma Blackwell."

"Why her?"

"Call it the Devil's intuition."

"That's a thing?" she asks. "Of course, it's a thing."

"No, Detective. It's not a 'thing.' I looked at the addresses. The first two are far too posh for associates of the departed Ros. The final two are further out of town. Might as well start with Emma."

She snorts back a laugh. "Just drive."

The miles pile up under the car, and Chloe relaxes into the seat. Her mind wanders. Back to the loft and the nagging questions that analytical part of her mind won't give up.

Before she can change her mind, she says, "I want to ask you something. And I promise not to freak out."

He looks at her guardedly. "Yes?"

"Back at the loft, there were...feathers."

His shoulders sag as though he's been placed under a great weight. "Yes."

"Okay? And?"

"My wings. They were damaged."

Which...holy shit. He's really a fallen angel. It hits her all over again, and she can't breathe. She squeezes her hands into fists, knuckles turning white.

"Detective?"

"Yeah," she squeaks out. "I'm here." Barely holding on. This one's on her. She dares to take a look at his profile, and his expression is grim. She forces her hands to uncurl, concentrates on leveling her breathing.

"Sorry," she says. "I shouldn't have asked."

He doesn't answer. Why should he? At every turn, she reacts like he's...well, the Devil. After her speeches about 'not to me,' it's got to hurt him.

"Lucifer..."

"Please, don't apologize again," he says.

She bites back what she was going to say and sinks further into her seat.

*

Emma Blackwell lives in an apartment complex every bit as run-down as the house Ros Williams had died in. A sign on the elevator says Out of Order, so they're forced to take the stairs. Not that Chloe would have trusted the rickety elevator with its iron gate and turn of the century hardware.

"Apartment 5B," she reads from the slip of paper. She's panting a little from the climb. Lucifer looks like he's been out for a casual stroll.

She knocks on the door.

Silence.

"Emma Blackwell?" She knocks again, harder. Then she tries the knob. Locked. She looks at Lucifer. Considers. "Do you want to—"

The shots that are fired through the wooden door almost clip her head; she hears a bullet whiz by. One of them ricochets off of something metal behind her, and she drops into a crouch beside the frame. She pulls her Glock.

"Get down! She's shooting at us!"

"You were expecting wands at twenty paces?"

Lucifer doesn't listen. He plows through the door like it's made of tissue paper.

"Come out, come out, little witch," he calls, moving down a long, dark hallway.

Chloe rushes in behind him, trying to watch for blind spots. Another set of shots ring out and Lucifer ducks into a doorway. Chloe takes the one opposite, quickly ensuring the room beyond is clear.

"She's in the end room," she says.

"I see that, Detective!"

Chloe leans out and, seeing a blur of movement, ducks back into her hiding place. She waits for a heartbeat and leans out again.

No movement.

"Emma?" she calls. "Drop your weapon and come out with your hands up."

The apartment is deathly quiet.

Chloe slides out from the doorway, keeping close against the wall of the hallway. Lucifer joins her, moving slowly beside her. Together they walk up the hall, Chloe peering into the dark.

"Do you see anything," she asks.

"No."

They clear another set of doors and rooms, advancing ever toward the end room. They're almost there when several things happen at once.

Emma pops out of the doorway like a demented jack-in-the-box, firing wildly. Next, a wall of white stretches out in front of Chloe as she hits the floor. Lucifer grunts in pain, then the wall is gone, and he rushes wildly toward Emma, wings trailing in his wake.

Wings. Chloe stares after him, watching as he follows Emma back into the room at the end of the hall.

"No!" he shouts, unseen.

There's a single shot.

"Lucifer!"

There's no time to be in awe of his wings because she's up and running. She barely slows long enough to check the dim room before she enters, grabbing the frame with one hand, prepared for the worst.

Lucifer stands beside Emma's body. His wings are gone again. He looks over his shoulder at Chloe.

"She shot herself. When she saw me."

"Are you okay?"

He stretches his back slightly and winces. "I'll be fine."

Chloe kneels to check Emma for a pulse and finds nothing. She holsters her pistol, then searches the wall for a light switch. Flicking it on fills the room with light from a yellowed overhead fixture. There's nothing in the room except the corpse and...

"What is that?" she asks, pointing to the floor in the corner. Unlit candles frame a large chalk drawing on the floor. It isn't a pentagram, but the similarity is there.

"That is both good news and bad, Detective," he says, walking over to it. "The good news is that this was likely the witch who placed the curse. It died with her."

Which is an intense, sudden relief, but, "What's the bad news?"

"This is a summoning circle." He crouches down and runs a finger across the chalk outline, smelling the residue that accumulates. "It's been used. It reeks of brimstone."

"Summoning what?"

"Why, a demon, of course."

"A demon," she says. "But why does that matter? Aren't there plenty of demons here in LA?"

"A few, and only because I allowed them to leave the confines of Hell." He pauses. "This demon escaped without my knowledge or permission."

"So, a rogue demon is wandering LA." She hesitates, then asks what might be a stupid question, "How dangerous is it?"

He sighs, gesturing widely. "Very, I assume."

They hear the sound of sirens then, and Chloe shakes her head. "We can't leave. This is a mess."

*

After the police come and take their statements, Chloe and Lucifer are released from the scene. They walk back to the Corvette together, Lucifer sitting down gingerly in his seat, leaning back with a hiss of pain.

"You're not okay."

He gives her a dark look. "I was bloody well shot."

"You got hit? Lucifer, why didn't you say something?" She twists in her seat, leaning toward him, searching for any signs of blood.

He won't meet her gaze. He's focused on the middle distance, eyes narrow.

"Where...I don't see..."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you," he says. His jaw clenches.

"Why wouldn't I..."

She replays the scene in her mind. Oh. Oh. The wall of white. Her head aches as she makes the necessary connections.

"You blocked the shots. Your wings...were hit." A sentence she never thought she'd say. "They hurt when they're...put away?"

Another glance.

"Right," she murmurs, mostly to herself. "Stupid question."

He starts the car and pulls into traffic without another word, but she's not willing to let it go.

"Lucifer, we need to—"

"What, take me to hospital?" he snaps. "That would go over well, I'm certain. One look at me and our hypothetical doctor would be drooling on the floor of his exam room. Or would you suggest a veterinarian?"

This shuts her up, for a moment.

"What if I helped you?" she asks, tentatively.

"You?" he scoffs.

"Why not? I know basic first aid. I'm sure I can dig out a bullet, too. Won't they heal faster that way?"

"I can manage the bullets." He casts her another dark look. Then he says reluctantly, "If I spend the night alone, they'll heal on their own."

What does that mean? She looks at him and shakes her head, not understanding.

"When I'm near you, Detective..." He grits the words out; clearly, this is something he didn't want her to know. "It seems I'm vulnerable. I bleed. I don't heal at my normal rate."

It's like a light clicks on in her mind. When she'd shot him early in their partnership, he'd been so convinced it wouldn't hurt. She feels a little sick.

"Why?"

No answer. He looks more miserable than a second before.

Okay. Something he's not ready to talk about.

"I can still help you," she says, stubbornly, despite the sick feeling. "Then I'll leave you alone."

He shifts in his seat and lets out another grunt of pain.

"Is that a 'yes'?" she asks.

A full minute ticks by before he answers.

"My wings...it would be like seeing my face again," he says, quietly enough that she almost doesn't hear him over the noise of the road and wind. "I can't have you—I don't want to...break you again."

That's what he's worried about? Her?

"I saw them in the apartment."

"Briefly. This will be—"

"I want to help you. Please, let me."

He stares at the roadway. His shoulders are tense. He looks as though he's going to argue again, and Chloe readies a counter-argument. If there's anything she can do to ease his pain, she should. She wants to.

"Lucifer, you don't have to do this alone. I'm—"

"Fine," is all he says.

*

They park under Lux, and Chloe follows Lucifer to the elevator. He walks with his back curved, hunched up. She presses the button for the penthouse as he leans one shoulder against the wall. When the elevator stops and the doors open, he heads straight for his liquor cabinet.

Chloe watches as he pours a healthy glassful of scotch and quickly downs it. Then another.

"At least with you here I can get completely sozzled."

Because she makes him vulnerable. It explains so much. She tries to focus on the task at hand. "Do you have any narcotics?"

He gives her a look that plainly says, 'What do you think?'

"Might be a good idea to take some before I go digging in there." She pauses. "Although taking them on top of alcohol is—"

"A splendid idea, all things considered." He walks to the end of the counter, pulling open a drawer. He pulls out a bottle of white pills that Chloe is certain are oxycodone. He untwists the cap and palms three of the tablets, popping them in his mouth, chasing them with more scotch.

"Now we wait," he says, looking at his watch. He leans against the counter.

Chloe crosses her arms over her chest. "Tell me more about this demon. How do we find it?"

"A new demon will be the talk of the town. We'll go back to the club. Paimon will have heard something."

"Then what?"

"Simple. I either kill it or send it back to Hell, ending the curse."

"'Simple,' he says." It occurs to her that she hasn't had to cope recently. She feels like congratulations are in order.

Lucifer looks at his watch again. "Time's up."

"It's been, like, five minutes."

"I assure you, I'm aware."

Remembering how it hurt to be shot, she can't imagine the pain he's in. "I'll need a knife."

He digs in another of the drawers and produces long, narrow box. Opening it, he pulls out what looks like a fillet knife. "This should do the trick. I used it last time."

Last time. The feathers in the loft. She suddenly understands. Too much. He'd protected her then, too. Saved her life. All at the cost—

"Detective?"

Now isn't the time to think. For understanding.

"How about tweezers? Towels?"

"Right. Bathroom." He goes to retrieve them, and when he comes back Chloe notices his eyes have started to take on a glassy look.

He nods. "My metabolism runs fast. We need to do this if we're going to."

"On the bed?" she asks, regretting the words as soon as she says them.

"Why, Detective—"

"Shut up, Lucifer," she says, but she smiles at him.

"No. I don't want to ruin my sheets. Blood doesn't wash out very well, does it?" He goes to the piano, pulls out the bench, and pats it affectionately before sitting down, his back toward her. He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it on top of the piano, and then starts unbuttoning his vest.

"You think you can sit up through this?" Chloe asks, coming up behind him.

"We'll find out." He finishes the vest and works on his shirt.

Chloe watches as he shrugs out of the garment. It startles her when she sees the bare skin of his back.

"Your scars are gone."

"I have my wings back," he says, slurring the words a little around the edges. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

His wings...appear. There is no transitional state. One split second they’re not there, the next they are. Chloe covers her mouth with her hand. The wings spread huge and white and perfect on either side of her. This isn't like the brief glimpse she'd had in the apartment, this is straight up being confronted. With divinity. It is like seeing his other face all over again.

She swallows, blinking tears out of her eyes.

"Detective?" He leans forward, onto the piano's closed cover.

Well. No time like the present.

She reaches out and touches the right wing. The feathers are softer than they look. She sighs as she runs her fingers over them. Her mind doesn't snap. Win.

"Okay." She can do this. She can do this.

The right wing has a splash of blood near the joint. The left has twin crimson marks. The bleeding has stopped, for the time being, but she can see where it trailed down the breadth of the wing, all the way to the larger flight feathers.

She looks closer at the right wing, parting the feathers at the joint, searching for the entry wound. The hole, when she finds it, is more of a long furrow in the skin of the wing. The slug makes a lump at the end of the furrow.

"Found the first one," she says.

"Good for you," he says, except it sounds more like 'Goo fer you.'

"I'll have to cut it out."

"Okay."

That's it, just 'okay.' Completely trusting her not to mangle him. She picks up the knife, hoping it's as sharp as it looks.

Her first attempt over the bullet is too tentative. Blood oozes from the shallow cut.

"Bloody hell," Lucifer slurs out. "Just hurry up and cut."

She presses down more decisively this time and the skin splits under the knife's edge. Lucifer twitches, but somehow manages to hold still. Blood pours from the wound, running down to the floor. She swipes at it with a towel, seeing the dull metal slug for a second before blood covers it again. She grabs the tweezers and swipes again, this time darting in to seize the bullet before it becomes hidden.

Lucifer hisses in pain. His head drops.

"Sorry, sorry!"

She drops the bullet on the piano top. Blood drips freely on the floor. She presses the towel to the wound, hoping to slow the bleeding.

"One down. Two to go."

How had he managed to do this for himself?

Eventually the bleeding stops, and she moves to the left wing. The first bullet must have been a ricochet because she can see it without having to cut. She plucks it out easily.

"One more," she says, dropping the round on the piano with the first.

The last bullet is worse than the first, embedded deeply in the muscle of the wing. Chloe grimaces as she cuts into it, Lucifer jerking away from her.

"Hold still."

"Trying to," he says, voice rasping. He sits up straighter again.

Chloe cuts into the muscle with the tip of the blade, feeling queasy. She hadn't expected it to be this bad. She knows when she hits the bullet because Lucifer curses in a language she doesn't recognize. His hands curl into fists, knuckles white with pressure.

She uses the tweezers again, digging into the bloody mess she's created in his wing. The first time she tries to grab the bullet, the tweezers slip off and Lucifer curses again. Chloe takes a deep breath, blows it out, and tries again, going more slowly. This time she gets a better grip and the bullet comes free with a sucking sound.

"Done!" she says, dropping the third bullet with the two others. She holds a towel against this newest wound, wishing she had a way to cauterize it.

"You can go now," Lucifer says, voice still slippery.

Everything in her is telling her that she needs to stay and care for him.

"I'll be right as rain in a few hours. Promise."

Because she makes him vulnerable.

"Can you hold this towel here?"

He reaches back, and she guides his hand into place. She looks down at her hands, covered in his blood. "I'm going to wash my hands. If you can stay upright that long, I'll go."

"M'kay," he agrees.

He's sitting in the same spot when she comes back, eyes still glassy, but he hasn't slumped over or dropped the towel.

"I hate leaving you like this."

"Just go. I'll be fine."

She does as he asks, walking to the elevator, stepping in, and watching him until the doors close. The last thing she sees is him lower his head onto his arms on the closed cover of the piano.

Chapter Text

Chloe spends a restless night, and when she finally does sleep, she dreams of gunfire and blood and feathers. Waking early—five o'clock by her bedside clock—she stares at the ceiling. The apartment is silent. The quiet presses in on her. She replays the events of the preceding day in her mind.

Emma was dead. If what Lucifer said was true, the curse was lifted. She has no reason to doubt him; he's the supernatural expert here. She feels relief, of course, but something nags at her.

Why had Emma shot herself? Chloe doubts it was seeing Lucifer's wings. Emma had been scared enough to kill herself. Instead of inducing fear, the wings should have left her, as Lucifer said, drooling on the floor.

Had Emma feared revenge because the curse had been meant for Lucifer? If the knowledge that he's the Devil is common enough, maybe that's it.

Chloe frowns, because that doesn't feel right. Her gut's telling her it's something else. What about the demon Emma summoned? How does it figure into all of this? Is it as dangerous as Lucifer seemed to think? Why?

There's only one person she can bounce her questions off of, and he's probably—hopefully—still sleeping.

She reaches over and turns on the lamp, finding her cell phone. The screen is empty. She kicks off the blankets. No way she's going back to sleep now.

Shuffling downstairs in her pajamas, she goes to Trixie's room. Cracking open the door she checks in on her daughter. Trixie is still asleep, cast propped on a pillow. Lucifer's signature stands in sharp relief to the pink fiberglass. Chloe closes the door gently.

Starting a pot of coffee, she turns on the TV, volume low, flipping through the channels until she reaches the local news. A familiar weatherman smiles in front of a green screen, pointing out temperatures in the state. He looks way too cheerful for the hour.

After she pours a cup of coffee, Chloe sits on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees. Something Lucifer said has stuck in her mind. Ars Goetia.

She Googles the title and eyes the list of links. The first is Wikipedia. The text contains a list of demons. She clicks it and begins to read.

Half an hour later, her coffee is cold in the cup. It's not that the Wiki page makes for scintillating reading, it's just that there's so much of it. So much that she now knows is real. Demons with three heads, demons who command legions and legions of other demons, demon kings and dukes and princes. All of them can be summoned, it seems.

She's just reading about Orobos, who is illustrated as a long-legged owl wearing a crown, when the news catches her attention again. She swears she heard the word 'Lux.' She grabs the remote and clicks the volume button.

"...and now we have Molly Cansell with a live report," says the news anchorwoman. The shot switches to a serious-faced reporter standing in front of a firetruck. Chloe's stomach drops.

"Thanks, Patricia. We're coming live to you from the scene here at Lux, a premiere nightclub where fire broke out earlier this morning."

The camera pans to the building, and Chloe sets her laptop to the side. Smoke and fire billow out of the main doors. Firefighters attempt to control the blaze, hoses snaking across the ground. Groups of partygoers are shown, huddled in groups.

"At this time it's not known if there are any casualties or how the fire started, but we'll be on-scene as this situation develops."

Chloe's on her phone before the reporter finishes. She dials Lucifer, waiting tensely as his phone starts ringing. It goes to voicemail.

"Lucifer. I just saw the news. Are you okay? Call me back."

All she can picture is the way he looked when she left him. Drunk and stoned and bleeding. Had he managed to get out of the penthouse? Was he invulnerable to a four-alarm blaze?

She stares at the phone, willing it to ring. Nothing. She taps his name again. Waits for the call to go through and start ringing. It rings and rings before going to voicemail again.

"Lucifer, I'm coming over. Please...just be okay."

She stands up from the couch, already calling Olga as she rushes up the stairs to her bedroom. Thankfully, the older woman is awake, although none too happy to be bothered at such an early hour. Chloe begs her to come over, telling her it's an emergency. Olga grumpily agrees to be there in half an hour.

Chloe is dressed and ready to go in five minutes. After calling a cab, she spends the rest of the time pacing the floor, dialing Lucifer, and staring at her phone. When Olga finally knocks on the door, Chloe jerks it open and practically drags the sitter inside.

*

The scene at Lux is chaos. Ambulances and firetrucks and police cars are parked haphazardly in the street. Officers take statements from partygoers and witnesses. Firefighters continue to spray the building. Onlookers gather at the yellow tape and sawhorses blocking off the area. The smell of smoke hangs heavy in the air. The early morning sunlight does little to dim the flash of red and blue lights.

Chloe races up to the tape. She doesn't stop, ducking under it. She knows better than to approach any of the officers on-scene. They'll just send her back behind the barrier. She starts to look for Lucifer, threading her way through a group of club patrons who look worse for wear.

She walks around the scene purposely, checking ambulances. One pulls away, and she watches it go. Was he in there? Has he already been sent to the hospital? Had he made it out? Acid erupts in her stomach.

A paramedic walks by and out of desperation, she grabs his arm.

"Did everyone make it out?"

He looks at her, taking in the way she's dressed. She's clearly not one of the survivors. "Ma'am, you need to wait behind the tape."

"Please," she says. "My friend was in there and I can't find him and I just need to know that he's okay."

Evidently, she looks wrecked enough that the paramedic takes pity on her. He points to one of the uniformed officers standing near a firetruck.

"Sergeant Clark will know which hospitals you can check," he says. He puts a comforting hand on her arm. "The building isn't clear yet, but we think we got everyone out of the club."

"What about the penthouse?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, I don't know about that."

Chloe's stomach twists again. She nods her thanks to him and then hurries over to the sergeant talking to another officer. He holds a clipboard in one hand, gesturing with it as he speaks. He glances at her as she approaches, but before he can tell her to get back behind the tape, she starts talking.

"Sergeant Clark?" she asks. "I need to know if my friend made it out. Lucifer Morningstar. The owner."

She feels a hand on her shoulder and turns reflexively, ready to argue with the officer set to escort her out.

"Detective?" Lucifer stands in front of her, confusion clear on his face.

"Lucifer," she breathes out.

He looks like hell. His clothes and hair are soaked, and ash smudges the right side of his face. A foil emergency blanket is draped around his shoulders; he clutches it as though he's chilled. His eyeliner has been smeared off, and as she does a head-to-toe assessment, Chloe sees he's missing his shoes.

She can't help it, she steps forward and wraps her arms around him, under the blanket. After a moment, she feels him embrace her, too.

"I didn't know if you made it out," she says. He reeks of smoke and his clothes are cold and wet against her face, but his heart beats loudly in her ear and he's okay. "I couldn't find you."

"What's a little fire to the Devil, hmm?" he replies, his voice a rumble, steadying her.

He shivers then, and Chloe pulls back enough to look up at him. "You're freezing."

"Well, I was fine until you showed up."

Because she makes him vulnerable.

"Sorry," she says, smiling faintly.

"Apology accepted." He returns her smile.

She sniffs back sudden tears, and with another quick smile, releases him. The loss of contact makes her feel bereft. She hadn't realized how much she missed touching him, and having him touch her.

"Now," he says, suppressing a shiver. "Can we go? I'd like to get out of these clothes."

"Yeah. I think that's a good idea."

"Good. I've already called for a cab. You're welcome to ride with me; your apartment is on the way. I'm going to one of my other homes."

"You're sure you don't need to go to the hospital?"

"I'm fine, Detective." Another small smile. "Promise."

*

They find the cab parked beyond the yellow tape. Lucifer opens the door for her and Chloe climbs in. As he slides into his side of the car, and the driver takes off, she looks at him.

"Lucifer, what happened with the fire?"

"I've no idea. One minute I was enjoying a particularly nice single malt, and the next the bloody sprinklers turned on. By the time I managed to get downstairs the club was in flames."

"That fast? Arson?"

"Or bad luck."

"Bad luck? That's some serious—" The realization hits her. Shit. Shit. Not bad luck. She lowers her voice, mindful of the driver. "Or it could be that damned curse. What if it hasn't been lifted?"

His eyebrows lift as he follows her train of thought. "Emma had assistance?"

"Yes. Maybe the demon she summoned was the one who really laid the curse?" she says.

He looks thoughtful. "Well, then. It looks like we have a demon to find."

*

They end up at the same house Lucifer had used when he kidnapped the false Sinnerman. Chloe tries to shove away the bad memories she has of the place, focusing on what's in front of her. The curse is more important than the past.

Chloe is on the balcony, looking out at the hills and city below, when Lucifer finds her. He's showered and changed, and looks like himself once more.

"How do we find a demon?" Chloe asks him, as he takes a spot at the railing beside her.

"We speak with Paimon, again. He hasn't told us everything he knows. Then I take whatever errant miscreant had the poor sense to invade the mortal realm back to Hell."

"You can just, what, go back anytime you want?"

"I have my wings back, don't I?"

Even after what she's seen, what she's been through in the past few days, it still boggles her mind that she's having this conversation. The truly amazing part is that coping is getting easier.

"Okay. Back to see Paimon at the club, then?"

"No. Don't you think more privacy would be better for this little talk?"

Which catches her off guard. Nothing good happens in a private interrogation.

"What are you going to do to him?"

"Nothing that will result in permanent harm."

Not exactly reassuring. But, she'll be there with him, right? She's stopped him from harming witnesses before.

"Privacy it is," she says.

Chapter Text

Lucifer has another Corvette parked in this home's garage. Not identical; this one is candy-apple red. It's close enough to a twin of the original car that Chloe raises her eyebrows as she climbs into the passenger seat.

"I figured you'd like a little variety."

"Why ruin a good thing?" he says and guns the engine. They peel out onto the roadway, the car accelerating rapidly. He grins widely.

"Uh-huh," she says. "Well, don't get used to spending so much time behind the wheel. As soon as I'm reinstated and get my car back, I'm driving."

His face closes off, his happy expression fading away completely. Chloe feels as though she's been sucker-punched. He doesn't want to work with her once they've sorted this mess out? Her fists clench in her lap.

The all too familiar stiff silence descends on the car. The tires hum on the road as they eat up miles. Tense minutes go by. Finally, Chloe can't take it any longer.

"Why?"

"Why?" he echoes, confused.

"Why when I mention us working together after this do you freak out."

"I don't 'freak out,' Detective," he says, the air quotes coming through loud and clear.

"Right. Then what's the problem?"

More silence. He grips the wheel tighter, though, and his jaw works as though he's grinding his teeth.

"Lucifer. I need you to talk to me."

She doesn't think he's going to say anything, when suddenly he hits the brakes, pulling the Corvette quickly to the edge of the road. She braces herself as the car comes to an abrupt stop.

"What are you doing?"

He turns to her, deathly serious. "After all that you've seen, all that you now know, you still desire to work with me? You're not frightened of the prospect of having to...cope?"

Oh. Well, that changes things. He's so certain she'll reject who he fundamentally is that he can't picture them working together after this. No wonder he's been so on edge.

She reaches across the distance between them and rests her hand on his forearm.

"I'm doing pretty well, in case you hadn't noticed."

There's another moment of quiet while he just looks at her.

"You are, aren't you."

"Yeah. I am. I told you before, you're my partner." Is that all he is? The thought ambushes her, and she shoves it away, not ready yet to consider the ramifications of more.

"But, Detective—"

"That hasn't changed. It won't change."

Slowly, he nods. "I see. If that is truly what you desire?"

"It is."

"Good," he says. "That's...good. Partners, then."

"Right." She tries a small smile. "Now can we please go talk to Paimon?"

*

They end up staking out Paimon's house.

"This isn't the most inconspicuous of vehicles for a stake-out," Chloe complains, trying to hunker down further in her seat.

"Work with what you're given?" Lucifer replies.

"Cute."

"Normally I hear 'stunning' or 'magnificent,' but I suppose I'll accept 'cute.'" He pulls a flask out of his coat and takes a sip before tucking it back out of sight again.

Chloe smiles. This feels good. Normal. God knows she can use normal.

God. Now there's a subject she's not going to touch with a ten-foot pole. She's heard enough from Lucifer to understand what a sore point his father is. But...

"Can I ask you something?"

He side-eyes her. The flask comes out again. "You may."

"What else don't I know?"

"I'm sorry?" He seems genuinely confused.

"Well...like when you couldn't sleep for that week. Were you really the angel doing those good deeds?"

He laughs, short and bitter. "No. That was just Maze winding me up. She wore a set of wings and pretended to be an angel."

"Winding you up?"

"Mazikeen and I are on the outs at the moment."

"Yeah, same here," she says, regretfully. "I don't know what happened, really."

"If I've learned anything about Maze over the eons it's that she always comes around." He changes the subject abruptly. "Any other salacious details you're dying to know?"

Chloe spits out the first random thought that pops into her head.

"Did dinosaurs really have feathers?"

It surprises a laugh out of him. "That's what you want to ask? All of divinity at your fingertips and you ask about the bloody dinosaurs?"

"Well, yeah. Trixie brought home a book that said they had feathers. When I went to school—"

"Yes. Some of them did. Where do you suppose birds came from?"

"Trixie will be over the moon." Her smile fades. She misses her daughter. "Speaking of which, I'd better check in."

She pulls her phone out and dials. Trixie picks up on the second ring.

"Hi, Mommy!"

"Hi, Monkey," she says, keeping her eyes on Paimon's house.

"Where are you? When are you coming home?"

How does she explain this one? She's not technically working, but telling Trixie any version of the truth is out.

"I'm taking care of something. And I hope I can come home real soon."

"Hmm. Is Lucifer there?"

"Yeah, babe, he is."

"Put me on speakerphone, Mommy."

"Okay, you're on," she says, tapping the speaker icon.

"Hi, Lucifer!" Trixie practically shouts it into the phone.

"Hello, Spawn. How is your arm?"

"It's good! I have to wear the cast for seven more weeks, but that's okay. Elsie in the third grade broke her arm and had to wear hers for twice that long."

"I see."

"Have you ever broken a bone?"

"Not of my own, no."

Chloe raises an eyebrow at this and Lucifer grins wolfishly at her.

"Oh. It hurts real bad, but you get to eat lots of ice cream because people feel sorry for you."

Chloe sees movement on the street. A Subaru pulls into the driveway of Paimon's house.

"Trixie, I have to go. I'll call you later."

If Trixie is offended, she doesn't show it, hanging up with a chirped, "Bye, Mommy and Lucifer!"

Then Chloe and Lucifer are out of the car, Chloe trotting to keep up with Lucifer's long strides. They reach the Subaru as Paimon swings the door open. Lucifer's on him before he can exit, dragging him out of the car. He throws Paimon up against the vehicle, hand gripping his shirtfront.

"Where is he?" Lucifer shakes him.

"Where is who?" Paimon squawks.

"Did you know he was going to burn down my home?"

"What are you talking about?"

Chloe steps closer to them. "There's a demon we need to find. We can either do this the easy way, or..." She glances meaningfully at Lucifer, who gives Paimon another shake.

"I know lots of demons!"

"This one is new in town," Lucifer snaps. "Hasn't even got the smell of brimstone off of him."

"I don't know anyone like that."

Lucifer's eyes glow red and Chloe feels her heart rate pick up.

"Please," Paimon begs. "Please, don't..."

"Then tell me what I want to know!" His voice deepens, taking on a horrible, otherworldly tone. He jerks Paimon forward, slamming him back against the car again.

"All right, all right! I know there's someone new around, okay? He's the one that sent the witch after you."

"You knew about her this entire time? About the curse?" For a second his other face flickers into reality, disappearing as fast as it came.

"It's not like that! I hear things, okay? All I know is that someone was doing business with Emma Blackwell."

"Who? Who was involved with her?" Lucifer slams Paimon again, hand moving up to grip his throat. Chloe puts her fingertips on Lucifer's forearm.

"Easy..."

"Who was involved?" Lucifer repeats. "Think carefully."

"I don't know!"

Lucifer's eyes fade back to their normal dark brown. His hand drops away from Paimon's throat. "You're not lying."

"Of course not!" Paimon rubs at his neck, shaking violently.

Chloe takes her fingers from Lucifer's arm. "Come on. We should go before the neighbors call the police."

They leave Paimon trembling in his driveway. As they climb into the car, Chloe looks at Lucifer.

"Another dead end. No name, no idea how to find him."

Lucifer starts the car, pulling into the street. He looks at her and grins.

"You have an idea. Spit it out."

"I do," he answers. "Now I go to Hell."

*

"For the record, I don't like this idea," Chloe says.

They're back at his hillside home because, as Lucifer said, he didn't fancy the idea of going to Hell and leaving her sitting in a parked car somewhere. Chloe paces the floor in front of the giant windows, looking at Lucifer with quick, darting glances.

"I know you don't, but I assure you it's quite safe." He stands watching her, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Safe? How can going to Hell be safe?"

"You forget I am its supreme ruler."

"Were. The keyword here is 'were.'"

"Potato, pahtahto." He gestures with one hand. "I've returned before. Twice."

"What?" She stops pacing. "When?"

He looks like he's stepped on an unintentional landmine. He closes his eyes for a moment, opening them slowly. He hesitates.

"Lucifer. When?"

"Most recently, when you were poisoned."

"When I was poisoned? I don't understand."

"Well, yes, you see...our dearly departed Doctor Scott took the formula with him to Hell. I had to retrieve it."

"So, you flew down to Hell and interrogated him?"

Another landmine.

"Interrogated, yes, but I didn't fly. Didn't have my wings back, did I?"

"So...?"

And another. He hesitates so long she thinks he isn't going to answer. "I had Linda and Maze kill me with a defibrillator. I went to Hell and then they brought me back."

She's heard the phrase 'mind-blowing' all of her life. Until the past few days, she has never truly known what it meant.

"They killed you?"

"Yes. With a defibrillator. As I said."

"And then they brought you back."

"Yes."

"You died." Her heart does a funny flutter. "For me."

How much do you have to care about someone to die for them?

"Are you certain you're well, Detective? You've been under a strain—"

"Thank you," she says. "For saving me."

The only answer she gets is him pulling out his flask and taking a quick drink before hiding it away again.

"Well," he says. "No time like the present. Off to Hell."

"Be careful."

"Fret not. Time moves more slowly in Hell; I'll be back before you know it."

*

He's not though.

Seconds tick by, turning into minutes. Chloe starts pacing again. Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. She goes to the balcony, hoping the scenery will distract her, but that's in vain. No way not to think of Lucifer in Hell.

Half an hour goes by. An hour. If time really does move more slowly in Hell, how much time has gone by for him?

She finds the couch at the two-hour mark, curling her feet up under her, gnawing at the inside of her cheek. There's nothing she can do and she hates feeling so helpless.

Three hours in, there's finally a sound like a gust of wind in the room and she jumps to her feet. Lucifer is on the floor, on his knees. She rushes to him, dropping down hard. A sharp smell like sulfur surrounds him and his clothes look...singed.

"Lucifer!" She grabs his shoulders.

He clears his throat, and after a moment says, "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look like—"

"Hell?" He laughs. "I suppose I do."

"What happened?"

He finally lifts his head, looking into her eyes. "Just a little rebellion."

"A rebellion?"

"Yes. But just a small one. While the cat was away the mice did play. Took me a while to get things back in hand."

"You're okay, though?"

"Tired, but otherwise, yes, I'm fine. As I said." He starts to push himself to his feet and Chloe hurries to help him, hooking one arm around his back. When he's standing, she's surprised that he leans on her for a second, letting her take some of his weight. Then he straightens, adjusting a cufflink. "Now I need another shower."

"You do. You, um, stink."

"Brimstone, darling. Hell reeks of it. That and ash."

He uses the endearment without thinking, she's sure, but it makes her feel warm nevertheless. She's reluctant to let him go. He's a solid presence against her side, and knowing he's here, safe, makes her give him a squeeze before she releases him.

"Glad you're back," she says, as he looks down at her.

He smiles as though there was never any doubt, then excusing himself, heads for the shower. Chloe returns to the couch, waiting for him. When he reappears again, she stands.

"Did you find out who our mystery demon is?"

"I did, and I discovered what he's planning. We need to go, now."

Chapter Text

"The demon's name is Seir," Lucifer says as they drive back into town. "He escaped as we thought, by having Emma summon him. He's normally such a good-natured fellow, too."

"Seir," Chloe says, trying the name out. "What do you think he's planning?"

"I told you I'm not like a Jedi. I can't read his mind."

Right.

"So, we have a name, and that's it."

"No, we have a direction and a distance. In Hell. I just have to orient myself."

He's making less sense than usual, and Chloe gives him an exasperated look.

"What does that mean?" she asks.

"It means we have to get to Lux. I know the relative position of Hell from there."

"And that helps, how?"

"I can orient myself to Hell and figure out which direction to go."

Because apparently now he's some sort of weird homing pigeon. Chloe shrugs. What choice does she have but to go along for the ride?

*

They arrive at Lux without incident. Chloe gazes at the building. It seems forlorn. Scorch marks form an exclamation point over the entrance. The doors gape like a missing tooth. Water is still collected in puddles on the sidewalk. A lone piece of yellow caution tape flaps in the breeze.

Lucifer pulls into his normal place beside the building, hopping out of the car. He doesn't even glance at his home as he stands in the alley.

"Just give me a moment," he tells her.

"Okay." She still doesn't understand what he's up to, but she's willing to see this through.

He walks down the alley, stopping once, then moving on before abruptly stopping again. He backs up a few steps and then turns toward the car. She sees that his eyes are closed. He turns again, slowly in a circle, like a bizarre weather vane. Then he stops.

"That way," he says as he walks back to the Corvette, pointing due west. "And if I know Hell, it will be sixty miles."

"Sixty miles. That's past Victorville. That's the desert. Big place."

"I'm not wrong."

"Not what I'm saying," she answers, as he gets back in and starts the car.

"I'll know it when I see it. In this case, the Devil's intuition is quite real."

She can't argue with that.

They drive out of town, Chloe occasionally leaning over to check the odometer. The city falls behind them as the desert takes hold. The sun beats down mercilessly, baking the earth. Sagebrush and barren ground and low hills stretch as far as the eye can see. Weird outcroppings of rock push up from the desert floor.

At sixty miles, he pulls the car off of the road.

"Here?" she asks.

"That way." He points to the west again, off into the desert.

Chloe gets out of the Corvette, closing the door behind her. "Big place," she repeats.

"He'll be there."

She nods, and together they start walking.

*

It's hot. That's what Chloe thinks as a bead of sweat rolls down her nose, dripping off to fall and strike her shirt. It's hot, and they hadn't even thought to bring water.

"We didn't plan this too well," she says. She hurries to keep up with Lucifer's longer strides, even though she suspects he's slowed down to accommodate her.

"You're not the one walking in this." He gestures at his suit. He's taken off his jacket and slung it over his shoulder, but even in just the vest and shirt, he must be dying.

They're walking up a gradual incline, making good time despite the heat.

"So, when you said you got kidnapped and dumped in the desert, that really happened. Someone got the jump on the Devil."

"Is there a question there?" He gives her a look, and she holds up a hand.

"Sorry. Just making conversation."

"Yes, and I got my bloody wings back, too."

"There's a question. Why?"

"If you believe Amenadiel, it's my own fault."

"Meaning?"

He's quiet for a long moment and she thinks they've wandered into another landmine when he finally speaks again.

"Meaning I felt good about myself. Like for the first time in a long time I wasn't," he glances at her, "a monster."

She looks at him sharply. "Is that how you see yourself?"

"Apparently so. You've seen my Devil face."

She stops. He takes a few more steps, then halts, turning back to her. "Detective?"

"That's not how I see you."

"How can you say that? You've seen the other side of me."

"I've also seen the side of you that's generous. The side of you that's kind. The side of you who died and went to Hell for me. The side of you I care about very much. I told you before that I don't see you that way, and it's still true. You're not a monster to me."

His brow furrows. "Detective...I..."

She smiles at him. "When this is over, we need to have a conversation."

He returns her smile, in a small, confused way. "As you say, Detective."

"Let's just keep moving, okay?"

He nods and after she takes a few steps to catch up with him, they continue up the incline.

It takes them a few minutes to reach the top, and when they do they both freeze in their tracks. Beyond the summit of the hill, where it stretches down the other side is a wide, flat plain, dotted with Joshua trees and the same funky mounds of rock. And on that plain, spanning the distance of a football field...

"What is that?" Chloe asks.

Lucifer takes it in, looking grim. "It should be familiar enough. It's another summoning circle."

*

They walk down the far side of the hill, Chloe wiping sweat from her face. Then she checks that the Glock's holster is unclipped.

"Will bullets stop a demon?" she asks, as an afterthought.

"On this plane of existence? Undoubtedly," he says. "But for your sake, I hope to simply return him to Hell."

"For my sake?"

"I don't imagine you enjoy shooting people," he says, dryly.

Despite the situation, she quips, "Only the ones who ask for it."

"Touché."

By now they've reached the edge of the summoning circle. Chloe stops where an interior line intersects with the outer circle. She crouches down, touching the white marking.

"Spray paint. Can you tell if the circle's been used?"

"Believe me, if it had, you'd know."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you suppose would come through a circle this size?"

She hadn't considered it.

"Demons," he continues. "Several legion's worth."

"I thought you said you put down the rebellion."

"Hell is a big place. I couldn't be expected to check every corner, now could I?"

"And what happens when they come through?"

"The apocalypse. Hell on Earth. End of days. Any of the above."

All things that she now knows are real.

"So, where's this Seir?"

"I thought we'd find him here." He turns in a slow circle, searching for any sign of the demon.

"Lucifer, there's nobody out here except us." The sun beats down on her and she shields her eyes with a hand.

"This makes no sense. A very reliable source told me that we would find him here."

"Maybe they were wrong." She scuffs a foot in the loose gravel. Sweat trickles into her eyes, burning, and she swipes at it. She's well on her way to being dehydrated. "Maybe we should go."

"And suffer who knows what at the hands of this curse?"

"We don't have any water and it's not getting cooler."

He looks at her then, evidently taking in her flushed, sweaty face. He blows out a breath. Maybe he's remembering that she's just a frail human, without an angelic constitution.

"Very well," he says.

They start back up the hill, loose gravel sliding under their feet as they walk. Chloe swears that the incline is steeper going back up.

They're passing one of the mounds of rock that litter the area when she catches a blur of motion from the corner of her eye. She starts to turn, only to have Lucifer fall against her, knocking her to the ground on her stomach.

She rolls quickly to a sitting position, legs splayed in front of her as she pulls her sidearm. A tall, lithe man with winding tattoos up both arms, wearing a long black coat has tackled Lucifer and is trying to choke him. Lucifer has grabbed the man's forearms and is trying to break his grip.

"Seir!" she shouts. "Get off him, or I will shoot."

The demon ignores her, but Lucifer manages to break his hold, bucking up against Seir's body. They roll apart, scrambling to their feet, and Chloe takes aim, only to have Seir rush at Lucifer again. There's no way she can get a clear shot.

They close, trading blows. Lucifer blocks a vicious right hook toward his stomach. Seir counters with a jab that connects and Lucifer doubles up in pain. The demon takes the opportunity to bring his knee up, cracking Lucifer in the nose. Lucifer reels backward and Chloe finally has the opening she's been waiting for.

She brings her pistol up, aiming at Seir. She sights in center mass and squeezes the trigger.

And misses. The shot zings off the rock behind Seir, ricocheting into the desert.

Seir moves with incredible speed, going after Lucifer again. But Lucifer is ready. Blood drips from his nose, but he moves forward to meet Seir once more. The two of them circle each other once, twice and then Lucifer steps in with a powerful blow toward Sier's chest. Chloe hears it connect with a dull thud, and this time it's Seir reeling back.

Seir staggers a few steps and stops, panting. Then he puts his hands into his coat and pulls out two daggers. They remind Chloe of Maze's, except these are longer, with straight, wicked blades. He smiles, darkly.

Chloe takes the opportunity to fire. Seir is holding still. The shot should have dropped him. Instead, all it does is whirl him around and make him clutch at his chest.

Lucifer grins at this, and then his wings appear.

She has never imagined a fight with wings, but that's what unfolds in front of her. Lucifer advances on Seir, and Seir responds by circling to one side, Lucifer tracking the movement like a prowling tiger. He takes another step closer before rushing at the demon, swinging one wing in front of him in a cutting motion.

Seir goes flying backward, somersaulting over onto his stomach, but somehow retaining his grip on his blades. Chloe brings up her weapon again, firing twice, but he's on his feet and moving too fast for her shots to find their mark.

Seir and Lucifer close in again. Seir is in range of Lucifer's wings, but he's also near enough that he can slash at them. Chloe winces as she sees blood fly. Then Lucifer steps even closer, and his wings wrap completely around Seir.

Without any warning, they vanish.

Chloe rushes to the spot in the gravel where they had been, turning in a circle. There's no sign of them. Lucifer's taken Seir back to Hell.

*

Again she waits. Sitting in the shade of the rock formation, she checks her watch. It's been ten minutes. How long does it take to drop an errant demon into Hell? And what if Lucifer's hurt? Can he make the return trip injured?

She swallows, her mouth dry. She feels the beginning of a headache, dehydration officially announcing its arrival. She doesn't know if she can spend hours here waiting. It might kill her to stay.

Another ten minutes go by. Then there's the now-familiar sound of rushing wind, and Lucifer appears before her. There's no gradual fade in, just one heartbeat empty space, and the next his tall frame standing looking at her. That he's alone is a tremendous relief.

She scrambles to her feet as his wings disappear.

"I was worried." She smiles as she walks toward him.

Lucifer doesn't return her smile. He seems puzzled. He has one hand awkwardly pressed against his stomach and Chloe feels her heart start to hammer in her chest.

"Lucifer?" she says. But he's going to his knees, still with that puzzled look on his face. His hand comes away from his stomach, and she sees the red stain that's soaking through his vest.

She runs the last few steps, dropping down beside him.

"Oh, God," she says, pressing on the wound. The blood is hot under her hands and the stain is only spreading wider.

"Wrong deity."

Chloe only presses harder. The bleeding isn't stopping. Not by a long shot.

"The curse is—" He blinks, as though growing more confused. "—broken. Seir is dead."

He starts to slump over, and all she can do is try to take his weight, struggling to lay him down carefully in the dirt.

"If I leave, will you heal?" she asks, fearing the answer.

"Too late for that," he mutters, closing his eyes. His face is pale and sweaty and she's never seen him look so small, so diminished.

"No, no, no," she says. This can't be happening. She yanks out her cell phone.

"It's all right, Detective. You're safe; that's all that matters."

Chapter Text

Maybe miracles are real, too, because Chloe gets a signal in the middle of the desert. She dials 911 with a shaking hand. When the operator answers, she gives her badge number—to hell with her suspension—and tells the operator her partner is down. There will be questions and accusations later, but right now she's past caring.

The operator says Life Flight is on its way.

"Help will be here soon," she says, pressing down on the wound again. "Just stay with me, okay?"

"'Kay." His voice is a pained, hoarse whisper she has to strain to hear.

The wait is interminable. She's watching him die by inches and she can do nothing but sit.

She hears the helicopter before she sees it, the steady whop-whop-whop of the blades clear in the still desert air. The sound becomes a speck on the horizon, then the speck grows larger and larger until the helicopter descends onto the plain in a roar of dirt and wind. Blades whip overhead. Dust billows up, and she shields Lucifer as best she can. Paramedics jump out of the craft and rush over, carrying a backboard between them. Their movements are quick, sure, professional.

"Is there room for me?" Chloe asks. Pleads.

One of the paramedics nods and she follows behind them as they carry Lucifer to the helicopter. Climbing into the craft she takes a seat and straps herself in. The paramedics don't object when she takes his hand in hers. He feels so cold. His eyes stay closed.

He loses consciousness midway through the flight and Chloe has never felt so helpless.

*

An emergency trauma team meets them at the landing pad, and then everything becomes a blur of activity. Chloe trails behind the team, feeling lost as they move through a door and down a set of steps. Arriving in the emergency room, a nurse takes pity on her and guides her to a waiting room.

She sits in a hard plastic chair, staring blankly at a TV screen set to CNN. The fourth time it cycles through a report on drought in the Midwest, she gets up to pace. She glances at her hands and for the first time notices that they're covered in dried blood. Lucifer's blood. She needs to find a bathroom, she thinks, dully, heading for the waiting room door.

The bathroom is a short walk down the hall. Chloe goes to a sink and turns on the water tap. When the water is as hot as it seems like it's going to get, she starts to scrub. Pink water swirls down the drain. She scrubs harder. Her nails won't come clean. She looks up into the mirror and stares into red-rimmed eyes. There's blood on her shirt and a smear of it on her cheek.

Lucifer could die. Her friend. Her partner. Someone she cares about deeply. Someone, who despite everything that's happened in the past few days, she knows she still has feelings for.

She grips the edge of the sink, hard, swallowing back the first tears she's allowed herself as she stumbles away from the counter. Turning, she shoves open one of the stall doors, banging it hard against the wall. Slamming it shut again, she drops onto the toilet. She lowers her head into her wet hands and starts to sob.

*

Chloe eventually stops crying, the sobs trailing off to hiccuping little sounds that echo in the quiet of the bathroom.

She stands and pulls off a length of toilet paper from the dispenser, blowing her nose, tossing the wadded paper into the toilet. Then she scrubs her hands over her face, pressing the heels into her aching eyes. She straightens and opens the door to the stall, walking to the sinks again. The water still runs.

She looks at herself in the mirror and, using a paper towel, rubs the blood off her face. Her shirt is a loss. She doesn't care. Of course, she doesn't care; Lucifer is lying in a surgery room somewhere and he had been so pale and—

Tears threaten, and she silences the thoughts ruthlessly. She's not doing anyone any favors by breaking down again.

The door to the bathroom opens and the same nurse who showed her to the waiting room walks in.

"Detective Decker?"

Hope springs into Chloe's chest. They don't send nurses with the news that a patient has died. Doctors always deliver that blow.

"Yes. Is he—"

"The attending surgeon will be able to fill you in."

"Can I see him?"

"He's sleeping now, but yes. I can take you to him."

Chloe follows the nurse back down the hallway, past the waiting room. The hospital is a maze of corridors and it feels like an eternity before they reach Lucifer's room. Chloe nods her thanks to the nurse and opens the door. A doctor in surgeon's scrubs stands at the foot of the only bed in the room, but Chloe is focused on Lucifer.

She walks over to the bed. He's still deathly pale. His chest rises and falls in a steady, slow rhythm. Monitors beep and ping around him. An IV slowly drips into a catheter. An oxygen cannula hisses softly under his nose.

"You're his partner?" the surgeon asks. "I'm Doctor Norton."

"Yes. We're partners," she answers. "How is he?"

"There was a lot of damage. His heart stopped twice during surgery. But he's doing surprisingly well. Stable, but serious condition."

He'd died. Again. For her.

"When will he wake up?"

"When the anesthesia wears off. When he's ready." The surgeon turns to her. "Do you have any other questions?"

"No. Not now," she says. "Can I stay with him?"

"Of course. Let one of the nurses know if you need anything, Detective," he says, briskly, as he walks from the room.

Left alone, Chloe pulls one of the chairs against the wall closer to the bed. She sits heavily. The monitors ping their steady beat as she takes Lucifer's hand. It seems so unnatural to see him so still.

The 'what-ifs' hit her then. What if Life Flight had been slower? What if Lucifer had been stuck in Hell? What if—

She sighs, running a hand over her face. What-ifs are pointless.

"What were you thinking?" she whispers. "You died."

His eyelids flutter, and he surprises her by opening his eyes half-way. "Detective," he says, rasping out the word.

"You're awake," she says, needlessly.

"It appears so."

She smiles at his attempt at humor. He seems to realize she's holding his hand and squeezes. His grip is weak and Chloe's smile fades.

"I should leave. Let you heal."

"No," he says. "Don't. Please."

"Alright," she replies, softly.

"Good." He reaches up with his free hand and bats at the nasal cannula. "Bloody thing is drying out my nose."

"Here." She pulls it off, setting the tubing beside him on the pillow. "You ended the curse. Thank you."

Thank you. Like that's sufficient.

"This is the second time you've died for me," she says.

He exhales a tired sigh. "The third."

"The...third?"

"Malcolm."

It hits her, hard. She'd heard the shot. Had seen Lucifer fall. Had accepted his claim of 'getting better' without thinking, because only a crazy person would believe...

He's died three times for her.

Again she wonders how much he cares for her if he's willing to go to these lengths to protect her. She thinks about how she feels, how she felt thinking he was gone. She thinks about everything that's happened between them—not just in the past few days.

"Lucifer, I..."

"It's quite alright, Detective. No further thanks are necessary."

"I..."

He looks concerned. "Are you...coping?"

"No. No, I'm fine. Better than fine, actually." She blinks back tears. She thinks about how much she cares for him.

"Good? Are those tears of joy?"

"Uh-huh."

She makes her next decision without hesitation, bending over the bed.

She kisses him.

It's a gentle thing, barely a brush of her lips against his.

"Detective...Chloe," he breathes out. "What was that for?"

"Everything," she answers, and kisses him again.