Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was the worst hangover Chloe Decker had ever experienced in the history of her existence. Worse than after the cast party for Hot Tub High School. Worse than after the Tribe Night she'd shared with Maze, Linda, and Ella—seventeen minutes of which Chloe still could not account for to this day. Hell, it was even worse than the morning after Dan text-dumped her and she woke up naked in Lucifer's bed.

Speaking of which, that was probably where she was right now. Only he could've convinced her to party hard enough to make her head pulse like a bomb about to go off and her stomach roll like the ground during a 7.2 earthquake. He was probably standing over her right now, smiling like a gigantic ass, getting ready to administer his sworn-by hangover cure: hot coffee, cold air, hair of the dog that bit you.

She hoped she was in Lucifer's bed. That way, if she puked, it would soak into his brand new, blood-red Italian silk sheets, ruining them for all eternity. Serve him right.

"Detective?"

The familiar British accent came from somewhere above her. To Chloe's fragile ears, the usually welcome tone of her partner's voice sounded like a cymbal crash. She moaned and turned her head away with an exaggerated "Shhhh!"

"Detective?" he repeated, a little more urgently.

God, she wished her head would just explode already. Let him try to clean that out of the sheets.

Come to think of it, though, this didn't feel like Lucifer's bed after all. It was cold and hard and a little bit damp. Bathroom floor maybe? Praying to the porcelain God instead of the real one, who happened to be Lucifer's actual Dad? Chloe might've laughed at the thought, if she weren't afraid some blood vessel in her brain might burst from the effort.

Why, why, why had she let him talk her into drinking so much? He knew she was a lightweight. Especially compared to him and his bloody "supernatural metabolism" or whatever he called it. Wait, did she just think the word "bloody"? Was she talking like him now, too?

Warm fingers traced the side of her face.

"Wake up. Chloe, please."

It wasn't so much the "please" but the use of her name that made the first sense of wrongness prickle inside her. He always called her "Detective." Never "Chloe." Not unless something really serious was going down. The next thing that hit her was the smell—a very familiar one that she couldn't quite place, but made her inexplicably uneasy.

She forced her eyes open. A blurry blob coalesced into Lucifer's face, hovering a foot above hers, looking pale and anxious. He broke into a smile when he saw her looking at him, but the worry didn't leave his eyes.

"There you are."

Chloe squinted up at her partner as her brain slowly, much too slowly, began to boot up. She tried to remember where they were, what they'd been doing, but everything was so hazy, so fuzzy around the edges…like streetlights in fog.

The last truly clear memory she had was of working with Lucifer at the precinct, trying to chisel a hole in the brick wall that had formed in their latest homicide case. Staying late into the night because their main suspect suddenly had a rock-solid, concrete, 100% bulletproof alibi, and all the evidence they'd collected against her seemed to be slipping through their fingers. The whole case was slipping through their fingers.

Someone was going to get away with murder, which Chloe couldn't stand, and the person who'd killed Lucifer's favorite marijuana grower was going to go unpunished, which Lucifer wouldn't tolerate. So they'd kept hammering away, looking for something, anything they might've missed. And then…and then…

Chloe frowned, reaching, searching…

And then they'd gotten the phone call. A friend of the victim who promised new information about the murder, but was scared to meet out in public. It did sound a little suspicious, but the woman's desperation seemed sincere. Plus, this witness had details about the case that hadn't been released to the public. Hell, she even knew the name of a new, secret strain of weed the victim had been engineering, which was something they'd already been looking at as a possible motive for the murder: a rival pot grower, trying to get ahold of one of the special plants.

So, Chloe and Lucifer had gone to the apartment to meet with their new source. It was at this point that things started getting very murky. Chloe remembered knocking on the door, feeling it swing inward under the force of her knuckles. She remembered a lamp without a shade, its bare bulb burning her retinas, making her blink and shield her face.

She thought she remembered a sudden movement of shadow at the corner of her eye. And then…that smell. That smell that was grating on the very edge of Chloe's consciousness, clawing at her skull, over and over, pounding with every beat of her heart. Insisting with every roll of her stomach that she recognize it, because she was a detective, and it was important, and it was—

"Oh, shit." Chloe abruptly sat up, and came thisclose to vomiting all over Lucifer's favorite Prada suit as he reached out to help steady her.

"Easy, Detective."

His gentle voice and hands should've soothed her, but they couldn't because now she understood the worry shining in his dark eyes. The witness's apartment, the last place she could remember being, was long gone. She and her partner were now in a big, empty warehouse.

And that smell was chloroform.

Chapter Text

"Are you all right?" Lucifer asked anxiously.

She winced, swallowing down the urge to expel her stomach's contents. "I'll live. Did you see the kidnappers?"

He shook his head.

Chloe gestured for him to help her up and he offered his arm, albeit reluctantly.

"I don't get it," she said, struggling to her feet with Lucifer's assistance. She felt around her waistband for her gun, but came up empty. Her phone was also AWOL. "Why would the killer bother to set us up? We weren't even close to catching him."

"Or her," Lucifer chimed in. He'd made it clear he still thought their original suspect was guilty, alibi be damned.

Chloe turned in a slow circle, soaking up the details of the dim warehouse around them. Aside from the chloroform, the air smelled of old mildew and new construction. An odd mix. Lighting was spare—just a few lonely bulbs twinkling high overhead like cold stars. The concrete on the floor looked fresh and carelessly poured, full of bumps and uneven patches. The walls were made of smooth, thick-looking metal. The only furniture was an overturned wrought-iron bench, which seemed to have been bolted to the floor at one point and then ripped out. Of the two doors that Chloe could see, both were solid iron, painted red, and badly dented.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her mutinous stomach. "No matter who the killer is, there was no reason to interfere with the case. We had nothing on anyone."

"Yes, but perhaps whoever it is knows we'll get them in the end. We always do, after all." Lucifer's eyes held a hellish gleam as he said it.

It was a fair point, but Chloe's gut didn't quite buy it. Kidnapping a cop and her partner just because they might someday solve the case? Her eyes fell on the overturned bench again, this time noticing traces of red paint on one of the arm rests. She looked back to the battered doors, then at her partner. "Did you dent the doors in like that?"

"Well, I wasn't just going to sit around, twiddling my bloody thumbs while you were lying there unconscious."

Chloe glanced at the mutilated iron doors again, this time with newfound appreciation. It was easy to forget how powerful Lucifer was, given how rarely he showed his true strength. He'd probably even ripped that bench out of the floor before using it as a battering ram.

Her admiration for her partner's celestial abilities quickly dissolved, however, when she realized the implications. They were trapped in a building so secure even Lucifer couldn't break out of it. They had no food or water, and the walls were almost certainly soundproof. What if the kidnapper simply…left them here and never came back?

An image flashed through Chloe's mind of the man who'd died out in the desert after being "fake" kidnapped as a prank. His hand reaching out for salvation that would never come as he slowly baked to death under the unforgiving sun. Lucifer himself had only survived that incident because he'd been immortal at the time. But now, being this close to Chloe, he was every bit as mortal as she was. And dying of dehydration and starvation was much slower than dying of heatstroke. It could take days.

Chloe shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Here," Lucifer said, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders.

She wrapped the garment tighter, allowing herself a few precious seconds to savor the warmth of the fabric and the soap-and-spice smell of its owner. She smiled at her partner. "Thanks."

Lucifer smiled kindly back at her, looking far more like an angel than the Devil he actually was.

"How long do you think we've been here?" Chloe asked. There were no windows, so no way to gauge time of day, or gain clues about their location.

Lucifer cleared his throat. "I've no idea. I only woke a short time before you did."

Chloe noticed him glance down at something in his hand. Hope prickled in her chest. "What're you holding?" She took an eager step forward. "A phone?"

He shot her a flat look. "Why, yes, Detective—I've had my phone this entire time. I was just about to ask if you wanted to order take-out. There's this new Chinese place that's positively heavenly."

Aaaand the Devil was back. She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm as he opened his palm to show her what was actually in it: a small piece of silvery-white fabric with a black pattern on it that matched his vest. The little pocket square from his jacket. Chloe was about to ask what he was doing with it when he suddenly brought it to his mouth to cover a small cough.

Lucifer regarded the makeshift hankie with a look of distaste before lowering his arm. On closer inspection, Chloe belatedly registered the fact that her usually-impeccable partner's shirt was partially untucked, spilling out from under his vest. His hair was also disheveled—in a very boyish, not-at-all unattractive way—and his face was several shades whiter than usual, making the darkness of his eyes stand out in stark contrast.

He might be the Devil, but he'd still been drugged and kidnapped, just like she had. His head was probably pounding as badly as hers was, his stomach fighting just as hard to keep ahold of its contents. And he was far less accustomed to these unpleasant sensations of mortality than Chloe was.

The fact that he put himself in harm's way every single day, that he was actually willing to give up life everlasting, just to be by her side, never failed to floor her.

"How're you feeling?" she asked, mentally berating herself for not asking sooner.

Lucifer waved a hand. "Oh, I'm fine." He coughed again into the balled-up fabric and winced with displeasure at the action. "Well, nothing a little hair of the dog wouldn't cure, at any rate."

Chloe rested a sympathetic hand on his arm. "It's just the chloroform irritating your lungs. You'll feel better once it's cleared out of your system."

A loud, thunder-like crackle made them both flinch and look up at the ceiling.

A woman's voice suddenly filled the warehouse, emanating from speakers Chloe couldn't see.

"It's not," the mystery woman said. "And he won't."

Chapter Text

A gleeful, devilish smile lit Lucifer's face as he looked at the ceiling. "Well hello, kidnapper! How nice of you to join the party! I must admit, I find your accommodations subpar. Not to mention your party favors. If you're going to drug people, you could at least have the decency to use the good stuff."

When the woman didn't respond, Lucifer went on, "Also, it's rather rude not to be here in person, don't you think? We'd like to see the face of our gracious host. I'd be more than happy to show you mine in return." His eyes gleamed brighter, and Chloe knew exactly which face he was talking about.

"Hello, Mr. Morningstar, Detective Decker," the mystery woman said at last, and Chloe grudgingly gave her some props for ignoring Lucifer's taunts. "I'm sorry to have to bring you here under these circumstances, but there was no other way."

Lucifer opened his mouth, probably to try to antagonize the kidnapper some more, but Chloe shushed him and took control.

"Look, whoever you are, you should know that our colleagues at the LAPD knew exactly where we were going tonight, and they will find a way to track us here. Also, no matter what happens to us, they're going to continue investigating the Fernando Ruiz case until they find the killer. So, whatever you have planned, it's not going to work out."

"This has nothing to do with the Ruiz case," the woman replied calmly. "Though I do wish you luck in solving that one. No murderer should ever go unpunished…wouldn't you agree, Mr. Morningstar?"

Lucifer tilted his head at the speakers, his eyes practically glowing. "Oh, yes. All killers should get their dues. And rapists. And thieves. And kidnappers. Care to know what the punishment is for that down in the bowels of Hell?"

"I'm sure I'll find out, soon enough," the woman said, sounding tired. "But we can't talk about it now. You two have a case to solve, and there's not much time."

Chloe's brow furrowed. Her neck was getting sore, having a conversation with the ceiling. "A case?"

"It's why I brought you here. Six years ago, a man named Martin Collins was convicted of bludgeoning his girlfriend to death. Twenty-four hours from now, Martin is scheduled to die from a lethal injection."

"Sounds like everything's in order then," Lucifer chirped. "Can we go now?"

Again, the woman pointedly ignored him. "I know, with absolute certainty, that Martin did not commit this crime."

"How can you be sure?" Chloe asked.

"I'm his mother."

Chloe and Lucifer shared a look. Mothers always believed their babies were incapable of murder. John Wayne Gacy's mom probably still thought he was a saint to this day.

Chloe cleared her throat. "Um, do you have any other reason to believe in Martin's innocence?"

"Yes, like actual evidence?" Lucifer put in.

"No," the woman stated flatly. "That's why you're here. You two are going to go over the investigation, as closely as possible and as many times as it takes to prove what I know in my heart is true. That Martin didn't kill that girl. And he doesn't deserve to die." Her voice shook slightly on the last few words, betraying her cool exterior for the first time.

Lucifer stared at the ceiling for a long beat, then declared, "Nope. Sorry. Not interested."

"You should be."

"Why? Because I'm the Devil, and I'm all about punishing evil?"

"That, and because you're on a very literal deadline."

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. "Oh? And what's that?"

"If you don't solve this case, Martin's not the only one who'll die in twenty-four hours. You will, too."

Chapter Text

"So, you're going to kill us if we don't manage to exonerate your son before his execution?" Chloe asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Not you," the woman said. "Just him. And technically speaking, I already have."

Lucifer raised his eyebrows. "Really?" He made a big show of looking his very-much-alive self up and down, wiggling his fingers in front of his face, then at the ceiling. "Because you seem to have done a pretty piss poor job of it."

The kidnapper sighed. "You probably can't feel it much yet, but while you were unconscious, I injected you with…well, let's call it a virus. A highly lethal one. You'll be lucky if you make it the full twenty-four hours."

"Why should we believe you?" Chloe asked, fighting the cold knot that was starting to form in her gut. "You could just be saying that to get what you want."

"When his symptoms start to manifest, there'll be no doubt. But if you need proof now, check his right arm."

Chloe nodded at Lucifer, who unbuttoned his right cuff and rolled up the sleeve. They both stared down at the crook of his arm, where Chloe could clearly see a tiny needle-prick, surrounded by a blue-green bruise about the size of a quarter. She shivered despite the warmth of Lucifer's jacket around her. The mark looked eerily reminiscent of the one she'd had after that deranged professor had injected her with his designer poison.

Chloe slowly looked up at the ceiling. "So, you said it's a virus?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"But…you'll give him the cure if we solve your son's case?"

"Oh, no. There is no cure. It is one hundred percent lethal. Anyone who contracts it is as good as dead."

Lucifer's eyes did flash then, looking like rubies lit from behind by hellfire. "If the Detective gets sick because of what you've done—"

"She won't. I promise you. It's not contagious from person to person—it has to be directly injected. I don't want anyone to die—not Martin, not your partner, not even the great Lucifer Morningstar. Why do you think I chose you in the first place? Because you're the only one who has a chance of surviving."

"How can he survive when you've already injected him and you said there's no cure?" Chloe challenged.

"The only reason he'll get sick is because he's stuck in there with you. As soon as you find the evidence to exonerate Martin, I'll open the door and let you out. Once you two are separated, he'll start to get better. Assuming he isn't already too far gone."

Lucifer, despite the kidnapper's assurance that he wasn't contagious, had already backed a good distance away from Chloe. He paused, however, when the woman's words sank in. His eyes narrowed at the ceiling. "How do you know that?"

"I know all about you, Mr. Morningstar. I know who you are. I know what you are. I know all of your weaknesses, your strengths, your vulnerabilities."

"How—" Chloe began.

"It doesn't matter! Right now, all you need to know is that I've watched you—both of you—for some time. I know you're good people—" The woman laughed bitterly "—yes, the Devil himself is a good person—imagine my surprise at that—and you'll both work hard, not just to save Mr. Morningstar's life, but to save an innocent young man, as well."

Chloe blinked against the burn of tears in her eyes. "If you truly believe that, then let us go. I promise I will use every resource at the LAPD to solve your son's case before his execution. I'm a mother, too. If my daughter's life were on the line…" She swallowed roughly. "I can't imagine what you're going through, and I admire you for doing whatever it takes to save Martin, but this isn't the way."

Chloe stared up at the ceiling, willing her words to penetrate.

After a long pause, the woman sighed. "I'm sorry, Detective Decker. I wish I could take that chance, but I can't. Not with Martin's life, and certainly not with his soul. If he dies tomorrow, he'll go to Hell, and I can't allow that to happen."

Lucifer—now standing even further away—shot an annoyed look at the ceiling. "If your son truly is innocent, then he will not go to Hell, I assure you."

"I'm afraid he will, Mr. Morningstar. Because, you see, Martin believes he is guilty."

Chapter Text

Lucifer's laughter boomed through the warehouse despite Chloe's best efforts to shush him.

"Oh, that's bloody brilliant! Even the person we're supposed to prove is innocent thinks he did it? Well, I suppose Father always did have a twisted sense of humor…"

"I'm right, aren't I?" the woman persisted, ignoring Lucifer's outburst. "An innocent person could end up in Hell, if he feels guilty enough?" Her voice held a desperate edge, like she was hoping against hope to be proven wrong.

Lucifer glared at the ceiling. "Most people who go to Hell deserve to be there."

His choice of wording wasn't lost on Chloe. "Most"—not "all."

Meaning that, even though he didn't want to say it outright, there were people in Hell who didn't deserve to be there. At least, in his opinion.

"Then-" The woman's voice cracked a little "-then it's even more important that you get to work."

"How?" Chloe asked, something cracking inside her too. The kidnapper wasn't the only person facing the loss of someone she loved. Facing the knowledge of that person being trapped in Hell for all eternity. "How are we supposed to investigate a murder if we're stuck inside a warehouse? To even have a chance of solving this, we need to look at evidence, read the case file, talk to witnesses."

"You'll have access to everything the original investigators uncovered. Photos, interviews, forensic reports. If you need something more, I'll try my absolute best to provide it for you."

"How gracious of you," Lucifer drawled, then quickly brought his hand up to cover another cough.

Chloe shivered. Even with the original case file on hand, it would be damn near impossible to solve a murder this cold without being able to go out in the field. They'd have no way to re-interview old witnesses or dig up new ones. They wouldn't be able to visit the crime scene or consult with any forensics experts about new theories. And all of this was assuming Martin's innocence. What if the police got it right the first time around, and he really was guilty as sin?

At this moment, escape seemed like a better option than solving a potentially unsolvable case. There had to be some way out of here. She and Lucifer would just have to find it. Once he was safe, Chloe would keep her word. She'd do everything in her power to determine if Martin was innocent, and, if so, to save his life.

But she was damn sure going to save Lucifer's life first.

Chloe straightened her shoulders, the decision made.

"I know you're still thinking you can escape," the kidnapper said, as if reading Chloe's mind. "And I know you won't be able to fully focus on Martin's case if you're busy planning your own jailbreak. That's why I'm going to give you ten minutes, ten very precious minutes, to try your best to get free. I encourage you to fight hard, to make absolutely sure there's no way out. Once those ten minutes are up, I will unlock the door on your right. Inside, you'll find everything you need to get through the next twenty-four hours."

Chloe was already looking around the warehouse, weighing all of their options.

"Before I start the clock, you should know that I've placed solid iron wards in the floor to prevent Mr. Morningstar or any of his celestial friends—be they angels or demons—from hearing telepathic cries for help, or entering or leaving the warehouse via supernatural means. Wings will not work in there. The same goes for teleportation. You should also know that, if Mr. Morningstar dies, I plan on destroying his body immediately afterwards to prevent any chance of his soul's return. And, should his soul return to a different body, I will make it my personal mission to hunt him down and kill him in that form too. As many times as you come back, I will kill you. Over and over again, for as long as I live."

Chloe's eyes filled with tears. The word tore from her throat before she could stop it: "Why?"

"Because as long as Martin is in Hell, suffering for your failure to save him, then you will suffer for it too. Your ten minutes start now."

Chapter Text

"Is she telling the truth?" Chloe asked. "About the wards?"

She'd originally assumed the bumpy cement floor had just been hastily poured. Now that she was really looking, though, she could see small bits of metal protruding from the concrete. They didn't look to be in any specific pattern, though. At least not to her.

Lucifer, still standing a good twenty feet away, squatted down to inspect the floor. He ran his fingers delicately over the bits of iron, a frown of concentration forming on his face as he traced the symbols. It looked like he was reading a complex passage of Braille. After a moment, his gaze traveled to the corner nearest him, then the middle of the floor, then the far corner.

Lucifer sighed and stood back up. "It would appear so. I doubt even Amenadiel could hear my prayers through all this noise."

Chloe's eyes widened. "These little pieces of metal can block prayers? Like…even to your Dad?"

Her partner laughed, which quickly turned into a stifled cough. "No warding on earth is powerful enough to block prayers to Him. Even now, He's fully aware of our predicament. Just don't hold your breath waiting for Him to do something about it."

Chloe chewed her lip. Despite Lucifer's lack of faith in his Father, she still felt better knowing someone could hear them. Even if that someone was very, very far away. And, speaking of distance…she walked briskly to the overturned bench and picked up one of the broken-off, rusty bolts that had once held it to the floor.

"Here," she said, approaching Lucifer with the bolt.

Her partner backed away.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Stop avoiding me. She already said you're not contagious."

"Right, and kidnappers are so well known for their trustworthiness."

Nonetheless, he held still long enough for her to hand him the jagged bolt. He clutched the stupid pocket square over his face like a surgical mask the whole time. Knowing he was only trying to protect her, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes again.

"Okay, now you can move away from me," Chloe instructed, shooing him backwards.

"Why is it that human women can never seem to make up their minds?" Lucifer asked, obediently retreating once again.

Chloe backed up, too. Soon they were in opposite corners of the warehouse, the farthest apart they could get given the confines of the space. "All right," she said, "now scratch yourself with that bolt."

"What, you want me to get Tetanus, as well?"

"You're not going to get full-blown Tetanus in twenty-four hours," Chloe countered. "We need to test if we're far enough apart to affect your mortality."

Lucifer sighed. "Very well." He pressed the sharp tip of the broken bolt against the inner part of his right forearm and dragged the metal across his skin with a force that made Chloe wince. A second later, he held up the arm, now sporting a bloody scratch.

"Damn," Chloe whispered. She'd known it was a long shot, but still. Feeling the seconds slipping away from them, she turned her attention back to the floor. "Can you knock some of these iron pieces out of the concrete? Maybe mess up the wards enough to get a message through to your brother?"

Lucifer dutifully retrieved the bench and set to work bashing it against the pavement, trying to dislodge some of the symbols. Chloe, meanwhile, went around to inspect the two doors Lucifer had dented earlier. She paid minimal attention to the smaller door—the kidnapper had told them she intended to open that one soon, anyway, which meant it did not lead to freedom.

The larger door had no knob or handle, and was obviously bolted from the outside. The hinges were on the other side as well, eliminating the possibility of simply removing the pins. Chloe took a few steps back, sizing up her opponent. Eyes narrowed in determination, she slid her arms into the sleeves of Lucifer's jacket. The silky lining tingled her skin, making the tiny hairs stand up. Without letting herself consider the futility of the action, she ran at the door and threw her shoulder into it, full-force.

Chloe just barely managed to swallow back her scream in time. She stumbled away from the door, hissing and rubbing her arm. Admittedly, it had been a stupid move. But she was desperate, and sometimes the two went hand-in-hand.

Across the warehouse, sparks shot up from where Lucifer was working on the floor—beautiful sprays of white light reflecting off the concrete fog already rising from his efforts. The clanking of metal against cement echoed through the whole building like a cold heartbeat.

Chloe circled the perimeter, searching for any pinpricks of illumination that might indicate hidden windows. Some tiny chink in the warehouse's apparently impenetrable armor. When the deafening pulse stopped abruptly, she looked over to find Lucifer, sweating and breathless, examining the results of his labor.

"It would appear that this iron runs several feet deep," he reported. "I'm afraid it would take hours to excavate even a few pieces. And I doubt that would be enough to significantly disrupt the wards…I can keep trying, though, if you like." He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her.

"No, that's okay. Just take it easy for a minute. We'll think of something else." Chloe tried not to let her voice betray her mounting sense of helplessness. How many minutes had it been so far? Five? Six? And they were no closer to escaping, or even sending out an SOS.

She looked back at the door she'd collided with. Her shoulder flashed with pain, warning her not to do it again. Instead, Chloe walked over and picked up a fist-sized chunk of concrete that Lucifer had dislodged. He shot her another questioning look.

"She put a lot of effort into reinforcing those doors," Chloe said. "Maybe she wasn't as careful when she did the walls."

Chloe started off along the perimeter again, this time pausing every few feet to strike the wall with the piece of concrete. She listened for any signs of hollowness or weakness, looked for any spots that dented in under her blows. Lucifer picked up his own hunk of cement and followed her lead, heading in the opposite direction. The noise of their combined effort was deafening. Like a construction site times ten.

Good, Chloe thought. The more racket we make, the more likely someone outside might hear us.

Sweat trickled down her back, and her ears felt like they were bleeding, but she didn't stop until the concrete in her hand literally crumbled to dust. Looking back at her handiwork, Chloe saw that she'd only managed to ding the walls in a few places, nothing more. Lucifer was having better luck, creating some good-sized dents in several spots, but in the end even he didn't come close to punching through.

He finally tossed what was left of his cement chunk—a handful of tiny pebbles—to the floor and glanced over at Chloe. A trickle of blood ran down his right arm, cutting a vivid red trail through the chalky concrete particles coating his skin.

"All right," he panted, "what's the next plan?"

Chloe bit her lip, not wanting to admit that she didn't have one. Well, she did, but he wasn't going to like it. At all. She slowly crossed the room to stand in front of him, her footsteps echoing in the hollow space between them.

"Well?" Lucifer asked. "Shall we try for the ceiling?"

She could tell he wasn't joking. He would pitch cement speedballs at the roof all day long if she told him to. Lucifer wouldn't care that their time was almost up—he had absolutely no intention of going along with the kidnapper's "itinerary." It was the fire of his nature—to rebel. To fight the inevitable. To rip the reins away from the rider trying to steer him, and gallop off in the opposite direction. Lucifer would rather incinerate himself in a blaze of defiant glory than submit—even an inch—to his enemy's demands.

Right now, their kidnapper was the enemy. She was in control, hauling hard on the bit, trying to make him to do something against his will. Somehow, Chloe had to convince him to see it another way. To go against his nature, just this once.

God help her.

She reached out and took Lucifer's dusty hand in hers. He tensed—probably still worried about giving her cooties—but he didn't pull away.

"Listen, Lucifer…I hate to say it, but I think at this point our best bet might be to just go along with what the kidnapper wants us to do—"

His eyes darkened before she even finished saying the words.

Swallowing, Chloe pressed on. "I know how much you hate when people try to force you to do things. When they try to take away your free will. I hate it, too. This woman has no right to do what she's done."

Lucifer's face had become a mask. Flat, expressionless. "But?"

"But what if she hadn't gone about it this way? What if she'd just come to us at the precinct and begged for our help in exonerating her son? I truly believe we would've helped her. I don't want an innocent person to die, and I know you don't either. So, if we help her now, it's really just choosing to do what we would've done anyway...isn't it?"

Lucifer said nothing, his eyes cold flecks of obsidian.

Chloe played her trump card: "What if it were my life on the line? Would you do as the kidnapper asked if it meant saving me?"

His face immediately softened. "Of course, Detective. I would never let anything happen to you."

"Then don't let this happen to me. Choose to help me with this case, so we can both walk out of here. Because I really, really don't want you to die." She didn't try to hide the way her voice shook. She wanted him to hear it. To feel it.

"So, what then? She just…gets away with this?" Lucifer asked, his own voice laced with bitterness.

Chloe shook her head. "No, she doesn't. Right now, we're gonna focus on saving Martin. And you. Later, when this is all over, then you and I will hunt her down—together—and make her pay for what she's done…" Chloe took a deep breath "…Deal?"

Lucifer's eyes gleamed, alight with thoughts of punishment. A hint of a feral smile touched his lips.

"Deal, Detective," he said, tightening his warm grip on Chloe's hand.

It might've just been her imagination, but Chloe swore she felt a tiny bolt of electricity pass between them, sealing her deal with the Devil. She shivered at the intensity of his gaze. His eyes had never looked deeper, darker…

A loud creeee-eak made her jump. Lucifer released her hand, breaking the connection as they both looked over at the small iron door, which had just swung open.

"Time to get to work," the kidnapper said.

Chapter Text

Chloe cautiously approached the open door, Lucifer by her side. The space beyond was dark. She found a light switch and flicked it on, revealing a small bathroom containing a sink, two wastebaskets, a paper towel dispenser, a mirror, and a toilet Chloe could only hope was functional. There was no one inside the room—the kidnapper must've opened the door remotely.

Aside from the usual bathroom stuff, the tiny space was also sardine-packed with other items: a folded-up cot, a card table, a blank whiteboard with markers on the ledge, a Google Chromebook complete with spare battery packs, a printer, a large cardboard box that was too heavy for Chloe to lift, several yellow legal pads and pens, a digital timer already steadily counting down the hours until their deadline, and—in the very back corner—two green-and-silver medical oxygen tanks mounted on wheels. A neat coil of clear tubing, ending in a hospital-style oxygen mask, hung from the handle of one tank. Both gauges read "FULL."

An eerie shiver ran through Chloe at the sight of the canisters. Maybe they were related to the case somehow. Evidence, or something.

She and Lucifer quickly hauled everything out and set up an approximation of their usual command center: computer, printer, and timer on the card table, whiteboard at an angle off to the left. The cot was too low to sit on and see the computer screen, so they righted the battered bench and dragged it over in front of the table. Chloe wasn't sure what to do with the oxygen tanks. She ended up leaving them by the wall just outside the bathroom door.

While the Chromebook fired up, Chloe and Lucifer tore into the cardboard box. The flaps folded back to uncover a large first aid kit sitting in a nest of about thirty granola bars, a few bags of chips and pretzels, one Hershey's Gold Bar—Chloe's current go-to comfort food—and one bag of Earl's Cool Ranch Puffs, which were Lucifer's staple on any stakeout.

Chloe shivered again, despite the warmth of Lucifer's jacket. The kidnapper said she had watched them, knew everything about them. Had she included their favorite snacks as a kind gesture? Or was it more of a subtle reminder that she really had done her homework, down to the last detail? A warning, maybe, that trying to outsmart her would be an epic mistake. I see all. I KNOW all.

Oblivious to Chloe's concerns, Lucifer snatched the puffs with a call of "Dibs!" and set the bag beside him on the bench.

"Oh, look, Detective—one of your freakish yellow chocolates." He tossed the Gold Bar in Chloe's direction and dug deeper into the loot.

About twenty bottled sports drinks—Gatorade and Power-Ade and the like—filled the bottom of the container, along with a handful of energy drinks. No wonder the box had weighed a ton.

Lucifer scoffed in disgust at the beverage offerings. "We're to be stuck here for twenty-four hours and this is all we get? Colored water? She could've at least thrown in a bottle of Scotch or two…"

He shoved the box under the bench with one foot and scratched absently at the cut on his arm. The wound wasn't terribly deep, but it was jagged and angry-looking and still oozing a little. Chloe bent down to retrieve the first aid kit. She pulled out an alcohol swab, a tube of Neosporin, and a large-sized Band-Aid.

Lucifer hissed and tried to pull away as she swiped his injury with the alcohol.

"Geez, you're worse than Trixie," Chloe admonished, grabbing him by the wrist. "Hold still."

He finally stopped squirming and settled under her touch. The burn of rubbing alcohol filled the air, stinging Chloe's nostrils as she scrubbed away dried blood. She finished cleaning him up, smeared some ointment on the wound, and gently smoothed a Band-Aid over it. She felt better as soon as the gash was out of sight.

Situation handled.

"There," Chloe said, rolling his sleeve back up and buttoning it at the cuff. "Now you won't get Tetanus."

She glanced up to find Lucifer watching her with that awed, almost disbelieving expression he sometimes got when someone was kind to him. Despite all of her efforts, she knew that deep down, he still didn't think the Devil was worth anyone's concern, much less love. It cracked her heart every time she saw it, and she had to busy herself with putting the ointment away so he wouldn't see the tears shining in her eyes.

Before closing the kit, she mentally made note of its other contents, so she'd know what was available. Just in case they needed something later.

When her eyes were safely clear, she took a deep breath, closed the lid, and looked up at Lucifer. "Well…are we ready to start cracking this thing?"

He gave her a small smile and a tiny bow of deference. "Lead on, Detective."

They both turned to the computer, where the case file was ready and waiting for them on the screen.

Chapter Text

"How're you feeling?" Chloe asked, casting Lucifer a sidelong glance.

They'd been working for about an hour, just getting to know the basics of the case. The whiteboard already had numerous notes scribbled on it, as well as several photographs taped up with Band-Aids. Chloe had written names and captions under each picture. Lucifer, of course, had added his own embellishments.

Rose Alvarez – Victim, 27 (horrible taste in men!)

Martin Collins – Boyfriend, 29, Blacked Out at Time of Killing—No Memory, Convicted of the Murder (probably because he DID IT!)

Keith Ferguson – Having an Affair with the Vic (why didn't the boyfriend kill THIS miscreant instead?), Has an Alibi for Night of Murder

Next up on the agenda was the forensic report. Seventy-eight pages of intricate scientific data and gruesome crime scene pictures that neither one of them was fully qualified to analyze. Chloe needed her partner at the top of his game.

"I'm fine," Lucifer said, then immediately turned his head to cover a cough.

Chloe narrowed her eyes.

"Just a little tickle," he assured her.

She fixed him with a very serious look. "You have to tell me if you start feeling really sick, okay?"

He nodded.

They turned back to the computer to face all the gory details of how Rose had been bludgeoned to death with a collectible beer stein from Brimstone, the pub where she tended bar. Looking back and forth between the vibrant, model-gorgeous Latina smiling on the whiteboard and the plastic-wrapped corpse on the screen, Chloe felt a little sick herself.

Rose's once-sparkling brown eyes were now cloudy and lightless, wide open but seeing nothing. Her sleek black hair was a mess, dried blood gluing it to her face in some places, the plastic in others. The left side of her head was a sunken crater. She'd been found in the trunk of her boyfriend's car, along with the murder weapon, both wrapped in a clear tarp.

The boyfriend, Martin, had been discovered passed out in the driver's seat, Rose's blood on his hands. His fingerprints were the only ones on the beer stein, which was also plastered with Rose's blood and even some bits of her skull. Rose's apartment, which she had shared with Martin, looked like someone had played paintball in the living room using red ammo.

Chloe clicked through multiple close-ups of Rose's injuries, the crime scene, and the beer stein, forcing herself to study each one. She sagged in relief when the next image in the file was just a scanned report. Black words on a white page, no scarlet splatters in sight.

She leaned forward, reading. "God, Martin's DNA was all over her…"

"Probably because he's guilty!" Lucifer half-shouted the last word, flashing a defiant look at the ceiling.

"Maybe, but even strangulation vics don't usually have this much of the killer's DNA on them, and there's way more skin-to-skin contact with that COD than there is with bludgeoning."

"Well, they were boyfriend and girlfriend," Lucifer pointed out. "Lots of skin-to-skin contact there. Now that I think about it, my DNA's probably all over yo—"

"Lucifer!" Chloe hissed, her cheeks burning. The kidnapper was no doubt listening to everything they said.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, Detective. I'm sure yours is on me, too."

Chloe buried her face in her palm. Later. She would kill him later. After she saved his life.

"Yes, Rose and Martin were boyfriend and girlfriend," Chloe conceded, "but by all accounts they hadn't been intimate in several days." She re-read the report, frowning at the bits she didn't quite follow. Where was Ella when you needed her? Right now, Chloe would kill for one of her friend's rambling, nerdy, strangely illuminating explanations.

"This just feels…off. It's like someone took a salt shaker filled with Martin's skin and hair and fingernails and sprinkled it all over her."

"Are you saying there's too much evidence of Martin's guilt?" Lucifer asked, eyebrows raised.

Chloe huffed a little laugh, surprised at how it sounded. "Yeah, I guess I am."

She stood up and walked to the whiteboard. Earlier, she'd drawn a large green rectangle in the upper right corner. A place to note down anything about the original case that didn't quite add up. Until now, it had remained empty. Chloe picked up the green marker and squeaked out the words, "Too much DNA?"

She quickly capped the marker, stifling its horrible fake lime scent, and stepped back to look at what she'd written. Not much, but it was a start. Chloe sat down beside Lucifer again, his hip a reassuring warmth pressing against hers.

They got back to work.

Chapter Text

Several hours into their "investigation," Chloe and Lucifer had learned a lot more about the case. The only problem was, very little of it was helpful to their current cause. The green box still only contained the one item about Martin's DNA, and even that was more of a gut feeling on Chloe's part than anything else.

Sadly, most of what they'd read pointed to the exact same conclusion that the police had originally come to: that Martin Collins bashed his girlfriend's head in with a beer stein, presumably in a drunken rage after he found out she was cheating on him.

Numerous witnesses put him at Brimstone, alone, drinking heavily. No one remembered exactly when he'd left the pub, but it was definitely before 9pm because that was when the establishment's weekly Friday night trivia game started. A video of the event had been streamed to Brimstone's Facebook page, and Martin appeared nowhere in the footage. Martin himself admittedly didn't recall anything between 8pm that night and the next morning, when he awoke in his car, covered in Rose's blood.

The victim, Rose, had been off work on the night of her murder. Keith Ferguson, the man she'd been sleeping with on the side, had tended bar until just before 9pm on the evening in question, then taken off to see a special anniversary screening of the first Weaponizer movie with one of the other bartenders. The two men hadn't gotten out of the packed theatre until well after 1am. Ticket stubs, surveillance footage, and eyewitness accounts all backed up this claim.

Given that the movie ran from 10pm-12:30am, and Rose's TOD was estimated to be between 10-11pm, that put Keith in the clear for her murder. Which was bad, because he was the best potential suspect outside of Martin. Not to mention the prosecution's most damning witness.

"We knew cheating was wrong, but we were in love," Keith had said on the stand. "Rose was working up the courage to leave Martin so we could be together. She knew it was the right thing to do, but she was nervous about how he would react. Like, scared. I guess she had a reason to be. I…I should've been there to protect her when she confronted Martin. Instead, I went to a fucking movie. And now she's gone. My future is gone."

There wasn't an actual video of the trial, but Chloe could easily imagine Keith's spiky red-gold hair slicked down neatly as he took the witness stand, his vivid green Luck-of-the-Irish eyes shining with tears and sincerity as he said the words. A damning witness, indeed.

Almost equally damning were Martin's lack of alibi, his memory gap, his drinking, his terrible, horrible, very bad day at work—he ran a small construction company and had just lost not one but two big contracts to a rival bidder—and his freakishly massive biceps, which left no doubt about his physical capability to carry out the murder.

Martin's behavior following his conviction wasn't doing him any favors, either. He'd torpedoed most of his lawyer's attempts at appeals, effectively speeding up the timeline of his own execution. It was as if he actually wanted to die.

Putting it all together, the picture did not look good.

Of course, there were a few factoids in the case that didn't point directly to Martin. Unfortunately, they didn't really lead anywhere else helpful, either.

Rose, according to the autopsy report, had been six weeks pregnant at the time of her death. DNA testing had confirmed Martin as the father. Which should have been a point in his favor, since he'd always talked passionately to friends and family about his desire to be a dad one day. It was also a possible reason Rose might have changed her mind about leaving Martin and decided to stay in the relationship.

Except…there was not one spec of evidence suggesting she even knew she was pregnant, much less who the father was. No visit to her OBGYN, no appointments scheduled, no home pregnancy tests purchased with Rose's credit card, no mentions of the baby even to her closest friends.

In addition to the pregnancy, Chloe was surprised to learn that Rose had been on the payroll as a confidential informant for the FBI. Apparently, her cousin was an active member of the 18th Street Gang, and Rose occasionally leaked info to the feds based on overheard phone conversations when her cousin was in town visiting. Rose's intel had resulted in a few low-level busts, but nothing too major. Still, the gang was a very powerful—and very dangerous—organization to be making enemies with and Chloe thought they might've finally caught a break in Martin's case.

However, as Lucifer correctly pointed out, La 18 had their own distinctive style of punishment. Snitches very literally ended up in ditches…usually with their heads disconnected from their bodies. When the gang killed someone, they wanted everybody and their mother to know it. The intent was to send a clear message to other potential informants: Shut up, or else. Bludgeoning someone to death and framing the person's boyfriend didn't fit with that agenda.

In the end, both Rose's pregnancy and her status as federal employee had only served to help the prosecution in their pursuit of the death penalty.

Which brought the whole thing back to Martin, and the clock currently ticking away beside the computer. 19:54. Nineteen hours, fifty-four minutes left before he was strapped down on a table and injected with a lethal cocktail of drugs like a dog being put to sleep. Nineteen hours, fifty-four minutes left before Lucifer suffered an equally gruesome fate.

Chloe sighed and rubbed her temples. Beside her, Lucifer coughed into his now very bedraggled pocket square. She remembered the afternoon a few years back when Trixie had arrived home from school announcing that eight kids in her class were out with the flu.

While Lucifer stood over in the corner, giving "the child" an even wider berth than usual, Chloe had taken the opportunity to reiterate some good hygiene practices with her daughter. Remembering to wash hands, especially before eating. Not sharing a bottle of Coke with her friend Eliza at lunchtime. And, if Trixie did get sick, coughing and sneezing into a tissue or her sleeve. That would at least help keep the illness from spreading to others.

During the discussion, Lucifer had been busy playing that sex words game with Maze on his phone. As usual, not paying the slightest attention to something so non-relevant to him. Or so Chloe thought.

And yet, a week later, when Trixie inevitably came down with the flu—despite getting her vaccine—Chloe had spotted Lucifer bravely crossing the room to shove a box of tissues at the little girl when she started to cough.

Cover that up, child—we don't want your mum to get sick.

Chloe should've known, even back then, that when it came to issues of "his Detective's" safety and well-being, Lucifer was always paying attention.

Chloe blinked, realizing she'd been staring blankly at Martin's picture on the whiteboard for several minutes. She'd chosen to print the photo from his driver's license, rather than his mug shot, figuring it would help them to view him as an innocent person. So far, it was working. Chloe found it very difficult indeed to reconcile the image of the handsome, smiling young African American man in front of her with someone capable of bashing his girlfriend's skull in with a beer stein.

Lucifer cleared his throat, breaking the stillness of the room. Aside from some brief animation at the mention of his and Dan's favorite movie franchise, Lucifer had grown quiet in the last hour or so. Now he was staring at the computer with dull eyes, not seeming to take in a word of the report on the screen.

Chloe knew her own eyes were probably just as glazed. This intense, unrelenting focus on the case was getting to both of them, and she had enough experience as a detective to know that pushing nonstop didn't yield results—just more problems. That was how they'd ended up in this mess to begin with. Instead of taking a break to go home and recharge, they'd kept digging at Fernando Ruiz's murder case. Then, tired and frustrated, they'd ignored their better judgment and walked right into a trap.

They'd have to be smarter than that, if they wanted to get out of this alive.

She would have to be smarter.

"Okay, that's enough," Chloe declared, snapping the gloomy reverie that had descended over them. She leaned forward and put the Chromebook in sleep mode. Lucifer blinked sluggishly, as if trying to figure out why the screen had suddenly gone dark.

He turned to her. "Detective?"

"We need a break. Just five minutes to refuel and clear our heads. Then we can come back with fresh eyes, okay?"

Lucifer nodded.

Chloe pulled the snack box from under the bench and grabbed a handful of protein bars and a can of Red Bull. She almost grabbed two cans, but decided against it. Lucifer might be touchy about the slogan on the side:

Red Bull gives you wiiings!

"Here," Chloe said, thrusting a granola bar at Lucifer as she bit into one herself.

He held up a hand in polite refusal. "No thank you, Detective."

"Have some of your cool ranch thingies, then," she said, tossing the rejected bar back in the box. "You need something to keep your strength up."

Lucifer glanced down at the bag on the bench beside him. A faint look of distaste crossed his features. "I think I'll save those for later."

Chloe frowned. She had never known him to turn down Earl's Cool Ranch Puffs. Or food, in general. She set aside her half-eaten Nature Valley bar and pressed a hand to his forehead. Her frown deepened.

"Lucifer, you're hot."

A ghost of a leer touched his lips as his gaze slid down her body. "As are you, Detective."

"No, I mean you've got a fever."

Chloe pulled the first aid kit onto her lap and rummaged through it until she found the thermometer. Lucifer barely even reacted when she thrust the device into his ear canal. The fact that he didn't make a single joke about penetration had her more than a little concerned. As soon as the thermometer beeped, Chloe pulled it out and winced at the number on the display. 104.1.

Damn it. That was bordering on dangerous. At least for a human. But maybe Lucifer ran a little hot to begin with? He was the Devil, after all.

"Do you know what your normal body temperature is?" Chloe asked.

Lucifer shook his head.

She sighed. Of course he didn't.

"I'm sorry, Detective…I'm afraid the only time I used a thermometer, it was definitely not for the purposes of science."

"It's okay, don't worry about it." She should've taken his temperature when she first opened the kit. That way, they'd have a baseline. Too late now.

Chloe struggled to rip open a little travel pack of Tylenol and dropped the two tablets in his hand. "Swallow these," she instructed. "And drink some Gatorade."

His nose wrinkled. "You mean one of those wretched sports beverages?"

"Yes, one of those. You need the fluids. And the electrolytes."

Lucifer sighed. "Very well. Which color?"

Chloe smiled sweetly at him as she activated a cold pack from the first aid kit. "Whichever one makes you feel pretty."

Lucifer reluctantly dug through the snack box, muttering about "picking a bottle of poison." Chloe waited while he took the Tylenol and downed a few sips of some bright red off-brand liquid called "Quench." The drink smelled like cherry cough syrup and she could tell by his expression that it probably tasted just as bad. At least it brought a little color to his lips.

"Okay," she said, "now unbutton your vest."

"Ooh, I like where this is going…" He flinched when she shoved the ice pack against his chest between his vest and his shirt. "Bloody hell! That's cold!"

"It's ice, Lucifer. That's kind of the point."

Already starting to shiver, Lucifer looked at her with startled, wounded-puppy eyes. "Are you very sure you're not trying to kill me?"

"Just hold that pack in place. I'll be right back."

Chloe headed for the bathroom to get something else to help cool him down, but immediately returned empty-handed. Lucifer watched as she scanned the warehouse, biting her lip.

"Something wrong, Detective? Other than me freezing to death, that is?"

"I need some water and the faucet's jammed."

"Ah. Well, at least that's something I can fix." He coughed and started to rise off the bench.

Chloe quickly pushed him back down. "Lucifer, sit. Stay." And then she added, because she had to, "Good Devil."

Despite chattering teeth, he rewarded her with a small smile. "Quintessential D-Deckerstar."

"You know it." Chloe spied a loose hunk of concrete from their earlier escape efforts and moved toward it. "Just rest," she told him, picking up the cement and weighing it in her hand. "I got this."

She carried her improvised plumbing tool to the bathroom and this time returned with a handful of cold, sopping wet paper towels, which she unceremoniously slapped onto the back of Lucifer's neck.

He yelped in protest. "You do realize this suit is Prada?"

"Yep." Chloe pressed the towels down harder, causing more droplets to run down over his precious shirt and vest.

"Have I done something to offend you?" Lucifer asked, in between shivers of misery.

"You promised to tell me if you were getting worse," she said, sitting down beside him and taking out the thermometer again. "And then you didn't. Withholding symptoms is the same as lying, Lucifer. If you're not going to be honest about how you're feeling, then how am I supposed to help you?" She stuck the thermometer back in his ear, waited for the beep.

102.9.

Going in the right direction, at least. Chloe didn't want to think about how high his fever might've gotten if she hadn't noticed it. She sighed and returned the thermometer to the kit.

"You're doing better now," she informed him. "Of course, you could've been doing better an hour ago if you'd just let me know what was going on."

Chloe looked over to find Lucifer watching her with an expression that was part confusion, part regret.

"I'm sorry, Detective…t-truly." He sounded like he really meant it. "I never intended to deceive you. I didn't realize I had a fever. I can feel something is wrong—" He gestured vaguely at his chest "—but…it's difficult to describe."

Chloe instantly felt like the words on Maze's favorite coffee mug: #1 BITCH. Because of course he didn't know what a fever felt like. How would he? He had no experience to compare it to. She would never have asked a sick Trixie, at age three, to self-report all of her symptoms. And Lucifer was, in many ways, just as much of a child—if not more.

"Can you try to describe it?" Chloe asked gently.

Lucifer looked thoughtful for a moment. "Static," he said finally.

"Static?"

"In here." He motioned at his chest again. "Wet static."

Chloe swallowed. Fluid in the lungs.

"Okay," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "Anything else?"

"Yes," he said firmly.

She tilted her head, waiting.

"I am very, very cold right now."

Chloe rolled her eyes and gave his knee a reassuring squeeze. "You'll live."

Over their heads, the speakers crackled.

"You two are wasting time," said the kidnapper. "You should be focusing on the case."

"We're getting back to it right now, Bethany," Chloe said, deliberately using the woman's name, now that they'd learned it from the files. Anything to build a connection.

Lucifer coughed and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering. "Great, now I'm having flashbacks to my childhood."

Chloe raised her eyebrows.

He pointed at the ceiling. "A booming, judge-y voice from above."

Chloe smiled at his joke and leaned over to wake up the computer. The next image in the file was one of the crime scene photos, a close-up of a blood-splatter pattern on the wall beside Rose's bookshelf. From the label on the picture, this version had been used as an exhibit in the trial. And, although Chloe had seen the photo before, this time something new caught her eye. She sat forward on the bench.

"Hey Lucifer—look at this."

Chapter Text

"Why are we l-looking at boring apartment photos again?" Lucifer complained, his teeth clacking together loudly as he shivered. "I thought we were th-through with those."

"They're crime scene photos," Chloe corrected. "Not 'boring apartment photos.' And I'm looking at the steins on that middle shelf. Notice anything unusual about them?"

Lucifer leaned forward slightly, studied the picture, then leaned back again.

"They're ugly," he declared.

Chloe suspected the cold was putting him in a sour mood.

"They also don't match," she said. "See? There are four dark blue ones, one black one, and one empty space where the murder weapon used to be."

"So?"

"So, don't you think that's a little weird? The one used to kill her was dark blue. Would she really have a set of five dark blue steins, plus one black one? Wouldn't a normal set have an even number, like four or six, all of the same color?"

"Perhaps she was colorblind," Lucifer offered, wrapping his arms tighter around himself in an effort to stay warm. "Or just regular blind. The rest of her décor certainly suggests it."

"Maybe," Chloe murmured. "Or maybe she broke one along the way and when she tried to replace it, there weren't any more blue ones available."

She zoomed in on one of the blue steins until the image got chunky and pixilated, then inched the picture sideways with her finger, examining each beer stein in turn. They all had the same silvery, flaming logo for Brimstone, the pub where Rose and her lover, Keith, had worked. Other than the color difference, the steins were identical. From a distance, it was barely even noticeable that one didn't quite match.

A minor detail, at best. One that was almost certainly insignificant. There were several reasonable explanations for the discrepancy, and no real reason to think anything of a single mismatched beer stein on a shelf. And yet, it niggled in Chloe's gut all the same.

She got up and wrote, "Black Stein" in the green box on the dry erase board. Turning back to Lucifer, she saw him huddled in misery, attempting to fold his long legs up onto the bench so he could wrap his arms around them. When he caught her watching, he gave her such a mournful look she almost had to roll her eyes.

What a drama queen.

"Oh, fine," she conceded. "Take the ice off for a little while."

"Th-thank you, Detective." He wasted no time in discarding the cold pack on the bench and chucking the wet paper towels into the garbage can under the table.

"But," Chloe warned, returning to her seat beside him, "I'm taking your temperature every half hour, and if it starts to go up again, that ice pack's going right back on."

Lucifer sighed. "Very well."

They scrolled through several more crime scene photos that didn't yield any new insights on the case. Next up was another forensic report. The last two had focused on Rose's body and the apartment where she was killed. This one was all about Martin's car, and what had been found in and around it.

Rose's blood on the driver's side door handle. Rose's blood on the steering wheel. Rose's blood on the floor mat under Martin's feet.

Once again, the evidence in favor of Martin's guilt was overwhelming. And once again, it bothered Chloe. Was there anything here that didn't point directly to his guilt like a flashing neon arrow?

As if on cue, Chloe's eye caught on a potentially promising detail.

"Hey, here's something," she said, pointing to the screen. "They found a blond, female hair under the driver's seat of Martin's car. It got ripped out at the root, so they actually got some decent DNA off it." Chloe frowned as she read further. "Couldn't match it to anyone at the pub, though. Or any of Martin's co-workers, or any of Rose's friends." She skipped ahead a few pages, then went back to the report on the hair. "Nothing to tie it to that night, either, and Martin doesn't know who it belongs to."

"That hair could've fallen off of literally any woman in LA," Lucifer said dismissively. "You humans shed like bloody cats."

Chloe shook her head. "No, this didn't just fall off. It was pulled out. That means there was some type of force or strenuous activity involved."

Lucifer quirked an eyebrow. "Strenuous activity, you say?"

Geez, did he ever stop thinking about sex?

Probably not. In this case, though, he might actually be onto something.

"You think Martin was having an affair himself?" Chloe asked.

"He wouldn't be the first to cheat on his girlfriend. Or the second. Or the billionth."

Above them, the speakers boomed in an angry way that reminded Chloe of thunder.

"Martin was not cheating on Rose," the kidnapper said hotly.

Chloe glanced up and addressed the ceiling in a calm voice, "Bethany, part of the reason you chose Lucifer and me to investigate your son's case is because we're good detectives. Our process works. You have to let us talk through all the possibilities, even if you don't agree with some of them."

There was a long pause, and then:

"You're right. I…apologize. Please keep going."

Chloe nodded. "Thank you, Bethany." She looked back at Lucifer. "So, let's say, just for the sake of argument, that Martin was having an affair. Why wouldn't he admit to it at the trial? If he was cheating, too, that would reduce his motive for killing Rose over her affair."

"Judge not, lest ye be judged," Lucifer said.

"Exactly. Also, if Martin was with his lover the night of the murder, it would give him an alibi."

"But he doesn't remember the night of the murder," Lucifer pointed out. "Supposedly, anyway."

Chloe took a bite of granola bar, chewing over their new hypotheses. "Okay, how about this: Martin goes to the pub that night, gets completely hammered because of his problems at work, leaves the bar around eight, hooks up with some random blonde on the street, and has sex with her in his car. Afterwards, he goes home, finds Rose already dead, panics, and tries to dispose of her body, thinking he'll be blamed for the murder. He loads her into his trunk, but then passes out in the driver's seat before he can dump her anywhere. The next morning, when he wakes up, he doesn't remember any of it." She searched Lucifer's face hopefully. "Does that sound at all plausible?"

"Drinking, casual sex with a stranger, and trying to erase evidence of a crime? Sounds like my typical Friday night. Before you, of course," Lucifer added, giving her a little nod of deference.

"Thanks," Chloe said absently. "But even if Martin doesn't remember this woman, wouldn't she remember him?"

"Have you ever been to Lux on a Friday night, Detective? Or any decent bar or club? Most people are lucky to remember their own names the next morning."

Chloe nodded. "Okay, so maybe she was too drunk—"

"And/or stoned," Lucifer chimed in. "And/or in a coma from multiple orgasms."

"—To remember what happened that night. Just like Martin. Which means we have two people with amnesia, and still no alibi unless someone else saw them together." Chloe took a sip of her Red Bull and made a face. Flat. "Is there any other reason this woman wouldn't have come forward when Martin got arrested? Visiting from out of town, maybe? Went back home without ever knowing that her one night stand got convicted of murder?"

"Or," Lucifer said brightly, "she was engaged in some unauthorized cheater therapy, and didn't want her husband to find out."

Chloe nodded slowly. "She's protecting her marriage. I like it."

Lucifer smiled at the praise. He definitely seemed to be in a better mood. His eyes even had some of their sparkle back.

"But is keeping her husband in the dark really worth letting someone die?" Chloe pondered aloud. "If she was following the trial, she had to know Martin got sentenced to death. How could she not come forward with what she knew? I mean, what kind of a monster is this woman?"

"Yes, letting someone die just to get what she wants," Lucifer said, casting a meaningful glance at the ceiling. "It truly is monstrous, isn't it, Detective?"

Chloe swallowed back a lump. "Yeah. It is."

They met each other's eyes, unspoken emotions swimming just beneath the surface. Then Lucifer's breath hitched, and he had to turn away from her as a coughing fit overtook him.

It was the worst one so far. His shoulders shook with the spasms, and the painful sounds echoed through the warehouse. Chloe winced and put a hand on his back, not knowing what else to do. When the fit subsided, Lucifer just sat there for a moment, breathing. He slowly lowered the pocket square and looked down at it. His eyes widened.

"Lucifer…?"

"Excuse me," he said, crumpling the makeshift handkerchief and heading for the bathroom on shaky legs.

Chloe watched him go, cold fear churning in her gut. She kept both ears hyper-tuned to the bathroom as she got up to write, "Blond female hair – unidentified" in the green box. The words looked small and insignificant in the face of everything else. Any sense of triumph at finding a potential new clue had evaporated, leaving only hollow emptiness in its place.

Chloe resumed her seat and forced herself to look at some surveillance camera stills, but her real focus was on the bathroom. Lucifer had looked very pale when he went in there. At any moment, she was afraid she'd hear a cry of pain or the thump of a body hitting the floor. The only sounds that came through the closed door, however, were a few throat-clears and a lot of running water.

After a couple minutes, Lucifer emerged, still pale but looking slightly less shaky and a little more put together.

"You okay?" Chloe asked.

He nodded.

She shot him a skeptical look.

"I'm all right for now, Detective," he assured her, taking his seat on the bench.

For now.

"And what about you?" Lucifer asked, cocking his head to the side in that way he did when he was concerned.

Chloe blinked. "Me?"

"Yes, are you holding up all right?"

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Just—" Her eyes narrowed "—Did you fix your hair while you were in there?"

"Well," Lucifer said, smoothing out his vest, "there's no need for me to look like a 'homeless magician' as you once put it." He'd tucked his shirt in, too, she noted.

"You always look good," Chloe told him softly. Already, she missed his messy, boyish curls.

She suspected that tidying himself up had less to do with his massive ego and more to do with maintaining some small amount of control over their situation.

Lucifer picked a speck of dust off his vest. He examined the particle for a moment then flicked it away and smiled charmingly at her. In that way he did when he knew he looked charming. Okay, maybe his massive ego was the main reason he'd cleaned up.

"All right, pretty boy." Chloe patted his knee. "Let's get back to work. I want to look at that report on Martin's car again. There might be something else there besides that hair."

"Perhaps we'll find evidence of a scandalous affair," Lucifer said, covering a small cough.

"Perhaps we will," Chloe replied. Already, she was scrolling back to page one of the report to find out.

It wasn't until Lucifer coughed again, a few minutes later, that she realized he was no longer using his pocket square as a handkerchief. He'd replaced it with a handful of brown paper towels from the bathroom.

Cheap, scratchy towels that couldn't possibly feel good when pressed to his face. Quite a step down for someone who favored Italian silk and Egyptian cotton.

Chloe cleared her throat and stood up. "Hey, uh, I'll be right back…you keep reading, all right?"

"Copy that," Lucifer replied, deeply engrossed in his search for possible bodily fluids in the back seat of Martin's car.

Chloe stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. Then, under the cover of running water, she dug through several layers of crumpled paper towels in the wastebasket. The pocket square sat at the bottom of the pile, soaked from a thorough rinsing that was almost—but not quite—enough to wash out the stain in the center of the silver fabric.

Faint as it was, Chloe had rinsed out enough pairs of panties over her lifetime to recognize what that stain was. Blood. He was coughing up blood.

Cold fear threatened to overtake her. She shoved it down forcefully. Lucifer had said he was all right for now, and he didn't lie. Chloe knew he'd only kept this from her to protect her. And because, even with his limited knowledge of human ailments, he probably realized there was nothing she could do to help him.

No magic pills in the first aid kit to prevent someone from slowly drowning in their own blood.

Hands shaking, she quickly reburied the pocket square and turned off the faucet.

When she stepped back out into the warehouse, Lucifer looked up from the computer screen. "Everything all right, Detective?"

No, she thought. Everything is not all right. We are being held hostage in a freaking warehouse. You are slowly drowning in your own blood. You are keeping secrets from me, even though you promised not to. We are nowhere NEAR solving this case, and I'm starting to think we might not be able to. None of that is all right, Lucifer.

"Detective?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows at her lack of response.

"For now," she said finally, retaking her seat beside him.

In the silence, Chloe could clearly hear a rasp in his lungs that hadn't been there a little while ago. Without a word, she reached over and took Lucifer's hand in hers.

Eighteen hours to go.

Chapter Text

Much to Lucifer's dismay, there were no semen stains, stray pubic hairs, or other signs that Martin and some random woman did the wild thing in the back of his car. Now the Devil sat huddled next to Chloe, shivering and miserable once more because his temperature had crept up again, and she'd had no choice but to put the ice back on. She'd also given him more Tylenol, even though technically it was too soon for another dose. The thought of him possibly OD-ing on acetaminophen scared her, but right now his fever scared her more.

"There's only one set of fingerprints on the driver's side door handle," Chloe said, forcing her voice to sound more intrigued than she actually was. She glanced over at Lucifer, but he just continued staring at the screen with glassy eyes.

"That's a little unusual, don't you think?" Chloe prompted.

Lucifer coughed and shivered. It seemed to take him an extra-long moment to realize she'd been speaking to him. "Sorry, Detective…what was unusual?"

"The fingerprints on the driver's side door handle," she repeated patiently. "There's only one set: Martin's bloody ones from the night of the murder. Aside from those, the handle was clean."

Lucifer stared at her blankly, clearly not seeing the significance.

"Think about how many times a day you get into your car. Usually, there are fingerprints all over the place. This seems like someone wiped the handle clean, then deliberately placed Martin's prints on it."

"Perhaps he'd just been to the car wash," Lucifer offered in a tired voice. "Some of us like to keep our vehicles pristine."

Lucifer's jet black 'Vette was his pride, joy, and obsession. Chloe often used its gleaming exterior as a mirror to check her hair one last time before they went in to talk to a witness. On the rare occasions they drove her squad car instead, Lucifer usually made a face at the sight of all the squashed bugs smeared on her windshield. One time, he'd even bought her some wiper fluid as a not-so-subtle hint.

"Though with that rustbucket," Lucifer went on, gesturing at a photo of Martin's dilapidated vehicle, "the car wash does seem a waste of money. He'd be better off leaving it unlocked in a bad neighborhood and collecting the insurance money."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Chloe said, scanning for any evidence that he might be right about the car wash.

Lucifer rubbed at his dark-ringed eyes. "Come now, Detective. Insurance fraud may be—" His chest hitched as he tried to swallow back a cough "—a crime, but trust me, it's a far worse crime to own a—" He broke off abruptly, coughing hard into his paper towels.

Chloe set a hand on his back, as she'd taken to doing whenever he had a bad fit like this. She doubted it gave any physical comfort, but at least it reminded him she was there. This time, however, she almost yanked her hand back.

Chloe could actually feel the thick wetness rattling around inside his chest. His muscles quivered under her touch, his lungs shaking with the effort of trying to expel blood and sludge, then struggling to draw in a few quick, insufficient gasps between the spasms, like a drowning person barely surfacing for air before going under again.

Just when she didn't think she could stand it anymore—when she thought she'd have to pull away, just to save herself from the visceral awareness of what he was going through—the fit finally subsided. Lucifer remained hunched over on the bench, taking shallow, wheezing breaths and looking like he was trying not to pass out.

At least it was over. For now.

Chloe shifted her hand to his shoulder, trying to massage away some of the rigid tension. Lucifer flinched at the contact, quickly shrugging out from under her touch like he couldn't bear it anymore.

Chloe frowned. "Lucifer, what's—?"

Before she could finish, he lurched to his feet, swayed, and took two very unsteady steps in the direction of the bathroom. On the third step, his legs buckled.

"Lucifer!" she cried, running over to him as he crashed to the floor on his knees.

Crumpled, bloody paper towels spilled from his right hand and rolled onto the concrete. Lucifer made no move to hide them, either unaware that they were splashed with red or too sick to care. Sweat glistened on his face as she hunkered down beside him. His breaths came in short, fast, open-mouthed gasps.

"Lucifer, what do you feel?" she asked desperately. "Talk to me." Chloe tried to meet his eyes, but they darted sideways.

"I…I…"

Unable to get any more words out, he started to sag forward, one hand clutching his chest in a gesture that meant only one thing in Chloe's mind: Heart attack.

Her own heart froze into a solid ball of fear. There was absolutely nothing in the medical kit for heart attacks. No defibrillator, not even any aspirin. The kidnapper's warning echoed in Chloe's skull: You'll be lucky if you make it the full twenty-four hours.

Tears flooded her eyes, blurring the sight of Lucifer slowly sinking toward the floor in a bow, like he was praying. No, no, no. It couldn't be happening. Not now. Not like this. They were supposed to have another fifteen-and-a-half hours.

"Detective…"

At the sound of his fading, breathy voice, the frozen ball in her chest melted. Turned to fire. Cold fingers brushed Chloe's hand and she latched onto them, squeezing tight. She raked an arm across her eyes, roughly clearing away the tears. Lucifer was hunched low, his head almost resting in her lap. Like he was surrendering. Giving up.

Chloe shook her head. This was not happening. She wouldn't let it happen. Chloe grasped him by the shoulder, shoving him back up into a sitting position.

Lucifer instantly tilted his head back, gasping at the ceiling. His fingers were limp in hers. His other hand held his chest.

"Lucifer," she said, "listen to me. No matter how much it hurts, you have to hold on. Just hold on for a little while until I can figure out—"

"Doesn't…hurt," he panted. His head flopped forward, eyes full of poorly concealed panic. "I just…can't…" Losing his words, he rubbed the hand on his chest in a circle.

Can't breathe, she finished for him. You're not having a heart attack, you just can't breathe.

"Okay," Chloe said, jumping to her feet. She raced over and grabbed one of the two oxygen tanks by the bathroom and ran back to Lucifer, the wheels bumping wildly over the iron in the floor.

Chloe's hands shook as she fumbled with the valve on the side, her knowledge of the mechanism limited to a single case back in her first year as a detective. Air hissed through the tube and into the mask. The numbered dial on the tank ranged from 0.5 to five. Chloe rolled it to four and tried to shove the mask onto Lucifer's face.

He turned his head away, instinctively avoiding something being put over his mouth and nose when he already couldn't get enough air. Chloe forced the mask on anyway and held it there. After a moment he stopped fighting it. His breaths deepened as oxygen seeped back into his bloodstream. His eyes fluttered shut. Lucifer reached up to grasp the mask himself, pressing it harder against his face, trying to drink in even more. He sucked at the air with fast, greedy gulps. Too fast.

"Whoa, take it easy," Chloe warned, her own body trembling with a combo of relief and adrenaline release. "Slow it down a little. You're going to hyperventilate."

She put a hand to his shoulder, snagging his attention, and then breathed with forced slowness to demonstrate. His dark eyes watched her carefully as he matched his breathing to hers.

"That's it. There you go." She smiled encouragingly.

Lucifer blinked slowly at her, his long black lashes brushing together.

After a minute or so of steady, even breathing, Chloe nudged the dial down to three with her fingernail. When Lucifer seemed strong enough, she helped him back over to the bench, dutifully wheeling the tank along with them.

Once seated, Lucifer looked up at her, his eyes soft with gratitude. "Thank you, Detective," he murmured from under the mask.

Chloe nodded, swallowing past a thick lump in her throat. "You…you good for a minute?" she asked. By some miracle, her voice came out semi-normal.

He nodded.

"Okay, I'll be right back." It took everything she had to walk calmly to the bathroom and not run there and slam the door behind her. Once inside, she gripped the metal edges of the sink, trying to stop the tremors in her hands.

It's okay. He's okay now. Situation handled.

Chloe forced a few deep breaths, letting them out through pursed lips. She splashed icy, rust-smelling water on her face and wiped herself dry with one of the awful paper towels. It was like rubbing sandpaper on her cheeks, but Chloe didn't mind. The feeling grounded her. Brought her back from the edge she'd been teetering on. She tossed the crumpled wad in the trash and glanced in the mirror. A total stranger stared back at her. A pale wisp of a woman with huge, terrified eyes. A victim. Chloe squared her shoulders and schooled her expression until she looked like herself again.

When she was sure her hands and voice would not betray her, she exited the bathroom. Lucifer sat languidly on the bench, holding the oxygen mask to his face and gazing dreamily at the lights on the ceiling. He must've gotten up at some point, though, because the bloody paper towels had been removed from the floor.

That was a good sign. At least he could still get around. He just needed a little extra oxygen to do it.

A new worry crept to the forefront of Chloe's mind as she looked at the oxygen tank Lucifer was using, then at the spare one by the bathroom. Based on the case Chloe had worked several years ago, she knew that tanks this size could last about six hours if the dial was set at the typical oxygen level most people used, which was two. Dial it down to one or 0.5, and it would last a little bit longer.

The suspect in that old case had been on oxygen due to a combination of lung cancer and congestive heart failure. When the woman was accused of shooting her old boss—a man who'd knowingly risked the health of his employees by sending them to clean out asbestos-filled buildings without proper protection—the oxygen tank had been her alibi.

Her doctor attested to the fact that she could not be without it, even for a short time. The woman's boss had been murdered in a remote cabin—a four-hour drive from civilization. The suspect had a large plug-in machine to make oxygen at home, but she was waiting for the insurance company to approve a refill on her prescription for portable oxygen, and in the meantime only had one tank. Which, she coldly pointed out, would not have been enough for her to drive out to the murder site and back.

Chloe did a few quick calculations. With fourteen-plus hours left to go, they should have enough oxygen to last…if they put it on the lowest setting. Any higher, and they risked running out towards the end, when Lucifer would probably need it the most.

He seemed pretty spaced out at the moment, but not in any distress. Hopefully she could turn the dial down without causing him any problems. As she approached the bench, Lucifer tilted his head to look at her.

"Feeling better?" Chloe asked, forcing cheer into her voice.

He smiled lazily at her from under the mask. "Yes."

His loopy expression made her smile too. "Good."

"This stuff is marvelous," Lucifer went on, looking at the green-and-silver canister with something like wonderment. "Truly top-shelf. What exactly is in here?"

"Just plain ole oxygen."

"Really?" His eyes widened in amazement, and Chloe almost laughed in spite of everything.

"Yes, really, you goof," she said. Then Chloe caught sight of the dial on the tank and her eyes popped wide. He'd turned it all the way up to five. "Um, do you really need it set that high?"

"Hmmm?" He followed her gaze down to the dial. "Oh, no this is strictly for pleasure. Speaking of which, would you care for a hit?" Lucifer lifted the mask off his face to offer it to her. Plastic-scented air hissed out into the warehouse like spilled drops of precious water in the middle of the desert.

"No," Chloe said quickly, shoving the mask back at him and thumbing the dial down to 0.5. "And please don't waste it. We have to use as little as possible right now, because we might…need it later." She didn't want to scare him—or herself—by saying the phrase "run out." Something of her fear must've shown on her face, though, because Lucifer's expression turned serious.

"All right." He turned the valve, cutting off the airflow, then hung the mask on its little designated hook.

Chloe studied him carefully. "You're okay without it?"

"I think so." He cast the mask a longing look, like it was his favorite bong or a particularly well-cut bag of heroin. "You know…I've never realized the pleasures of pure O before…do you think I should install an oxygen bar at Lux?"

"I'm not really sure that idea would gel with your usual customers," Chloe said, a smirk of amusement on her face as she turned back to the computer, which had gone to sleep during their crisis.

"You're right," Lucifer mused, "I'd probably have to…mix it with something more fun, like nitrous."

He sounded a little out of breath without the mask, but not too bad. She would just have to keep an eye on his breathing, like she was with the fever.

"Nothing too illegal, though," she murmured absently, already intently reading the report on the screen. "I don't want to lose you as a consultant."

Lucifer pillowed his cheek on her shoulder. "Oh Detective…I would never let that happen. I'm afraid you are quite stuck with me. We're a matched set…just like those horrible beer steins."

Chloe decided not to remind him that the steins, in fact, did not match. Not to mention one of them had been used as a weapon to bludgeon its owner to death.

In a weird way, Chloe knew exactly how the poor stein felt. Because right now, she was the weapon. Wielded against her will to murder one of the people she loved most in this world. The virus might be what was technically killing Lucifer, but her proximity was enabling it to do so. If he died, it would be because he'd chosen to work with her. Because he had trusted her instincts, her judgment, to keep them both safe.

Instead, she'd led them right into a trap.

And the guilt of that…well, it might just be enough to drive a person to Hell.

Chapter Text

"Well, he definitely didn't go to a carwash," Chloe declared. "His car was filthy—according to one of his statements, he had to drive it out to one of his construction sites the day of the murder because his work truck was in the shop. See all that mud caked around the wheel wells? The handles are literally the only parts of his car that're clean. No prints at all on the passenger side, and just the one set of Martin's prints on the driver's side."

Chloe was about to get up and write the new clue on the board, when Lucifer suddenly gripped her leg.

"Do you feel that?" he asked.

"Feel what?"

"The room is tilting."

She turned to study his face and finally understood what Dan meant when he used to say she was "green around the gills" back when she was pregnant with Trixie. Chloe had been prone to fainting spells in the first trimester. Not to mention morning sickness.

"The room's not moving," she assured her partner. "You're just dizzy—probably a little head rush from all that 'top-shelf' oxygen you were sucking in. Put your head down between your legs and you'll feel better."

Lucifer did as instructed, still holding tight to her kneecap like it was the only thing keeping him in place. Chloe set a comforting hand on his back to help ground him.

"I usually love…a good rush," Lucifer said, his voice weak and muffled from the position. "Not too fond of this one, though."

"Feels pretty crummy, huh?" Chloe asked, rubbing soft circles on his lower back.

"It feels like I'm about to fall..."

"You're not going to fall," she promised.

Lucifer turned his head to look up at her, his face still very white. He gave her a small, sad smile. "Too late."

Chloe smiled back, despite the lump in her throat. She waited until Lucifer's dizziness had passed and he was sitting up on the bench again. Then she got up to write, "Door handles wiped clean?" in the clue box.

"Do you really think…it means something?" Lucifer asked breathlessly, his eyes flicking briefly onto the oxygen mask before coming back to meet hers.

"I'm not sure." Chloe settled in beside him and turned the valve on the canister. She adjusted the dial and handed him the mask.

"All I can do right now is follow my gut," she went on.

"And what is your gut telling you?" Lucifer asked from under the mask. Already his breathing was less labored than it had been a minute ago. "Aside from begging you to stop abusing it with those horrid vending machine sandwiches at the precinct?"

Chloe half-smiled at his joke. "It's telling me that something's fishy with this case. I'm not sure what yet, but until I am, anything that smells even a little bit like day-old shark bait is going on that list."

Lucifer nodded, his breaths puffing white against the plastic.

Chloe's gaze landed, unbidden, on the tank's gauge. Two-thirds full, dipping steadily towards a half. She looked at the clock ticking away on the table, each second a precious grain of sand.

Thirteen hours, forty-six minutes left to save Lucifer's life, stop Martin's execution, and solve a cold case using only the notes on hand.

Really, all they needed was a miracle.

Easy, peasy, lemon squeezy. That's what Trixie would say, if she were here right now. Or, more likely, the vulgar version of that saying Maze had taught her. Which Chloe refused to repeat, even in the privacy of her own thoughts.

Chloe shook her head at the Trixie in her mind, aching for the real one. No, baby. It's not easy. It is very, very hard.

Imaginary Trixie blinked at Chloe, all brown doe eyes and hope and innocence. But isn't Lucifer's Daddy God?

Yeah, He is, but…

And can't God do anything, even make miracles?

Chloe swallowed. Yes, He can, but…

Then He'll make one to save Lucifer! Trixie beamed at her own logic.

Tears prickled Chloe's eyes. I'm not sure He will, baby.

If I was sick, Daddy would do anything to help me get better.

Chloe smiled. Yes, he would. He'd even put on your new alien barrettes and wear them to work.

Trixie giggled at the notion.

But Lucifer's Daddy is…different.

How? Trixie asked, frowning.

It's complicated. They had a big fight a long time ago and they don't talk to each other anymore.

The doe eyes became wounded, uncertain. But Lucifer's Daddy still loves him, right?

Chloe bit her lip. I think so.

Then He'll help, Trixie assured her, confidence fully restored. You just have to ask Him.

I don't know, Monkey. Sometimes it's not that simple.

Trixie's eyes turned reproachful. It can't hurt to ask, Mommy. That's what you tell me whenever I want to eat chocolate cake for breakfast.

I also tell you no, you little weasel! Chloe leaned in to tickle her daughter, giggling along with the little girl.

They both had tears of laughter in their eyes now and Chloe sighed, part happy, part wistful, because the real Trixie was getting too old for tickle fights.

But you'll ask Him, right? imaginary Trixie persisted.

Chloe smiled. Yeah.

How was it that even when there were miles and solid iron walls separating them, even when Chloe's heart was full-to-brimming with anger and despair, Trixie could still lift her up?

That little girl was the real miracle.

"You're not getting a contact high, are you?" Lucifer asked, snapping her from her reverie.

Chloe blinked. "What?"

"You've got a funny smile on your face."

Her expression soured. Why did he always have to point out when she made weird faces?

"Gee, thanks," she said flatly.

"I didn't say it was unattractive." Lucifer cleared his throat and adjusted the oxygen mask. "Seriously though, what were you thinking about?" He cocked his head, eyes luminous with gentle curiosity as he waited for her answer.

"Trixie," she said.

"Ah." Lucifer nodded sagely. "Well, you'll get to see her in thirteen hours, give or take."

"We'll both get to see her in thirteen hours," Chloe said firmly.

Lucifer said nothing, just smiled faintly under the mask. He couldn't agree with her. Not when it might be a lie.

Chloe needed to do everything in her power to make sure it wasn't. And so far, she hadn't. Not quite, anyway. She waited until Lucifer's attention was back on the computer screen, then shifted her gaze skyward.

Okay, God…um, I know I spent most of my life not believing in You, but this is me, Chloe Decker, asking for a favor…

Chapter Text

"Why don't you go lie down on the cot for a little while?" Chloe suggested.

Lucifer blinked sluggishly at her. His brow furrowed and he mumbled something under the mask, which was now secured in place by its elastic band so he wouldn't have to hold it all the time.

"Hmm?" Chloe asked, leaning her head closer to hear.

Lucifer slowly reached up to lift the mask off. All of his movements now had a delayed, underwater quality to them. "I thought you needed my help…on the case?"

"I do," Chloe assured him, "but we're just re-reading witness statements right now, looking for discrepancies. It's nothing you haven't seen before. I can wake you if I find something new."

He'd been mostly dozing for the last hour anyway, his warm cheek pillowed on her shoulder. She doubted he was even registering what was on the screen.

"Come on," Chloe urged. "I'll help you over there. I need to get up, anyway."

Her constant sipping of energy drinks had caught up to her about thirty minutes ago. She'd done her best to ignore it, not wanting to disturb Lucifer, who hadn't had a coughing fit in a while and actually seemed semi-comfortable. By this point, though, Chloe's bladder felt like an overfilled water balloon, throbbing in her abdomen. Now it was either go to the bathroom right away, or risk peeing the bench like an untrained Pekinese.

Unaware of Chloe's urgency, Lucifer looked over at the cot, taking his sweet time making up his mind.

"All right," he agreed finally, right as she started to fidget. "Just for a little while."

"Great," Chloe blurted. She stretched an arm across his back for support. "Ready?"

He nodded and they rose to their feet in increments. Lucifer because he couldn't move any faster. Chloe because she was afraid any quick movements might result in leakage.

They shuffled over to the cot, the O2 canister rolling along beside them like a loyal Guide Dog. The soft hiss of air had become a constant, reassuring backdrop of white noise in the otherwise still warehouse. Lucifer had turned it off just once in the last hour, and the silence had been eerie, broken only by the rasps of his breathing. Despite Chloe's fear of the tanks running out, she'd actually been relieved when he turned it back on.

Chloe helped lower him down until he was sitting on the thin, lumpy mattress. Then she hightailed it for the bathroom, hoping Lucifer wouldn't notice her awkward, waddling gait.

After emptying her bladder—which produced a steady stream for a good minute-and-a-half—Chloe's body sagged with relief. And exhaustion. That was another reason she'd waited so long to pee: the hurt of needing to go helped keep her awake. Without it, she wanted nothing more than to stumble back out into the warehouse on zombie legs, curl up on the cot next to Lucifer, and close her eyes.

Chloe knew that to give in to this urge would be deadly. Even a five-minute power nap could easily cost Lucifer and Martin their lives. It wouldn't matter if she set an alarm on the Chromebook—there was every chance she'd sleep right through it. And Lucifer certainly was in no state to wake her up.

So, she had to be strong. For both of them.

No rest for the wicked.

Chloe splashed some cold water on her face and took a sip from her palm. Well water, she realized. A small clue as to their whereabouts…not that it did much good. She sighed and stepped back out into the warehouse. To her surprise, Lucifer was sitting on the bench again, panting slightly from the effort of getting there on his own.

Chloe frowned. "I thought you were going to take a nap."

Lucifer shot a look of contempt at the cot. "That thing…is a torture device. Maze should add it to her arsenal. She'd never have to use…her blades again."

Chloe sat on the bench beside him, noting with concern the increasingly dark smudges under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders. She'd never seen him look so drained, not even that time he deliberately kept himself awake for over a week.

"I really think you should sleep for a bit," she said softly. "It's not good to keep pushing yourself when you're sick." She rubbed a thumb over the back of his hand. "Come on…please? Just for a little while?"

Lulled by her voice and touch, Lucifer seemed to be considering it. Then he glanced at the cot again and a small shudder ran through him. "I think…I'd prefer to keep working on the case." He fixed her with one of those innocent, pleading looks that made her heart ache. Lucifer could make buckets of cash teaching a class on how to make sad puppy eyes. Not that he needed the money.

"Besides," he added, his voice shifting to a purr as he scooched closer to her on the bench, "I'd much rather be over here with you."

She bit her lip, wanting to argue, but also understanding where he was coming from. When she'd been poisoned, she had insisted on staying in the field as long as possible, chasing down leads until she physically couldn't anymore. It was a way to stay in control, to feel like she had a say in what was happening to her. If that was what Lucifer needed right now, who was she to take it from him?

Chloe sighed. "All right. You can keep working. Just let me know if you change your mind. That cot's not going anywhere."

"Too bad," Lucifer said, giving the cheap fold-up bed a look of disdain, like he hoped it would slink away on its metal legs to escape his glare. Then he happily snuggled in beside Chloe, once again using her shoulder for his pillow. He took ages to get settled—like a bird, trying to get in just the right position atop its eggs.

"So…back to work?" he asked, when he was thoroughly nestled in place.

Chloe rested her cheek against his dark curls, giving herself one moment to savor the feathery softness of them, to breathe the scent of his too-damn-expensive shampoo. Then she lifted her head and cleared her throat.

"Yep. Back to work."

Chapter Text

Chloe stuck her head under the faucet, gasping and sputtering at the shock of cold. She rose to full height and raked wet fingers over her scalp. More strands escaped her already sloppy ponytail, and she thought briefly of trying to fix it, but couldn't summon the energy. Avoiding the haunted eyes in the mirror, Chloe scrubbed her face dry and walked out of the bathroom.

Lucifer was exactly where she'd left him: sitting upright on the bench, fast asleep. It had taken some tricky maneuvering to extricate herself from his slumbering form. She'd managed to slide the balled-up suit jacket under his cheek to replace her shoulder as a pillow. It reminded her of that scene in Indiana Jones where Indiana has to swap out a priceless artifact with a bag of sand. Speaking of priceless, if Lucifer had been awake, he would've howled in protest at her abuse of his precious Prada. As it was, he snoozed on, happily unaware.

Keeping her footsteps quiet, Chloe walked over to study the whiteboard. She took in all the fragments and tried to make them into a cohesive whole. The abundant DNA evidence implicating Martin. The presence of an unidentified woman in the car. The door handles that had been wiped clean, with Martin's fingerprints seemingly deliberately placed on afterwards. Her gut said "set-up." But who? And why? Was this crime really more about Martin than Rose? Was she just collateral damage to someone hellbent on hurting Martin in the worst possible way?

Chloe looked at Martin's smiling, innocent face. Who has a grudge against you? Who hates you enough to make you think you bludgeoned your own girlfriend?

"Detective?" Lucifer's soft voice came from behind her, sounding impossibly small and achingly lonely in the vast emptiness of the warehouse.

She turned to find him gazing at the open bathroom door, a strangely lost look in his eyes.

Chloe hurried over to him. "Hey. What's up?"

Lucifer's head wobbled with the effort of staying upright as he turned it sluggishly toward her. "Oh…there you are." He sighed and closed his eyes, letting his cheek settle back onto the jacket-pillow. "I was afra…I thought…maybe you'd left."

Chloe gave a little chuckle. "Where would I go, silly? We're trapped in here, remember?"

"Yes…that's right." He sounded hesitant, though, like he didn't really remember at all.

Chloe reached for the thermometer. Lucifer's eyelids didn't even flutter when she inserted the tip in his ear.

105.5.

She dug through the first aid kit. He was already wearing the last ice pack, and it was half-melted. Only one travel package of Tylenol remained. Chloe hesitated before opening it and dropping the pills into his warm palm.

"Here, swallow these." She lifted the oxygen mask to make it easier for him. "Now drink this." She handed him the remnants of a Gatorade Frost.

Lucifer took a few sips, then rested his arm back in his lap, like even that small movement had taken too much effort. Chloe rescued the bottle from his limp fingers before the liquid could spill.

"Besides," she added, fixing the oxygen mask back on his face and stroking the sweat-damp hair off his forehead, "I would never leave without saying goodbye. Or telling you when I would be back." She settled in beside him, tugging him closer so his head was once again pillowed on her shoulder. "Or telling you that I love you." Chloe whispered the last bit right in his ear.

Lucifer made a pleasant little hum in his throat, like a happy bumblebee.

Chloe smiled.

He fell asleep soon after, and Chloe spent the next forty-five minutes going through Martin's emails and asking Bethany questions about anyone in her son's life who might've had an axe to grind. Neither avenue produced anything promising. The defense had presented a large collection of Martin's emails and texts during the trial, trying to show that he had never used anything resembling threatening language against Rose. Of course, as the prosecution pointed out, when a person was drunk and enraged, all bets were off. Chloe rubbed at her painfully dry eyes, succeeding only in irritating them further. She heaved a tired sigh.

Lucifer shifted beside her. "Detective?"

"I'm right here," she assured him, finishing up the email she was reading. It didn't yield anything worthwhile, and was apparently the last one in the file, because the next click brought up a cluster of surveillance photos she'd already been over. Rats.

"Detective?"

"Yeah?"

"You…are so pretty."

She looked over to find him gazing at her in wonderment, his eyes starry and love-struck. Chloe giggled and planted a kiss on his forehead. "And you," she told him, "are so loopy."

Lucifer pouted. "Am not."

Chloe just smiled affectionately and turned back to the surveillance photos. Maybe the second time would be the charm. Several minutes passed in silence while she worked, and Chloe assumed Lucifer had fallen back asleep until he spoke up again.

"Detective?"

"Hmmm?" she replied, not taking her eyes off the screen.

Lucifer raised his head off her shoulder, leaving an imprint of warmth where his cheek had been. "Chloe."

She glanced sideways at her partner, half-expecting another drunken declaration about her undying beauty. The seriousness in his dark eyes made her breath catch. Chloe scooched around on the bench to face him more fully.

"What's up?" she asked.

Lucifer started to take a deep breath, but stopped when something crackled in his chest. He hadn't coughed in a while, and Chloe almost wished he would. Instead of trying to expel the fluid from his lungs, his body was now just letting it build up in there.

"I just wanted you to know…no matter what happens…everything will be all right." There was kindness in his eyes now. Acceptance. Maybe even a little peace.

Chloe was having none of it. "Don't do that, Lucifer."

"Do…what?"

"Give up."

"I wasn't…"

"Yeah, you were, and I want you to stop it right now." She gathered his limp hands in hers. "Listen, I know you feel awful, and you're not thinking straight, but we are going to get through this. I truly believe Martin is innocent. Every cop instinct I have is telling me so. But I can't prove it alone. I need my partner backing me up, okay?"

Lucifer nodded slowly, once again looking at her like she was the most special, most wonderful thing in the entire universe. To him, she was.

Chloe gave his hands a squeeze. "Good. And besides, in case you've forgotten, there's another very important reason we can't give up."

Lucifer tilted his head questioningly.

"After Martin's case, we still have to get justice for your pot dealer."

"Pot grower," Lucifer corrected. "He was a very skilled…botanist."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Whatever he was, we can't just let his killer go free, now can we?"

"You're right, Detective." Lucifer adjusted his oxygen mask and turned to look at the computer with renewed determination. "For Fernando, then."

"For Fernando," she agreed, studying the image on the screen once more. "So…see anything helpful?"

Lucifer shook his head.

"Yeah, me neither." She was about to click onto the next image when Lucifer murmured something else, the mask muffling his voice too much to make out.

"What?" she asked.

"I said…I'm glad she's gained some weight…she was far too thin."

Chloe frowned, looking at the screen then Lucifer then back at the screen again. "Who?"

It took him a moment to summon the energy to point out the person he was talking about. "Her."

Chloe huffed a small laugh. "Okay, now I know you're loopy. Lucifer, that's Chet Owens, one of the bartenders at Brimstone. And he is most definitely a guy."

Lucifer leaned forward slightly, squinting at the surveillance photo, then sagged back against the bench. "Oh," he said. "Right you are, Detective." Lucifer heaved a weary sigh and snuggled closer, his short burst of energy already waning.

"Well," he said, pillowing his head on Chloe's shoulder once more, "when I knew him, he was a she. And her name…was Cheyenne."

Chapter Text

Chloe's heart pounded as she stared at the image of Chet Owens on the screen. Chet was the bartender who'd gone to the movies with Keith, Rose's lover, on the night of the murder. Chet was Keith's alibi. "You're saying that this man, right here, is transgender? That he used to be a woman?"

Lucifer said nothing. She looked over to find him with his eyes closed, snoring softly under the oxygen mask.

"Lucifer," she said sharply. He didn't stir, so Chloe dug her elbow into his ribs.

His eyes snapped open. "That hurt," he accused.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, "but this is important. You said you've met this man before?"

"Yes."

"And he was a woman named Cheyenne at the time?"

"Yes." Lucifer sounded irritated at having to repeat himself, especially when it took most of his effort just to breathe.

"When was this?" Chloe pressed.

Lucifer sighed. "Before Lux opened."

"Okay, so like eight or nine years ago."

"I suppose." Lucifer seemed bored with the conversation. His eyelids were drooping again.

Chloe, however, felt more awake than she had in hours. She zoomed in on Chet's face, trying to mentally erase the stubble and hollow out the full cheeks. Trying to picture him with his shoulder-length blond hair hanging down, rather than trapped in its current ponytail.

She glanced at the whiteboard. An unidentified blond female hair.

If Chet really was transgender, then his DNA would still be that of a woman. No amount of surgery or hormone therapy could change that. And if the police didn't know he'd changed sexes, they never would've thought to test his DNA. They'd only checked the women who'd been present at the bar that night, not the men.

In the interviews, Chet claimed he hadn't ever been near Martin or Martin's car. If Chet's hair had been ripped out at the root inside Martin's vehicle, that meant Chet was lying. Which meant that other things they took for granted about the case might also be false.

If Lucifer was right, this might be the break that could crack everything wide open. But could he really be trusted in his current state? Less than an hour ago, he'd been completely out of it with fever, not even remembering where they were or what was happening.

She looked sideways at her partner, who was dozing fitfully. Chloe didn't need the thermometer to see that his temperature was already climbing again. It was written in the furrow of his brow, and the way he shifted slightly every few seconds, as though he couldn't quite get comfortable.

With the Tylenol gone, he would only get worse from here on out. She needed to get every bit of info she could from him right now, while she had the chance. Then, she could decide if any of it was credible.

Reluctantly, Chloe nudged him awake again. Lucifer blinked groggily at her.

She pointed at the close-up of Chet on the screen. "How can you tell he's the same person? I know you're good with faces, but his face would've looked a lot different back then."

"His ears are the same."

Chloe's eyebrows shot up. "His ears?"

Lucifer smiled slightly under the mask. "Oh, yes. I never forget…a nice, suckable pair of earlobes." His eyes shifted from the screen to the front of Chloe's shirt. "Or a nice, suckable pair of—"

"Okay, got the picture. Too many pictures in my brain right now, actually, so thank you for that."

"You're welcome," Lucifer said, still smiling devilishly.

"So, you're absolutely sure he's the person you knew as Cheyenne?" Chloe pressed.

"Yes."

"And you didn't say anything about this earlier because…?"

"I only just saw the picture, Detective."

Chloe's mind raced. She distinctly remembered going over every single one of the stills from the movie theatre surveillance footage. But, she realized with a sinking stomach, Lucifer hadn't been with her at the time. He'd been in the bathroom, getting cleaned up. If she'd simply waited for him, rather than pressing ahead with the investigation on her own, they could've had this breakthrough hours ago. Chloe tried not to let the despair of that fact overwhelm her. What was done was done. They had the information now. That was the important thing.

"Okay," Chloe said, her voice crisp and business-like, "I need you to tell me everything you remember about Chet."

"Besides his earlobes?"

Chloe fought back a smile. "Yes, besides those."

"Well, I only met him once…there's not much to tell."

"Anything you can think of might help," she assured him.

Lucifer sighed, looking like all he really wanted to do was put his head down and go back to sleep. "Very well."

Chloe waited while he gathered his thoughts. When it seemed to be taking too long, she gave him a little prompt:

"You said you met before Lux opened, so where were you? At another nightclub?"

He shook his head slowly. "No…we were at Lux. I'd already refurbished the building. We just hadn't…opened for business yet."

Chloe nodded her encouragement. "Okay, so what happened?"

"I was holding auditions. Chet was on the schedule to perform."

"He was a dancer?" Chloe asked, remembering what Lucifer had said about Chet being too thin.

Lucifer gave a minuscule shake of his head. "Musician. But he was a no-show. We finished the auditions and everyone headed up to the penthouse for an after-party. One of the men wanted to play…a little game, so I came back downstairs for a pair of tongs and an extension cord. That's when I heard the piano."

Lucifer paused to catch his breath. All this talking was taking a lot out of him.

"Was it Chet?" Chloe asked.

He nodded. "He was playing an original he'd written, singing lyrics…about demons and ghosts. The melody was haunting. I had to stay and listen. It had been ages since I'd heard anything that beautiful."

His gaze turned wistful, and Chloe knew he was probably thinking about what he referred to as "The Silver City." Heaven.

"When he finished the song, I asked…why he hadn't auditioned. He was more talented than all the others combined."

"What did he say?" Chloe asked.

"Well, first he jumped off the piano bench like it was on fire. He hadn't realized anyone was listening. After I assured him he was not in trouble, he admitted he'd been hiding in the bathroom during auditions…trying to work up the nerve to come out."

"But he never did," Chloe said softly.

Lucifer shook his head. "He was a very…nervous creature. During our whole conversation, he kept looking at the door, as if he meant to flee. I offered him some fruit from a bowl on the bar, and he looked as if the food might be a snake, ready to rise up and bite him. At first I thought perhaps he sensed my…Devil-ness…but I came to realize the fear was just his nature. It fascinated me. A soul brimming with music, but too inhibited to set it free into the world. A body desperate for food, but too afraid to take a bite." Lucifer gazed at Chloe with sad curiosity. "Why do you humans do that?"

"Do what?" Chloe whispered.

"Starve yourselves."

Chloe swallowed and shook her head that she didn't know. "What happened next?"

"I looked into his eyes, and asked him what he desired most of all."

"And what did he say?" Chloe asked.

"To not hold back any longer. To be his true self. So I asked what his true self wanted to do, right at this very moment."

"And?" Chloe prompted.

"He pushed me up against the piano and kissed me." Lucifer's eyes held a faint sparkle of pleasure at the memory.

"I think I can guess what happened next," Chloe said flatly.

"Oh, if only." Lucifer sighed dreamily. "Well, the penthouse was occupied so we made our way into the supply room. For one so timid, he was surprisingly skilled. I'll never look at those little martini umbrellas the same way again. And he only got bolder as the evening wore on. He might've been going by the name 'Cheyenne' at the time, but by the end of the night, there was nothing 'shy' about him."

"So, you spent the night together," Chloe summed up. "Then what?"

Lucifer shrugged, resting his head against Chloe's shoulder once more. "Then nothing. He left early in the morning. We had trouble locating all of his clothing, so I loaned him a few of Maze's things. I told him the singing position at Lux was his if he wanted it, but he said he needed to think it over. He kissed me goodbye, and I never saw him again."

"He never called you about the job?" Chloe asked, surprised.

"No, but he did send a note in the post when he returned Maze's clothes."

"What did it say?"

"Oh, he just thanked me for a wonderful night, for making him feel free in a way he never had before. He said he appreciated the job offer, but couldn't take me up on it because he'd decided to take…my advice instead. He was starting on a journey to become his true self. At the time, I didn't know what it meant."

Chloe nodded. "Now we know he didn't take the job because he was beginning the process of changing genders. His true self was a man."

Lucifer looked over at the computer, where Chet's face still filled the screen. "I suppose this explains why he always had to be on top."

Chloe frowned. "Always? I thought you only spent one night together?"

"Oh, Detective, you must know by now…one night with me involves many, many instances of pleasure." He blinked lazily at her. "Surely you haven't forgotten the night of eleven orga—"

"Nope," she said quickly, trying and failing to stop the heat from rising in her cheeks. "Didn't forget. Will never, ever forget." And now she felt heat somewhere else, too. Chloe shook her head, forcing them back on track. "But that's beside the point. The point is, Chet used to be a woman. Which means, the unidentified hair in the car could, theoretically, have come from him." She looked toward the ceiling. "Bethany, we're going to need to speak to Chet Owens right away."

There was a long pause before the speakers finally crackled.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," the kidnapper said.

"We won't tell him we're being held captive, I promise. We just need some information."

"I'm sorry, Detective Decker, but—"

Chloe fisted her hands in frustration. "Fine, then you talk to him. I'll give you a list of questions to ask."

Bethany sighed tiredly. "It won't be possible for anyone to speak to Chet…because he's dead."

Chapter Text

"What?" Chloe asked stupidly, some desperate part of her brain refusing to grasp what the word "dead" meant.

"He committed suicide several years ago."

Lucifer lifted his head off Chloe's shoulder and met her eyes. His were slightly stricken, as they often got when someone he knew personally had passed. Chloe took hold of his hand and looked back at the ceiling.

"When exactly was this?" she asked, trying not to feel like all the oxygen was leaving the warehouse, along with their best hope of solving the case.

"I'm not sure," Bethany said. "I can find out, though. Hold on."

While they waited, Lucifer put his head back down with a sad sigh. Chloe gave his fingers a squeeze.

"January 9th, 2014," Bethany reported.

Chloe bit her lip, thinking hard. "Barely a month after Martin was sentenced to death," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

It could mean nothing. Just a cosmic coincidence. Or, it could mean Chet knew something about Rose's murder, maybe even committed the murder himself for some unknown reason, and the guilt of letting an innocent man die was too much for him to bear.

"Was there a note, or any indication at all of why he did it?" Chloe asked, raising her voice to address Bethany again.

"The obituary says no note was found at the scene. Quotes from family members state he had a lifelong struggle with depression, anxiety, and eating disorders. His suicide didn't come as a shock."

Damn. Chloe chewed her lip again. No note meant no admission of guilt. But just because they hadn't found a note didn't mean there wasn't one. Did people even write notes on paper anymore? Chloe did, but she was old school. For most people, everything was on their phones.

"Bethany, I need access to Chet's phone, his emails, any pictures he took or videos he recorded." Chloe looked up, holding her breath. It was a tall order, but if Bethany could get her hands on police files normally kept under lock and key, she should be able to get ahold of this information, too.

"I'll see what I can do," the woman replied.

Chloe nodded. It was the very best she could hope for. In the meantime, she'd pick apart Chet's initial statement to the police, his testimony at the trial, and any footage of him either at the bar or the movies that night, searching for any hint of deceit and/or a possible motive to harm Rose.

Lucifer mumbled something just as she got the first video cued up.

"What?" she asked.

When he didn't answer, Chloe turned and saw that he'd slipped into a troubled sleep, his brow furrowed, his lips muttering words she couldn't make out through the mask. Fever dreams. Or, more likely, fever nightmares. What those looked like for the Devil, she didn't even want to contemplate.

In all honesty, this whole situation was starting to feel like a fever dream. Lack of sleep was taking its toll, giving the warehouse a trippy, psychedelic quality. Shadows shifted in the corners like living things and the computer screen burned with unnatural brightness. False stars twinkled and winked overhead as Lucifer slowly slipped away from her, one tick of the clock and dip of the oxygen gauge at a time.

It was like one of those awful recurring nightmares she used to have where she showed up late for an audition and suddenly realized she'd forgotten to memorize her lines. And apparently, judging by the stares of her peers, she'd forgotten to get dressed, too.

At first all she could do was stand there, paralyzed and naked while laughter screamed at her from all sides. Then she began to scramble. Chloe always fought so hard in those dreams—searching under chairs to find extra clothes, begging to borrow someone else's script, so desperate to prove that she could salvage the situation, yet failing worse with every attempt. She'd usually wake up crying and gasping, tangled in sweat-drenched sheets.

Then a big, warm, work-callused hand would stroke her hair and thumb the tears off her cheek. "You're okay, Monkey. Just a bad dream. Daddy's here now."

Chloe's eyes burned with the memory. How badly she ached for his touch right now, his gentle voice, his assurance that it was all just some nightmare. How badly she wanted to wake up.

Lucifer shifted beside her, giving a little moan and muttering in what sounded like Latin. Chloe scrubbed her own tears away and stroked a hand through his damp hair.

"You're okay, Lucifer. It's just a bad dream. I'm here. I'm right here."

He settled under her touch, the creases in his brow smoothing out, his mumbling lips going still and silent. Chloe continued her ministrations for a moment more, then carefully leaned forward and pressed "PLAY" on the video. As the pictures on the screen came to life, depicting a lively drunken trivia game at Brimstone, she reached for the yellow notepad and pen, getting ready to take notes.

She was an old school kind of girl.

Chapter Text

Chloe fought to keep the notes on the page from blurring into an illegible tangle of black ink. At some point, her handwriting had begun to resemble ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics.

If Lucifer were awake, he could probably translate them for me, she thought with a humorless smile.

Her partner had been in and out for the last hour or so. She was glad, now, that he'd refused the cot. She liked being able to check on him with a quick glance, rather than having to get up. She liked feeling the shallow in and out of his breathing against her, a constant reassurance that she needed in order to keep working. A few times, his breathing had faltered. Those times, Chloe had frozen, not daring to breathe herself until Lucifer's lungs resumed their fragile rhythm.

There were just under four hours left on the clock, but she no longer worried about that. The oxygen tank was all that mattered now. She'd switched to the second canister roughly two hours ago, and it was already over half gone. At the rate Lucifer was using it up, it wouldn't last another two. And once it ran out, things would get bad. Fast.

Chloe's notes on the yellow legal pad were extensive, detailing the exact times both Keith and Chet appeared on camera at the bar and at the movie theatre. To Chloe's dismay, Chet popped up regularly on the footage taken at Brimstone, pouring drinks and participating in the trivia game. At just after nine, he handed his apron off to another bartender and left for the movie with Keith, just as their statements claimed.

Keith, however, was a little bit more of a slippery fish. According to his sworn statement, he'd worked at the bar until nine, then left to see The Weaponizer. Same as Chet. However, Chloe couldn't spot Keith on camera at all between seven-thirty and nine. Keith's explanation for this was that he'd been in a back room, doing inventory. There weren't any cameras or other employees back there, leaving no way to prove or disprove his presence. He could easily have left the bar and come back. The hour-and-a-half absence didn't match up with Rose's time of death, but it still might mean something.

Both Chet and Keith were provably at the theatre by nine-forty-five. Once they disappeared into the dark auditorium, Chet didn't show up on camera again until well after midnight, when the movie let out. He could, theoretically, have left sometime in there, killed Rose, and come back for the end of the show. Assuming he found a way to dodge every single one of the parking lot's numerous security cameras, and got Keith to cover for him.

Because unlike Chet, Keith had definitely never left the theatre. The man apparently had a bladder the size of a grape. He came out to use the restroom no fewer than four times during the course of the film.

That's what you get for ordering the Jumbo Mega-Slushee, Chloe thought, taking a deliberately small sip of her orange Power-Ade.

She squinted down at her notes, trying to put it all together. Rose's lover, Keith, could've left the bar between 7:30 and 9:00pm, but there was no way to prove it, and it didn't match the time of the murder. Chet, whose hair might or might not have been the one found in Martin's vehicle, could've left the theatre between 10:00 and 12:30, which did match the time of the murder. But again, Chloe couldn't prove it. Not to mention there was no known motive. Chet and Rose were coworkers, at best. And there were no on-camera interactions between Chet and Martin at all that night. Another bartender had served Martin his drinks before eventually cutting him off at a little after 8:00.

Chloe stared hard at the screen, her eyes boring into the last, shadowy image of Martin from the night he supposedly killed his girlfriend. He appeared in the background of a heavily tattooed woman's drunken selfie, heading down a dark hallway on obviously unsteady legs, aiming for either the restrooms or the bar's back exit. Probably the exit, because he never showed up on camera again.

Where did you go? Chloe asked him silently. What really happened that night?

Lucifer, who'd been slumped against her, dozing restlessly, suddenly jerked awake. He sat up straight, breathing fast, his whole body rigid with tension. Lucifer's fever-bright eyes fixed on the far wall of the warehouse, as if seeing something Chloe couldn't perceive. A hallucination. A waking nightmare.

She rubbed the trembling muscles of his thigh. "Lucifer, it's okay. You're just dreaming."

"Detective," he said, his voice laced with an urgency she'd never heard before.

"I'm right here," she assured him, giving his arm a gentle squeeze to try to distract him from the imaginary thing across the room.

Panting, Lucifer didn't tear his gaze from the shadow-splashed wall. His arm twitched under Chloe's hand.

"I think…something's coming," he said haltingly. His whole body was shaking now, as if whatever he saw terrified him to the core.

Chloe's own breaths came short and fast as she squinted at the spot where he was staring. Was something actually there? Could the Devil see things humans couldn't? Her breath caught as one of the shadows seemed to move. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, sending chills through her body. The shadow shifted again, rising and falling, like a dark pair of wings.

Just another trick of her sleep-deprived mind. Had to be.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"What is it, Lucifer? What do you see?"

"Azrael," he whispered.

His sister. The Angel of Death.

Chloe's blood turned to ice. No…

Beside her, Lucifer's body gave a violent jerk. His eyes rolled back in his skull as he pitched forward off the bench.

Chapter Text

"Lucifer!" she cried, clinging tight to his arm in an attempt to stop his fall.

Instead, she only managed to slow his momentum slightly as his weight carried them both to the floor. Chloe's elbow smashed into the concrete so hard that for an instant, she could think of nothing but the fiery burst of pain. She moaned as glowing red and orange splotches splattered across her vision, consuming her view of the dim warehouse. Half a second later, her vision began to clear just in time to see an arm flying toward her face.

Chloe turned her head, but not fast enough. Lucifer's hand whacked against her lower jaw, snapping it shut with an audible clack. Salty blood flowed across her tongue. Shock and confusion screamed through her system, temporarily paralyzing her. Then another limb swung at her, and Chloe jolted back into action, scrambling away from her partner and his inexplicable assault.

By the time she'd put a few feet between them, her vision and brain had cleared enough to see Lucifer lying there, his back arched painfully off the floor, his long, usually-elegant arms and legs now twitching and jerking out of his control. Blood ran freely from a nasty gash on his forehead, disappearing into his hairline in bright red trickles. Horror and bile rose in Chloe's throat, mixing with the taste of blood. She fought the instinct to crawl back over and wrap her arms around him, to pin him down and stop his awful failing.

It wouldn't do Lucifer any good, and she might get hurt worse in the process. Instead, Chloe struggled to her feet and clawed through the dusty files in the back of her brain, desperately trying to remember what her first aid training said about seizures.

Stay away from the person. She was already doing that. Even though every second of leaving him to suffer alone was killing her.

Remove any objects from the area that might injure the person. Sparks flew as Chloe grabbed the end of the bench and hauled it backwards, until it was safely out of his reach. The oxygen tank was still within range of Lucifer's jumping limbs, but Chloe didn't dare take that away. He could live with the bruises if he hit the canister. He couldn't live without air.

Wasn't she supposed to put a belt or a wallet in his mouth? No, that was outdated information. The training said don't do that anymore. And she didn't have a wallet anyway.

Down on the floor, Lucifer's twisted torture continued, like he had invisible chains on his wrists and ankles, and some cruel force kept jerking them out of spite.

Chloe realized she was hyperventilating and made herself slow down. Made herself think. Most seizures stopped on their own. Most seizures stopped quickly. This one wasn't stopping. It was either a progression of his symptoms, which she couldn't do anything about, or it was because his fever had gotten too high. Which she could do something about. Maybe.

Chloe spied the blue of the ice pack he'd been wearing lying on the floor near his hip. She darted in to retrieve it. The pack was warm and squishy. Completely useless.

Chloe threw it aside and yelled up at the speakers on the ceiling, "Bethany, we need more ice!"

Echoing silence was the only response.

Snarling, Chloe ran to the bathroom and started grabbing paper towels. Only two came out of the dispenser. She dug her hand up into the apparatus, but it was empty, so she dashed out to grab Lucifer's jacket and thrust it under the gushing faucet instead. Water rained from the sodden garment as she ran back into the warehouse. Chloe threw the jacket over Lucifer's abdomen, where it landed with a splat.

Her eyes raked the scene, snagging on a large collection of empty sports bottles and energy drink cans. Chloe gathered as many of the bottles as she could, sprinted to the bathroom to fill them, then ran back out to Lucifer.

She unapologetically doused him with the icy water, splashing it all over him like she was performing an exorcism. When she'd emptied the bottles, Chloe dashed away to refill them. After several trips, she was panting so hard the air burned in her lungs and a knife jabbed her side with every breath. Soon, Lucifer's clothes were utterly soaked, making wet flapping noises as he continued to shake.

Chloe kept going. A large, dark water puddle began to stain the concrete around him, spreading up from his shoulders like a black halo. Finally, when Lucifer's sodden hair was sculpted smoothly against his scalp like a Ken doll, the tremors gripping him seemed to lessen.

At first, she was afraid she was imagining it. After another minute, though, he gave a few last feeble twitches, then lay still. Water dripped off him from a million places to join the shiny pool around him, the plops sounding over-loud in the aftermath of his seizure. Fresh blood flowed from the cut on his forehead, running down across his temple in watery, diluted trickles. Chloe dropped the empty bottles she'd been on her way to refill, letting them bounce away across the floor as she raced over to Lucifer with the first aid kit.

Frigid water soaked through her pant-legs as she knelt beside him. His skin was clammy and dead-feeling as Chloe pressed her fingers hard against the side of his throat, searching for a pulse. Lucifer's heartbeat thundered reassuringly against her fingertips.

Chloe sat back, letting a shudder of relief run through her before leaning forward to tend to his head wound. She'd just begun clean it with an alcohol swab when she paused, a trickle of cold unease entering her bloodstream.

Lucifer was lying very still.

Too still.

She stared at his chest, waiting for it to rise in harmony with his thumping heart. Seconds ticked by. Ten, fifteen, twenty. Lucifer's pulse pounded visibly in his neck, vibrating the water droplets clinging to his skin, but he had yet to take a breath. Chloe realized she was holding her breath, too.

She shook his shoulder urgently. "Lucifer, wake up! I need you to breathe!"

He just lay there in the water, limp and lifeless.

She slapped his face with almost vicious force and yelled his name right in his ear. Nothing. Chloe hovered over him, paralyzed by indecision. Were you supposed to do CPR on a person who still had a pulse? Would that help him or just hurt him worse?

What if she messed up his heart by thrusting down on his chest? What if she made it stop beating?

She caught sight of his lips turning blue under the mask and fresh panic tore through her. She had to risk it. If he didn't get air soon, his heart would stop anyway. Chloe pulled the mask off his face. Cold droplets flew from Lucifer's wet hair as the elastic band raked through it. The water pelted her cheeks like rain as she tossed the mask aside. She tilted Lucifer's head back and pinched his nose shut, preparing to breathe into his mouth.

Lucifer's chest hitched as he suddenly drew in a loud, rattling gasp on his own. Chloe pulled back, releasing his nose. She waited, heart pounding. He gasped again. It was an awful, fluid-crackling sound, but still infinitely better than the silence of him not breathing at all. Chloe thrust the mask back on and carefully rolled him onto his side in what she vaguely recalled as a "recovery position." She stroked a hand through his water- and blood-soaked hair, crooning shaky words of encouragement.

"That's it, Lucifer, just keep breathing. You're doing great."

It wasn't true, though. Despite his continued gasping, his lips grew bluer by the minute. Even with the oxygen turned as high as it would go, he just wasn't getting enough air. The slow suffocation Lucifer had been fighting against for hours had finally caught up to him.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the certainty of what she knew in her heart was happening. Two hot tears slipped down her cheeks. Crystal droplets glistened on her lashes as she opened her eyes again, looking down at her partner, the bruised color of his lips slowly spreading out around his mouth.

For her sake, he was still gasping, still fighting.

But he was losing.

He was dying.

Chapter Text

Chloe gathered Lucifer's head and shoulders onto her lap as best she could, encircling him in her protective embrace, as if that alone could ward off the shifting shadows on the walls. As if that alone could ward off Death Herself.

He'd been stable, up until the seizure. That was what did him in. It had drained the last of his reserves. Chloe should've tried harder to keep his fever down. She should've soaked his clothes earlier, no matter how miserable it made him. Sad puppy eyes be damned.

"I'm sorry, Lucifer." She half-choked the words, guilt hitching her chest. "I-I should've taken better care of you…"

Fresh blood oozed from the gash on his forehead. He must've hit it on one of those sharp bits of iron sticking out of the floor. Still cradling him with one arm, Chloe reached out for the first aid kit with the other. Water rippled as she slid the box toward her across the floor. Reflections of the ceiling lights danced and spun on the surface of the puddle, swirling together and then separating once more.

"You were right," Chloe said, tenderly wiping the blood away and patting his forehead dry. She gave a sad little laugh. "Kinda glad you're not awake to hear that."

"We never should've gone along with Bethany's plan. We should've kept trying to escape, like you wanted. W-we probably would've made it out by now…" Chloe's lips wobbled. She sniffled and smoothed a large Band-Aid over the wound. "And even if we didn't make it, I think fighting would've felt better, you know? Free will 'til the bitter end." She forced a smile through her tears. It quickly faded as dark blood began soaking through the bandage. "Oh, Lucifer…"

He made a small noise, like a hurt animal dying alone in the woods.

"Shhh, I'm right here," she assured him, her fingers combing tangles from his wet hair. His sporadic gasps were getting farther apart and shallower. She had to watch carefully to detect the movement of his ribcage. It wouldn't be long now. Minutes, at most.

Chloe just sat there, holding him and petting his head, barely even aware of the icy water soaking through her pants and underwear. Grief welled up inside her, spilling down her cheeks in hot trickles. It wasn't fair. She'd really believed they would win, in the end. With everything they'd been through, they deserved to win.

Lucifer had died and gone to Hell for her. Twice. She'd nearly died on multiple occasions. They'd broken each other's hearts, repeatedly. He'd gotten married. She'd almost gotten married—Chloe still shuddered at the thought of that mistake. They'd survived Malcolm, Lucifer's mother, the actual Cain from the Bible, and so much more.

And somehow, at the end of it all, she and Lucifer had found their way back to each other.

Of course, she'd always known the future between them was a big question mark. An immortal and a human, in love? One soul damned to Hell for all eternity and the other most likely headed for Heaven? In truth, they hadn't even gotten into all that heavy stuff yet. As Lucifer once pointed out, why focus on the end, when they were just at the beginning? They had a whole lifetime to enjoy together before their cruel, eternal separation. Or at least, they were supposed to.

Now, all she had left were fading dreams of what could've been. The house in Malibu they'd never move into. The driving lessons Lucifer would never give Trixie in his shiny Corvette. Lucifer waiting on the beach at sunset in the world's most expensive tuxedo, Amenadiel and Dan standing by his side, fulfilling their respective duties as "Best Man" and "Best Douche." Lucifer's eyes widening in awe at the sight of Chloe's dress…

A sob tore from Chloe's throat as she buried her face in his hair. Oh God, she would've married him. She would've married him…

She pulled back abruptly, her eyes full of fire and desperation as she looked pleadingly at the ceiling. "Help us, please."

Chloe wasn't even sure who she was talking to anymore—the kidnapper, or someone much higher up.

She waited, chest heaving, for some kind of answer. Any kind of answer. The only response that came was the faint buzzing of the bulbs overhead. And for one twisted minute, Chloe fully understood every ounce of Lucifer's rage toward his Father. It wasn't the booming, judge-y voice from above that Lucifer despised so much. It was the silence.

Chloe glared up at the cold lights, breathing hard. When she finally spoke, she did it very clearly, so there'd be no mistaking the words:

"Screw you."

And for the first time since she'd learned of the Almighty's existence, Chloe had no fear of the consequences.

Chapter Text

Tears flowed freely down Chloe's face as she waited for the end. She scrubbed them away even as more poured out. Her arms were tight around Lucifer's limp form, as if the strength of her grip alone could keep him in this world. She wouldn't let go, even after he died. She wouldn't let Bethany destroy him. Chloe would defend his body. She'd give him time to come back.

How long had it taken Lucifer to return after Malcolm shot him in the warehouse? Thirty seconds? A minute, maybe? It would probably take Bethany at least that long to get here from wherever she was. By the time the kidnapper arrived, Lucifer might be alive and well and ready to deliver some much-deserved punishment.

Of course, that was assuming his Father allowed him to come back. It was also assuming Lucifer wouldn't get trapped inside his own personal Hell downstairs, as he once had. There was no certainty in either of those assumptions. His return relied on a lot of big, fat "ifs."

And even if he did make it back, Bethany might just shoot him on sight. With Chloe nearby, Bethany could easily kill Lucifer again. And again. And again. She'd promised to do just that if they didn't solve the case in time. And with three hours left on the clock, they weren't even close. Didn't even have the information necessary to solve it.

A fresh wave of despair swelled inside Chloe's chest. She stroked Lucifer's wet hair, hoping that however far away he was right now, he could still somehow feel it. Feel her.

Down on her lap, Lucifer made a weak choking noise. A small trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Chloe's hand shook as she reached under the mask with a gauze pad and wiped the blood away, as she had done the previous three times.

Chloe's cousin, Lana, had died in a swimming pool when they were six. Chloe remembered arriving at the house with her mom, ready to pick up Lana for an audition because the role called for sisters, and Penelope had always said Chloe and Lana looked enough alike to be twins.

Not wanting to wait for someone to answer the doorbell, Chloe had run around to the back door, by the pool area, eager to see what her cousin was wearing to the try-out. Instead, Chloe saw Lana's dad, soaking wet and sobbing as he knelt beside the pool, pumping his arms on the chest of a little girl with blue skin and a pink sundress.

Reddish foam flowed from the girl's mouth every time Lana's dad pressed down on her. Chloe just stared at the strange scene until Penelope came trotting around the corner. At the sight of what was happening, Chloe's mother screamed and shielded her daughter's eyes with one hand while calling 9-1-1 with the other. The one time Penelope Decker was actually an adult.

Chloe didn't understand, at the time, what her mother was protecting her from. She didn't even realize until later that the blue person was Lana. For months after the funeral, Chloe obsessed over what it must feel like to die that way. To be trapped down deep in the cold blue and not be able to get out, the warm sun too far away to touch. To try to breathe, and get a lungful of water instead. To scream for help and have no sound come out.

Lucifer tried to take his next breath, but no air would come. His chest rose and fell ineffectually. The blue around his mouth darkened to the exact shade of Lana's limp body. More blood spilled from his lips and streamed to the bottom edge of the oxygen mask. Far too much to wipe away with a gauze pad.

Chloe's heart pounded. This was it. It was happening. He was dying right now. Right in her arms.

She panted, suddenly frantic with the need to move, to get up, to get away. She couldn't do this. She couldn't watch his whole body turn cold and blue like Lana's. She couldn't just sit here and watch him drown in a room full of air—

Chloe gasped as a sudden memory slammed into her, as violently real as if it were happening right here, right now. She could smell the stale coffee of the precinct, could feel the hardness of the interrogation room chair digging into her lower back. She could see the dim light glimmering eerily in the eyes of the dying woman sitting across from her.

"You still think I did it, don't you?" the woman asked in her raspy, frail voice, barely audible over the hiss of the oxygen canula in her nose.

Chloe didn't bother to deny it. She'd always thought the woman's oxygen tank alibi was crap. The suspect could've gotten another tank somewhere, or refilled hers somehow.

Now, sitting here alone with the woman, looking straight into those icy blue eyes, Chloe's entire being hummed with the knowledge that this person could easily be a killer.

The suspect's next words confirmed it:

"I could have, you know."

Chloe nodded encouragingly. "Everyone would understand why you did. Mr. Horton was criminally negligent. He allowed you and numerous other employees to work in unsafe conditions."

The woman gave a creaky laugh. "'Unsafe conditions'? He gave me cancer. He killed me."

"So you returned the favor?"

The suspect shook her head. "No. I would have. I wanted to. But I never would've shot him in the head like that."

"No?" Chloe asked. "Why not?"

The woman's pale lips parted in a feral smile. "Too quick. Too painless. He deserved so much more."

"What did he deserve, Sarah?"

The suspect's eyes went flat. Like a shark's. "To drown."

Chloe frowned.

"Where do you sleep?" the woman asked.

"At home," Chloe answered, at a loss as to where this was going.

"Yes, but where?"

"In my room, in my bed."

Sarah's eyes flared with a strange light. "Do you know where I sleep?"

Chloe shook her head hesitantly.

"In a chair, in the living room. I can't sleep in my bed anymore. Do you know why?"

Again, Chloe shook her head, her breath caught in the intensity of those blue eyes.

"Because every time I lie down in bed, I start to drown." Sarah gestured at her chest. "Turns out the fluid in my lungs doesn't like that horizontal position. It shifts, and suddenly I go from barely being able to breathe, to not being able to at all. So I have to sleep sitting up. In a chair. Every fucking night." Her fist clenched on the tabletop, translucent skin stretching to show bony white knuckles and blue-green veins. "Horton did that to me. He did that to so many of us. You don't know how many times I've sat wheezing and coughing in my chair at night, fantasizing about creeping into his bedroom, in the dark, and pressing a pillow down over his face.

"He'd wake up, start to struggle, and I would press down even harder. Just so he'd feel it. That pain of dying slowly, inch by inch. That blind terror of trying to breathe, again and again, and knowing it wasn't going to happen. That's what he deserved—to suffocate in a room full of air. If I had killed him, that's how I would've done it."

The suspect looked up at Chloe, meeting the detective's eyes unflinchingly. Sarah smirked at the arrested look on Chloe's face. "Still think I blew his brains out?"

Chloe snapped back to the here and now like a deep-sea diver, bursting to the surface. More recent memories flashed through her like lightning: Lucifer's refusal to use the cot. The tiny shudders he gave whenever he looked at it. His insistence that it was simply too uncomfortable. She'd just assumed he was talking about the mattress. But maybe it had nothing to do with that. Maybe he couldn't lie down because whenever he tried he couldn't breathe.

Maybe it wasn't the seizure that had made him get worse, but the change in positions.

Chloe abandoned her rhythmic stroking of his hair and grabbed him roughly under the armpits, attempting to haul him into a more upright position.

"Come on," she grunted, "you have to sit up."

It was no use. He was dead weight, made even heavier by his sodden clothing. She was nowhere near strong enough to lift him. At least not from this angle. Chloe crawled out from under his torso and scrambled to her feet, intending to lift from above, but at the last minute she had an even better idea.

She ran over to the cot, dragged it up beside Lucifer, then kicked the bed's metal legs so they collapsed. With the cot now flat on the ground like a stretcher, Chloe pulled the oxygen mask off her partner's face and rolled him over onto the mattress. He lay there like a rag doll, limbs splayed, dark blood running from his mouth and nose.

She tore her eyes from the gruesome sight and raced to the bench, which she'd pulled out of the way during his seizure. She hauled it up behind the cot, as close as she could while still giving herself room to stand between the two.

Then, Chloe grabbed the top of the cot's metal frame and heaved upward, making the bed fold at its middle hinges. Turning it from a cot into a chair. At the same time she dragged backwards, pulling the cot toward the bench in an awful shriek of metal on concrete.

When her legs were pinned between the upper part of the cot and the bench seat, Chloe crawled up onto the bench and kept on pulling, her arms trembling, her abdominal muscles searing, until the cot's top half was securely propped against the bench and Lucifer's upper body was as perpendicular to the floor as she could possibly get it.

Breathing hard, she rushed to retrieve the oxygen mask. Chloe's feet splashed through the puddle on the floor as she plucked the mask from the center of the water, wiped it off on her damp shirt, and carried it to Lucifer.

His face was a mess of blood and water and floor-dirt. Chloe grabbed his soaked jacket, which had slid off when she'd rolled him, and used a sleeve to mop off his mouth and nose before gently securing the mask back in place.

Then, she just stood there, her leg muscles trembling as she waited, her lungs not daring to breathe.

"Come on," she mumbled, watching Lucifer's chest for any sign of movement.

No more blood trickled out from his mouth and nose, but his lips were as blue as ever, and his ribcage remained completely still.

"Come on," Chloe repeated, louder.

Still nothing. Her hands tightened into fists.

"Lucifer, BREATHE!" she roared, her voice thundering through the whole warehouse as she stamped her foot in the puddle.

Lucifer's chest hitched slightly. Chloe blinked, not sure if she'd imagined the tiny flutter. His lips parted and he drew in a small gasp of air. Definitely not imagined. He coughed weakly, then drew in another, slightly deeper, breath.

Little by little, the blue color receded from his lips as his lungs settled into a delicate rhythm. Up, down. Up, down. Like a newly-hatched Monarch, drying its wings. The slightest breeze liable to blow it away.

Chloe's gaze raced over the warehouse walls, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of the dark, winged thing she thought she'd seen a short while ago. But the shadows were still now. Just ordinary darkness, splashed across concrete and iron. Nothing more.

Her eyes jumped back to Lucifer, his face still deathly pale, but no longer blue, intangible relief softening his unconscious features, erasing some of the lines from his forehead.

Chloe stood frozen, scarcely breathing herself. Afraid even the slightest movement or sound might shatter this newfound, fragile stability. Afraid the whole scene would break apart into a thousand ripples if she took even one step. In this feverish haze of a nightmare, the one good thing to happen just didn't seem real.

A feather of doubt swished across Chloe's mind, stimulating all the wrong neurons.

What if it wasn't real? She hadn't slept in oh-so-many hours. Now that the adrenaline rush was leaving her system, her eyelids could barely hold themselves up. How could she be sure she was even really awake right now? Wasn't it more likely that she'd simply cried herself to sleep while she was down on the floor, cradling Lucifer in her arms?

What if this, him still being here, was just a cruel dream? Any second now, she might wake to find him lying in her lap, cold and stiff, having died alone while she was busy snoozing.

She shook her head against the awful thought. No. It wasn't possible. She was awake right now. She was sure of it.

Cold doubt pressed against her, finding cracks in her resolve and trickling in. A gleam of metal caught her eye at the top edge of Lucifer's cot. A sharp bit of wire, sticking out from the mesh supporting the mattress. Chloe shakily walked over to it, her footsteps sending silvery swirls swimming across the puddle's surface.

Mouth tightening into a grim line, she thrust her open palm against the wire's needle tip. The bolt of pain made her gasp. Chloe pulled her hand back, her eyes blinking and wide, her body startled by the assault even though her mind had been prepared. She stared down at her palm. Deep red blood blossomed from the puncture wound, like a miniature rose blooming to life in her hand.

Chloe closed her fingers on the sight, pain now throbbing up her arm. She looked down at Lucifer. He was still here. Still breathing. Still real. Chloe looked at her hand again.

Great, she thought. Now I need a Tetanus shot.

A tremulous laugh bubbled up out of her, giddy and slightly hysterical-sounding. Chloe was suddenly very aware of the overheated blood trapped in her cheeks, the shuddering ache of her biceps and abs, the quivery, gelatinous feeling in her knees, like they might give out at any second. In wobbly, ungraceful movements, she climbed onto the propped-up cot beside Lucifer.

Relief coated her exhausted muscles as she settled in on the lumpy mattress next to her partner. Chloe's lower lip trembled, and she bit down on it. Hard. Not yet, she told herself, scooching over and arranging Lucifer's splayed limbs in a way that at least appeared comfortable.

The corners of her eyes prickled with a familiar heat. Chloe ignored the sensation as she straightened Lucifer's damp vest and smoothed down his hair. The image before her wavered, and Chloe blinked furiously. Not yet. She carefully tucked her body tight against Lucifer's, entwining her fingers with his cold ones, laying her other hand across his chest, so she could feel every breath, even if she wouldn't be able to hear them.

Then, and only then, did she finally give herself permission to release the burning sob trapped at the back of her throat.

In the cold silence of the warehouse, Chloe buried her face in Lucifer's shoulder, closed her eyes, and let herself go.

Chapter Text

"I've got them."

Sniffling, Chloe pulled her head off Lucifer's damp shoulder to blink groggily at the ceiling. She hadn't heard the speakers crackle over her own sobs. "What?"

"The files," Bethany said breathlessly. "From Chet's phone and his computer. I'm sending them to the Chromebook now. I'm sorry I was gone so long—it took a while to track everything down. How's he doing?"

Chloe's eyes narrowed into a glare. "Like you care."

"I do," the kidnapper insisted. "I swear. I don't want anyone to di—"

The computer chimed with the arrival of the new files.

"Save it," Chloe snapped. Her sympathy level for the woman was at about a negative five right now. Gently disentangling herself from Lucifer, Chloe got up just long enough to retrieve the Chromebook, the remaining half of her Gold Bar, and an off-brand sports drink—the only kind that was left. Then she settled back on the mattress again, the computer on her lap.

Chloe clicked on one of the new folders that had popped up. She figured there must be some sort of closed network set up within the building. There certainly wasn't any outside Internet connection—at least none that she knew how to find. She'd investigated the possibility early on, hoping to discreetly send out a distress call, but tech stuff had never been her strong suit and the exercise had only eaten up precious time.

Chloe sighed and cracked open the seal on the sports drink. All that crying had left her dehydrated and utterly spent. She took a sip of warm orange liquid that tasted like Children's Triaminic and made a face. Lucifer was right. The stuff was poison.

Setting the vile drink aside, Chloe began skimming over file names and email subject lines, hoping one would jump out as significant. Something labeled "Suicide Note" or "Guilty Confession" would be perfect right about now. Bethany remained silent throughout the search, for which Chloe was glad. She was so not in the mood for any more of the woman's sob stories. There was no excuse in the world good enough to put someone through this kind of torture.

Chloe didn't bother much with the stuff dated prior to the murder, except to confirm that Chet didn't have any contact with Rose or Martin outside of work. He didn't even have their email addresses or cell numbers. No personal relationship with either the victim or the accused killer meant no motive. So that was out the window.

Just based on the volume of emails and phone calls and some of the subject lines, Chloe could see the general trends in Chet's life over the years.

Back before his transition, there were some attempts to get a music career started. Failed attempts, mostly. Not because he wasn't good, but because he frequently lost his nerve and backed out of auditions. The rare times he booked a gig, he often cancelled due to anxiety. His life, on a whole, looked empty and bleak. Like a plant left forgotten in a dark corner—dried out and covered in a layer of dust.

Then he started his gender transition, and little by little, things changed. He found a support group for trans individuals and made connections. His social life began to blossom, both in person and online. He booked a regular Monday night singing gig at a local coffeehouse. He got therapy for his anxiety and anorexia, gained some much-needed weight, and even started going out with someone he'd met through his new community. At one point his Instagram account, which featured regular pictures and vids of his performances at the Caffeine Hive, had over four thousand followers—a staggering feat for someone once too shy to even post a selfie.

Four thousand followers. Chloe shook her head, bemused. She herself had only twelve—and two of those were Dan and Trixie. Obviously, the gender transition had done wonders for Chet. It was like watching that shriveled up plant re-hydrate and come back to life, blooming like never before.

Everything changed after Rose's murder. In the months following her death, Chet's budding social life and music career became non-existent once more. He quit the coffeehouse gig he'd worked so hard to get. He broke up with a boyfriend he seemed crazy about. Chet wrote an emotional "thank you" note to his fans, and then stopped updating his Insta account. And, judging from the photo in his final post, his anorexia was back in full force. The only thing that didn't change was his bartending job at Brimstone.

From a handful of emails to his parents and sister, Chloe gleaned that Chet hated the job. She got the vibe that he was keeping it as a means to punish himself—though for what, she didn't know. Based on what she now knew of his personality, Chloe couldn't imagine Chet committing the murder himself. The man had started a GoFundMe campaign to save a butterfly sanctuary, for Pete's sake. He was like, the opposite of a killer.

One thing was clear, though: something had happened to Chet the night of the murder. Something he couldn't live with.

Chloe nibbled her Gold Bar, letting each tiny shard melt into syrupy sweetness on her tongue. She scanned email after email, photo after photo, looking for some little clue as to what went down.

Come on, Chet, she urged, I know you didn't kill her—just tell me what happened.

Beside her, Lucifer started trembling. Chloe froze in place, her heart pounding in anticipation of another seizure. After a moment of watching him, however, she realized he was just cold. No wonder, given that he was still completely soaked, and the warehouse wasn't all that warm to begin with.

Chloe wished she had a blanket for him. Then again, she wished she had a lot of things. A phone. A blowtorch. Her gun. With a sigh, she snuggled closer and began massaging one of Lucifer's icy hands, trying to give him what little body heat she had left.

His breathing was getting more labored by the minute, even in the upright position. She'd turned the oxygen down to stretch it out as long as possible, but it was bound to run out completely sooner rather than later. The needle on the gauge had been in the red for over thirty minutes. By this point, Lucifer was literally running on fumes.

Chloe's stomach churned with despair as she neared the end of the materials Bethany had sent. Finally, only one folder remained, entitled "Auditions." Chloe opened it not because it held any real promise, but because looking at anything was better than just sitting there, holding Lucifer's cold hand, watching the clock on the table tick down to zero.

Predictably, the folder contained videos of Chet's auditions, both pre- and post-transition. Chloe watched a few at random, noting once again the dichotomy between before and after the gender change. Between a skinny, timid young person who huddled at the piano with hunched shoulders, looking afraid to be onstage, and a man who seemed to own the stage with almost Lucifer-like charisma.

There was nothing new here, nothing Chloe didn't already know. Her time would be better spent going through Chet's emails again. Maybe she'd missed something the first time around. With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul, Chloe started to close the folder. Right before she clicked the little "X," something caught her eye:

"Audition_2010_Lux."

Chloe frowned. Lucifer had said that Chet never auditioned at Lux. He'd gotten nervous and hid out in the bathroom. But the size of the file indicated a video at least ten minutes long. And, on closer inspection, the file had been created in 2010, but the "last modified" date was January 7, 2014. Chloe's breath caught. That was just two days before Chet's suicide.

With a shaking hand, she reached out to play the video.

Chapter Text

It started out in 2010, with a pre-transition Chet standing outside of a very familiar building. His naturally blond hair was cut in a pixie style and dyed dark red. His cheeks were painfully sunken, his green eyes a mix of hope and dread. He flashed a nervous smile at the camera.

"So here I am, outside a brand-spankin'-new nightclub called Lux, about to audition for a guy named 'Lucifer.'" He laughed, and it held the same nervous quality as his smile. "That's his real name. No joke. Anyway, uh, wish me luck, and I'll see you on the other side." The whipping of wind against the microphone cut off and the picture went dark, but there were still eight-and-a-half minutes left on the video, so Chloe waited.

She hoped the remaining footage didn't chronicle what Chet had done at Lux after the auditions were over. Or rather, whom. Chloe knew for a fact that Lucifer had no problem with his lovers recording him during sex. Some of the men and women he'd slept with were hard-core exhibitionists. And he was all about giving people what they truly desired.

Then again, if this were about to turn into a Lucifer sex vid, it would be way longer than eight-and-a-half minutes. Chloe knew that for a fact, too. And from personal experience.

A new image appeared on the screen, and Chloe sat up straighter, scarcely breathing. Because this was clearly the "modified" part of the video. Chet was now post-transition—hair long and blond and pulled into a manly ponytail, cheeks a little fuller but nowhere near as healthy as they had been before Rose's death. The nervous laugh and smile were gone. Instead, Chet's green eyes held unshed tears, deep-rooted sadness, and a glint of steely resolve.

Chloe held her breath as Chet spoke into the camera:

"Hi, Mom. Um, I know I haven't called or emailed in a really long time." He blinked, fighting tears. "I'm so sorry for that. I promise I'll do better. It's just…something happened, and uh…ever since then, I haven't been so good, you know?" Chet gave a little laugh that reminded Chloe of the earlier part of the video. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Anyway, uh, I finally decided that I can't keep living how I've been living. Something needs to change. I need to change…And, uh, I wish I didn't have to hurt you and Dad and Chrissy in the process, but it's the only way."

Chet took another deep breath and looked straight into the camera. "You're going to read some things about me in the paper. Bad things. And I might be going to jail. I don't know for sure, yet. That's up to the police. But no matter what happens, no matter what the papers say, I wanted you to hear the story in my words. I wanted you to hear the truth, just once, from my lips, before all the lies start crowding in."

Chet inhaled and let the air out in a shuddering sigh. "Remember Rosie, the girl I tended bar with? The one who died? You only met her once, when you were in town visiting, but I bet you remember her. You were at the bar, waiting for my shift to finish up so we could go out. When Rosie noticed you waiting, she came over and brought you a Cherry 7Up, no charge. I'd mentioned to her once that it was your favorite drink, and she remembered. That's the kind of girl she was." His eyes flooded with tears. He sniffled and wiped them away.

"Anyway, uh, after she got killed, the police asked me and everyone else at Brimstone where we were that night, who we saw, what we were doing. I told them about working at the bar and then going to the movie with Keith…but I never told them what really happened in between."

Chet swallowed loudly, forcing himself to look at the camera, to meet his mother's eyes. "The truth is, just as I was getting off shift, Keith came into the stock room to get me. He said Rosie's boyfriend, Martin, was on the bathroom floor, too drunk to drive, and needed a ride home. Keith already had Martin's keys, but he needed my help getting him into the car."

Chet licked his lips. They looked chapped and raw, like he'd licked them a million times over the past several months. "When we got to the bathroom, Martin was full-on passed out. I was worried, but Keith said he would be fine. We just needed to get him home and Rosie would take care of him. So I helped Keith carry him to the car and shove him in the passenger seat. It took every bit of muscle we had. Martin was dead weight. Keith already had the car running and the heat blasting to help Martin wake up, but it didn't seem to be doing much good.

"Anyway, uh, Keith drove the car to Martin's apartment and I followed in my truck so Keith would have a way to get back to the bar. We stopped outside the parking structure and Keith told me not to follow him in, to just keep my truck running and stay out on the street. I thought it was weird. I was like, 'Don't you need my help getting him up to the apartment?' But Keith said Rosie would help him. He'd already talked to her and she was coming down and she didn't want any more people there than necessary because Martin would already be embarrassed enough when he woke up."

Chet scrubbed at his face, smearing tears on his cheeks. "It still seemed a little off, but I didn't have any reason to think anything bad was going down. So I just kind of shrugged and did what Keith said. I waited in my truck, listening to tunes and scribbling lyrics for a new song I was working on. I got so caught up in composing, I didn't even realize how much time had passed." Chet gave the camera a watery smile. "You know how I get when I'm writing. 'Lost to the world,' as you always say."

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, um, when Keith finally knocked on the window, I caught sight of the time and realized he'd been in the there for over half an hour. I asked him what happened. He just said that everything was fine, but it was an ugly scene. He said that when Martin woke up, Rosie laid into him for drinking and they started fighting. Like, really bad fighting. Keith said he was glad to get out of there. I started to drive him back to the bar, but he wanted to go see a movie instead. He seemed really upset about the whole thing with Martin and Rosie, and I didn't have any plans with Brian that night, so I said okay.

"I didn't find out about Rosie until the next afternoon. I couldn't—" Chet's voice broke. "I couldn't believe she was dead. Everyone was already saying that Martin did it. Even that first day. I was just in shock. I didn't even know what to think. Then the police started questioning everyone at Brimstone. But before I could give my statement, Keith cornered me in the stock room. He said not to tell anyone about putting Martin in the car and driving him home."

Chet shook his head. "I thought he was joking at first. Like some bad, sick joke. Then I looked in his eyes, and they were so dead serious. He was really telling me to lie to the police in a murder investigation. Rosie's murder investigation. I flat-out told him he was crazy. I started to leave the room and he grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. I actually felt the glass on the fire extinguisher case crack behind me—that's how hard he pushed me. Then Keith leaned right in my face and swore that if I ever told the police—or anyone—about taking Martin home that night, he was going to send a mass email to Dad's whole congregation about Dad having a gay, trans son."

Tears flowed freely down Chet's face now. He didn't try to stop them. "Dad's never really understood the choices I made in my life, but he always loved me. Always supported me. I didn't want to ruin his life. I convinced myself it didn't matter that we drove Martin home, or that Keith saw Rosie and Martin fighting before we left. That's just more evidence that Martin did it, right? And he got convicted, so it all worked out."

There was a certain look people got in their eyes, when they were lying to themselves and they knew it. Chloe had seen it dozens of times in the interrogation room. Chet had that look now.

"But then Martin got sentenced to death. And Keith started watching me like a hawk at work, like he was still afraid I'd tell, even after all this time. I even caught him trying to snoop on my phone once. And I kept thinking, what is he hiding? We were at the movies when she died. Keith never left the theatre, and that's the truth. Everything was the truth, except the part we left out. I just couldn't figure out what he was so afraid of, what he was trying to cover up."

Chet took a deep, shuddering breath. "And then I finally realized—it's not my job to figure it out. It's my job to tell the police the truth. The whole truth. Just like I should've done in the beginning. And maybe it means nothing. Or maybe it means everything. All I know is, I can't let a man die when the judge and jury didn't even have all the facts."

Chet sniffled loudly. "So, um, I'm sorry I let you down. I'm sorry I lied. You and Dad taught me better." Fresh tears streamed down his cheeks and he wiped them away. "Please tell Dad I'm sorry about his congregation. I'm sorry about everything, but I know he's strong enough to get through this. We all are. I should've known that from the beginning."

In the background of the video there was a knocking sound. Chet turned to look behind him, then faced the camera again. "I'm going to do what's right, Mom. What you taught me. I'm sorry it took me so long." The knocking came again, more insistent. "I love you." Chet reached out for the camera, and the screen went dark.

A few seconds later, a smiling image of a red-haired, pre-transition Chet appeared, standing in front of Lux. A circular arrow on the screen gave the option to replay the video.

Chloe sniffled and wiped her face clean.

"He never went to the police," Bethany said softly. "Or sent the video to his mother."

"Must've lost his nerve," Chloe murmured, still staring at Chet's picture on the screen. At a ghost. But the words didn't ring true, even as Chloe said them. Chet didn't seem like someone about to lose his nerve. He seemed like a man who'd finally found it.

Chloe shook her head. It didn't matter. Not right now. There were still thirty-six minutes on the clock, and they had what they needed. She looked at the ceiling.

"You got what you wanted, Bethany. We found a break in your son's case." Chloe's voice wavered as she went on, "We did everything you asked of us. Now, please, let me go, before…" She shot a glance at Lucifer's deathly pale face. Her eyes flooded. "Before it's too late."

Chloe held her breath, directing all of her hope, her prayers, her love at the twinkling lights overhead.

There was a long beat of silence. Then the speakers crackled.

"I'm sorry," Bethany said. "It's not enough."

Chapter Text

Rage roared inside Chloe's chest, clawing for release. "What do you mean, 'not enough'?! Two key witnesses lied under oath about their whereabouts on the night of Rose's murder! That fact alone will stop the execution! Martin would be guaranteed a new trial—"

"So he can just be convicted and sentenced to death all over again?" Bethany shot back. "No. I need evidence exonerating him. If anything, Chet's video only makes things worse for Martin. It puts him at the apartment just a few hours before Rose's time of death!"

Chloe opened her mouth to argue back, then abruptly clamped it shut.

"The time of death…" she murmured, some important detail niggling in the back of her mind but not quite reaching the surface. Chloe pressed 'play' on the video and skipped ahead to Chet's account of the night in question.

"—was full-on passed out," Chet was saying. "I was worried, but Keith said he would be fine. We just needed to get him home and Rosie would take care of him. So I helped Keith carry him to the car and shove him in the passenger seat. It took every bit of muscle we had. Martin was dead weight. Keith already had the car running and the heat blasting to help Martin wake up, but it didn't seem to be doing much good. Anyway, uh—"

Chloe paused the video and closed her eyes, a memory washing over her:

Head pounding, lights way too bright even through her eyelids, mouth cotton-dry, a civil war taking place inside her stomach. And then, a blast of icy air hitting her right in the face, transporting her to a whole new dimension of misery. She groaned in agony and slit her eyes open just wide enough to register Lucifer hovering over her, grinning like a gigantic dick. The sunlight gave him a blinding halo as he stood there, a steaming mug in one hand, some kind of electric fan in the other.

"What the hell are you doing to me?" Chloe moaned.

"Curing you of your hangover, of course," he replied cheerfully, moving the torturous fan even closer to her face. "Hot coffee, cold air, hair of the dog that bit you. There's no better remedy on this earth. Believe me, I've looked."

Chloe's eyes popped back open in the present. Chet's face was frozen on the screen in mid-word. She rewound, replayed.

"—the heat blasting to help Martin wake up—"

Hot coffee, cold air, hair of the dog that bit you.

"That's it," Chloe whispered.

"What?" Bethany asked.

"That's it!" Chloe repeated, scrambling to disentangle herself from Lucifer without knocking him over. "You wouldn't use warm air to wake up a drunk person. That would just make them more cozy, more likely to stay asleep. Keith didn't have the heat on for Martin—he had it on for Rose. She was already dead. He already had her in the trunk. He killed her earlier that night and then kept her body as hot as he could in order to alter the time of death, so it would look like she was killed later!"

Chloe was panting, both from the excitement of the discovery and from the effort of spewing the words out at such a high speed while simultaneously packing every sports bottle and supply she could get ahold of around Lucifer's prone form, trying to make it so he couldn't roll off the cot in her absence. She paused in her efforts to stare at the ceiling, her heart in overdrive as she awaited the verdict. If Bethany said it still wasn't enough…

"Well done, Detective Decker," Bethany said finally, her voice shaky with relief and probably a million other emotions. "You're free to go."

"Thank you," Chloe blurted, more tears welling up in her eyes as she gave Lucifer one last check. He was going to make it. He was going to live. "Thank you so much. I—"

"After you make the call to stop the execution."

Chloe froze, her giddy heart going still again. "What?"

"You'll have to make the call yourself. They won't believe it, coming from me."

Chloe swallowed. "But how—"

"I'll connect you right now. Just tell Martin's lawyer what you've learned. He'll know how to proceed in terms of stopping the execution. A word of caution, though: if he even suspects you're being held against your will, that you're under duress of any kind—"

"He won't," Chloe promised. Down on the cot, Lucifer's breathing faltered. His lips were turning blue again. Chloe's hand tightened into a fist. "Just get him on the phone. Now."

Chapter Text

The lawyer didn't answer on the first ring. Or the second. Or the third. Chloe paced like a caged lioness, her shoes squelching through the drying puddle on the floor. For all she knew, it was three in the morning. She'd lost all sense of time, all sense of what day it was. On the fourth ring, Chloe opened her mouth to tell Bethany to try calling the governor directly, because obviously this lawyer guy wasn't—

"This is Josh Schulz, how can I assist you?"

Caught unprepared, Chloe fumbled to get the words out. "Hi, yes, um, this is Detective Chloe Decker with the LAPD. I've just uncovered new evidence that could clear your client Martin Collins in the murder of Rose Alvarez. You need to stop the execution immediately—they've probably already got him in the chamber."

There was a long pause, like it was taking the man an extra minute to process the information, and Chloe wanted to scream. Lucifer didn't have an extra minute. For that matter, neither did Martin.

"Detective," the lawyer said slowly, "Martin's execution isn't set to take place for another week—"

"What?!" Chloe roared.

"His execution is scheduled for next Friday," Schulz repeated. "Um…is everything all right?"

Chloe barely heard him. She was too busy taking loud, deep breaths and shooting fiery hot beams of hatred at the ceiling. A week? A freaking week? That bitch.

"Detective?"

She blinked, coming back to herself. "What? No. I mean yes. I mean, everything's fine, Mr. Schulz. I'm just…" Her eyes fell on Lucifer and the hatred softened into love. She stroked his forehead, watching him struggle for air. "I'm just trying to save an innocent man."

The lawyer laughed shakily, sounding as exhausted as Chloe felt. "You and me both, Detective. You and me both. Now, I'm going to need a little bit more information about this evidence you've uncovered…"

The next nine minutes were like individual circles of Hell. After relaying everything to the lawyer, Chloe then had to repeat her story to the lieutenant governor, and then to the governor himself. All while watching Lucifer's lips turn steadily bluer. By the time she neared the end of the last call, she was drenched in sweat, her hands fisted so hard her fingernails were cutting into her palms. If she had to say her badge number one more time, she wasn't sure she could stop herself from screaming.

After receiving the governor's word that Martin's execution would not take place, Chloe finally extricated herself from the call, and not one second too soon. She actually felt the last drop of civility drain out of her. When she looked at the ceiling again, her eyes were feral, her face twisted with a snarl.

"Thank you," Bethany's voice gushed over the speakers. "Thank you so much. You saved my baby boy. How can I ever—"

"Open. The. Door," Chloe growled, sounding very much like the Devil himself.

"I already entered the sequence," Bethany promised. "It'll just take a few seconds for the locks to—"

A loud clack echoed through the warehouse, and the far door creaked open. Chloe blinked, shocked by the suddenness of her freedom. Almost not quite believing it. Like a pet canary, unexpectedly presented with an open window.

Fly, her brain screamed. Fly!

Chloe took one precious second—just one—to plant a fierce kiss on Lucifer's temple. Then she raced for the exit like the hounds of Hell were snapping at her heels.

Just as she reached the open door, Chloe glanced back at Lucifer one last time…and immediately wished she hadn't. His eyes had fluttered open, and the expression on his face was groggy and disoriented. She could tell he likely had no idea where he was, or what was going on. He turned his head sluggishly and spotted her frozen by the door, caught right in the act of leaving him behind. A look of hurt confusion flashed across his eyes.

Chloe ached to run to him, to hug him and kiss him and explain why she had to leave. To reassure him that she would not be gone for good, that she'd never abandon him as his Father once had. The effort of holding herself back nearly tore her in two.

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked into his betrayed ones.

"I love you," she whispered.

Then she turned her back on him and ran out the door.

Chapter Text

Three steps through the door, Chloe nearly smashed face-first into a concrete wall. She turned in a full circle, confused to find herself in a dim hallway, rather than outside.

"Make a right, Detective Decker!" Bethany instructed over the speakers.

Chloe took off down the hall without even questioning the order. She rounded a corner, found another open door, and burst through it. The hallway here had steel walls, just like the main room she and Lucifer had been trapped in.

"Left!" Bethany called, and Chloe started running again.

The place was a maze of doors and hallways. A building within a building within a building. And Chloe knew, even before she reached the final exit, that she and Lucifer never would've broken out of this place. They would've wasted all their time on an impossible task, and he would've died.

It was cold comfort, though, knowing she'd made the right choice in focusing on Martin's case. After all, she was probably still way too close for Lucifer to start healing. He could still die. He might have, already.

Chloe shook the thought away and pushed harder, her pounding footsteps echoing like gunshots through the empty hallway. She turned another corner, found a door labeled "Emergency Exit," and body-slammed her way through it.

Blinding sunlight, warm wind, and the smell of coconuts assaulted her senses in a disorienting wave. Chloe blinked, shielding her eyes as she stumbled across the sandy ground toward a row of palm trees swaying in the distance. The whole scene didn't even seem real. She couldn't believe it was daytime. It had always been night, in the warehouse. It had been night for so long…

Chloe looked back over her shoulder at the place that had been her prison, squinting for any hint of a company name or an address, but the outside of the building was dusty and blank. From this distance, it actually looked small.

She reached the tree-line and discovered an empty road running alongside it. Chloe took off down the lonely expanse of shimmering pavement, hoping to flag down a passing car, but none came. Instead, she found an envelope with her name on it, nailed to a tree trunk about half a mile down. Chloe tore the envelope free and pawed through the contents as she ran: her gun, her badge, their phones and the batteries that went with them.

Missed calls and worried texts from Dan and Ella crowded her screen the instant she turned it on. She called Dan back, made him trace the GPS chip in her phone, then hung up on him as soon as he gave her the location. Chloe had already decided to call an ambulance for Lucifer. He might need medical help to stay alive until his immortality fully kicked back in.

Chloe called 9-1-1 and started blurting everything out, only to have the operator cut in to inform her that an ambulance was already on the way to the warehouse. Another woman had called about the situation five minutes ago.

Bethany.

Chloe thanked the operator and hung up, turning her mind to the next order of business: having someone on hand to make sure Lucifer didn't accidentally reveal himself to either the paramedics or the hospital staff. In his disoriented state, he might very well get defensive. And while glowy eyes might be written off as a trick of the light, his full-on Devil face was another story. A nightmare-inducing, pee-your-pants, end-up-being-committed-to-a-mental-institution story. Having someone close by, someone he trusted, would go a long way towards preventing this.

Chloe raked an arm across her eyes, clearing them of stinging sweat. The heat and exhaustion were making her dizzy, making it hard to think, but she couldn't slow down. Not yet. After a short deliberation, she called Linda, gave the doctor the Cliff's Notes of what was going on, then hung up on Linda's promise to meet Lucifer's ambulance at the hospital.

Chloe's phone immediately rang again—either Linda calling back, or Dan calling back again, or maybe Ella this time. Chloe just put it in silent mode, shoved it in her pocket, and kept running, her feet slapping the pavement in a steady one-two rhythm that became her only company for the next fifteen minutes or so.

She was so caught up in the beat of rubber against road that it took her a while to notice that the breeze on her cheeks felt cooler, and now smelled of seaweed and salt and ocean. The phone in Chloe's pocket buzz-buzz-buzzed with ignored messages. She thumped past a yellow sign that indicated the road was ending. Minutes later, was she jogging through shallow, dry sand, then deeper, wetter sand.

Gulls cried in the distance as she reached the place where frothy waves kissed the shore, her footprints laid out in a long string behind her, proof of how far she'd traveled. How much distance she'd put between herself and Lucifer. Panting and clutching at the knife in her side, Chloe sank to her knees, knowing she'd gone as far as she possibly could.

Not knowing yet if it was enough.

Her phone buzzed again, for the millionth, billionth time. Chloe took a deep breath and pulled it out. It was a long minute before she could make herself look at the screen. In a sea of "Holy crap girl are you okay"s from Ella and numerous "What the hell is going on"s from Dan, a single message from Linda stood out:

"At the hospital now. He's going to be okay."

With a strangled laugh, Chloe flopped backwards into the sand, closed her eyes, and let the cool waves wash over her.

Chapter Text

The faint sound of the piano woke her, so soft he must be barely touching the keys. Chloe smiled and stayed in her warm cocoon of silk, too cozy to move. The music was sweet and sad and in her half-awake state she could imagine the notes floating all around her in the dark room, like cottonwood seeds caught on a summer breeze. She could pluck them from the air, follow their white fluffy trail back to her dreams, like a little kid enchanted by the Pied Piper.

Chloe was right on the verge of drifting off again when her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She longed to ignore it, but Trixie was at a sleepover tonight, and even though she was nearly a teenager now, she still sometimes got homesick or scared and wanted to come home.

With a soft groan, Chloe reached for the phone, then frowned at the unfamiliar number on the screen.

"Hello?" she said sleepily.

"Hello, Detective Decker," an all-too-familiar female voice replied.

Chloe instantly sat up, all traces of drowsiness gone. "Bethany."

"You don't have to be afraid, Chloe. I don't mean you any harm."

Chloe realized she was breathing fast and made herself slow down. "Why are you calling me?"

"I just wanted to thank you one last time. And to check on Lucifer. How's he doing?"

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "Fine," she bit out. "No thanks to you."

"I did call that ambulance for him, you know."

Chloe shoved the covers aside and slid off the bed, keeping her voice a sarcastic whisper. "Yeah, after you nearly drowned him in his own blood and put us both through twenty-four hours of pure hell. I wouldn't be waiting around for a Nobel Peace Prize, if I were you."

Bethany laughed, but it was tinged with sadness. "Oh, don't worry. I know exactly what's coming to me. I did what I had to do. I'm willing to pay the price."

"Does that mean you're turning yourself in?"

Bethany laughed again.

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"I've got eternal damnation to look forward to, Chloe. Surely that's punishment enough?"

"Maybe," Chloe conceded. "But I made a deal with Lucifer. A deal to find you and punish you in this life. And I intend to hold up my end of the bargain."

Bethany sighed. "Well, I can't say that's unexpected. I would wish you good luck, but…"

Chloe smiled. "Oh, we don't need luck. We have the best bounty hunter on earth. Like, literally."

"Oh right. The demon. Mazikeen. I learned a lot about her from Mr. Getty's books."

From the tone of Bethany's voice, she seemed to think she was dangling a juicy detail.

"Yeah, I'm sure that storage unit was filled with all kinds of goodies," Chloe said, still smiling. They'd already figured this part out, and she wanted Bethany to know it.

Linda's ex-husband, Reese, had learned of Lucifer's true identity several years ago and become obsessed with finding a way to bring down the Devil. Apparently, he'd amassed an entire storage unit full of old religious artifacts and ancient texts that he never managed to translate. After he died, the unit went up for sale, Storage Wars-style. And Bethany placed the winning bid.

"Was it an accident, you bidding on Reese's unit?" Chloe asked. "Or did you already know what was inside?"

Bethany laughed. "I had no idea! It was complete luck."

Bad luck, in Chloe's opinion, but that was neither here nor there.

"I don't suppose you made any headway on the virus angle," Bethany went on.

"No," Chloe admitted, artfully letting a note of disappointment creep into her voice. "We combed through your entire life, Bethany, from preschool on up, and we couldn't find any connection, personal or financial, to any individual or company capable of engineering something like that."

A relieved sigh came over the phone.

"What we did find was one Miles Kettering, your college roommate's younger brother, who apparently always had a major crush on you. Interestingly enough, Miles once worked as a lowly lab tech at a pharma company that went bankrupt from lawsuits after five people died from a contaminated pneumonia vaccine. Their symptoms were remarkably similar to Lucifer's."

Bethany swallowed loudly. "Is Miles…?"

"Already in custody. Maze tracked his ass down two days ago." Chloe couldn't help the smug smile. She wanted Bethany to know that the net was closing. That there was no escape. Like being locked inside a warehouse with a clock steadily ticking down.

"Poor Miles."

"At least he won't get the death penalty," Chloe said sweetly.

Bethany took a deep breath. "And neither will Martin, thanks to you and your partner."

That was one of the few things to come out of this mess that Chloe could actually feel good about. "Have you spoken to him since he got out?" she asked.

"Just once. He sounded so different. So free. Like he'd been walking around with rocks tied to his soul, and someone finally cut them off."

"Yeah," Chloe said softly.

Six hours of interrogation, plus one very incriminating video, had finally convinced Rose's lover, Keith, to reveal the truth about the night she died. He'd snuck out of work to go see her and found her in the midst of writing him a break-up note. She'd just taken a home pregnancy test, and the positive result had made her re-evaluate her life. She didn't want to cheat on Martin anymore. It was a mistake, always had been. She loved him and wanted to raise her baby with him, whether he was the biological father or not.

Keith became enraged, not only that she was leaving him, but that she was potentially taking his baby away too. They fought and he killed her with a beer stein. Then, in a panic, he got rid of the murder weapon and rushed back to work, hoping no one had missed him. While sneaking back into the bar, he discovered Martin passed out and had an evil "Aha" moment. Keith realized he had the perfect person to pin the murder on.

He snagged Martin's keys, grabbed a spare beer stein from the back room to replace the one he'd ditched, and drove to Rose's apartment to get her body. He didn't realize until he got there that the replacement beer stein didn't quite match the others. There wasn't time to go get another one, so he just shoved the black one on her shelf to complete the set and hit her a few times with one of the blue ones to make it look like the murder weapon.

Keith then raced back to the bar to enlist Chet's help loading Martin into the car. One of Chet's hairs got pulled out during the effort, but neither man noticed. They drove to Martin and Rose's place. While Chet waited out front in his truck, Keith was busy in the parking garage, wiping his and Chet's prints off Martin's car, shoving Martin over into the driver's seat, and planting copious amounts of evidence linking Martin to the murder. All the while, Keith kept the heat blasting, making sure Rose's poor body stayed as warm as possible to throw off the time of death.

"He hates what I did," Bethany said softly, pulling Chloe's thoughts from the gruesome images.

"Who?"

"Martin. He doesn't know all the details, but he knows I kidnapped you and forced you to work on his case. If we're ever on the same continent again, I don't think I'll be able to look him in the eye."

Chloe bit her tongue to keep from saying, Good. Instead she said, "I don't know if you've heard yet, but…Chet wasn't a suicide. He didn't lose his nerve. Keith found out Chet was planning to go to the police and killed him. Made it look self-inflicted."

The now-retired detective who'd investigated Chet's death, a man named Garrison, had sounded sick with himself when Chloe told him of Keith's confession to killing Chet. Chet's family had confirmed his depressed state, and Chet's financial and social activity indicated that he was trying to get his affairs in order. When the medical examiner's report came in, also pointing to suicide, Garrison had seen no reason to dig any deeper—certainly not any reason to scour through every single video on Chet's phone.

Chloe had told Garrison not to be too hard on himself—she'd seen detectives too lazy to spot a homicide-staged-as-a-suicide when the evidence was screaming at them from across the room. Footprints at the scene that didn't match the victim's. Obvious post-mortem injuries. Signs of the body being dragged from another location.

There had been none of that here. Keith had staged the scene very well. He was, after all, an expert. Chet had been getting things in his life squared away because he was anticipating jail time—not because he was planning his own death.

There was no clear reason why he'd hidden the message to his mother by tacking it onto an old audition vid. The best they could figure was that he'd been worried about Keith finding the video somehow. Chet had mentioned catching Keith snooping on his phone one time. It was just a guess, though. They'd never know for sure.

Chet's sister, Chrissy, had come into possession of his phone and computer and all the files therein after his death, but she'd been too heartbroken to watch any of her brother's old audition videos. "I thought seeing them would've just reminded me of all the beautiful talent he threw away," she'd said. Now, she was sick with guilt, just like Garrison.

"Was it any comfort to Chet's family?" Bethany asked. "Finding out the truth?"

"That their son got murdered instead of killing himself? Maybe a little," Chloe said. "He's still gone, just like Rose. Not a whole lot of comfort in that."

"No, there isn't. Still, their families must sleep just a little better, having that closure. Knowing that justice will be done…speaking of which, congratulations on cracking the Ruiz case. His personal assistant, was it?"

Chloe smiled. "Yeah. Turns out, her ironclad alibi? Not so ironclad."

Bethany gave a soft chuckle, followed by a tired sigh. "Well, I'll let you go. I know it's late, at least where you are. Goodnight, Chloe. Thank you for everything. Thank Lucifer, too."

"Goodnight, Bethany. Or good morning. Whichever it is for you. Enjoy your freedom…while it lasts."

"Oh, I will. Believe me."

The call disconnected and Chloe sighed, knowing Bethany was, at this moment, disposing of a burner phone in some far-off, non-extradition country. Maze had her work cut out for her. Tonight, though, Chloe wasn't going to worry about that. Tonight, she had silk sheets waiting for her, and she didn't want to go back to them alone.

Piano music still emanated from the next room, the notes winding their way around her soul, tugging her toward their source. As she got closer, she could hear snatches of the lyrics he was singing:

Devil's eyes

Don't look so evil

Demon's teeth

Don't look so sharp

Ghosts in the cemeteries

Don't scare me

We're all the same

Sad, broken hearts

A floorboard creaked under Chloe's bare foot and Lucifer glanced up. "I'm sorry, Detective—I was trying not to wake you." He lifted his long fingers from the keys and reached out to take a sip of liquid from the glass on the piano.

"You didn't—not really. I got a phone call."

Lucifer frowned. "At three am? From whom?"

"No one important." Chloe wandered over to stand beside him. "That song you were playing…was it one of Chet's?"

Lucifer nodded. She gave his shoulder a squeeze, then slid onto the bench beside him. A faint bruise was still visible on his forehead from where he'd hit the floor during his seizure. It was the only remaining external trace of what had happened. The internal scars would take much longer to heal. For both of them.

"It was beautiful," she said softly. "Haunting. He had a lot of talent."

"Yes." Lucifer took another sip of his drink, then stared down at the piano's well-loved keys. He took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. "I wish Chet had come to me with this whole blackmail business…I would've helped him."

Chloe touched his arm gently. "I know you would have. At least Chet was going to do the right thing, in the end. He had no reason to feel guilty anymore. No reason to go to Hell. His decision might've gotten him killed, but at the same time it probably saved his soul."

Lucifer sighed again. "Well, that's something, I suppose."

"Actually, I think that's kinda everything."

He met her eyes, nodded just a little, then turned back to his drink.

Since they were digging into some heavy topics, Chloe decided to bite the bullet and go for the big one.

"When we were in the warehouse, I…reached out to your Father."

Lucifer stiffened. "Oh?"

Chloe rushed onward before she lost her nerve. "Yeah, I mean, you were getting really sick and we weren't anywhere near solving the case, so I figured it couldn't hurt to try."

"And let me guess how that went. You asked Father for help, and He responded by doing the same bloody thing He does for every poor, deluded sap who prays to Him: absolutely nothing." Lucifer drained his glass and set it back on the piano harder than necessary.

Chloe bit her lip, afraid to say what she was thinking, but she didn't want there to be secrets between them. Not ever again.

"Actually…I think He might've helped us."

Lucifer raised his eyebrows in his patented skeptical look. "Oh? And how do you figure He did that? Because I certainly don't remember the warehouse walls miraculously crumbling to dust, do you?"

"Well, no, but not long after I prayed, you saw that picture of Chet and recognized him."

"So?"

Chloe dipped her head, trying to lead him there as painlessly as possible. "So, doesn't that kind of seem just a little bit like divine intervention? I mean, what are the odds that the one person in those pictures you slept with happened to be the key to unlocking the whole case?"

Lucifer made a noise that was half-scoff, half-guffaw. "'The one person in the photographs I'd slept with?' Honestly, Detective, do you even know me? There were at least five others in those surveillance pictures I'd had the pleasure of pleasuring."

Chloe stared at him. "Seriously? Five?"

Lucifer began to count them off on his fingers. "Well, there was that chap with the bowler hat on—he was quite fun. Then there was that woman with the large spider tattoo—she was wild, even by my standards. Did things with a feather you would not believe. And then of course there was that tall Black bloke with the glasses—Rod, his name was, but I took to calling him Lightning Rod because of his enormous—"

"Okay, okay!" Chloe laughed, shoving Lucifer's hands down. "Thank you. Got the picture. Got so many pictures."

Lucifer just looked at her innocently. "Well, you did ask."

Chloe gave an exaggerated nod. "Yep, yep, I did. And I now regret that." She could probably pick any random name out of the Yellow Pages and have Lucifer tell her that person's deepest, darkest sexual fantasies. And how he'd satisfied every one of them.

Another icky thought occurred to her. "Oh, and if Rose and Chet's killer happened to be one of your many 'conquests,' I so, so don't ever want to know." She shuddered to even think what that cold-blooded bastard would be like in bed.

Lucifer, however, looked affronted at the suggestion. "Detective, I assure you I would never, under any circumstances, have slept with him." He said the word "him" like it was a stinky sock held out at arm's length.

"Why not?" Chloe asked. "Not pretty enough for you?" She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow.

"Oh, he's good-looking, even by LA standards. But I warned you about this ages ago, Detective: beware anyone with an ordinary, boring name: especially Keith. Freaks, the whole lot of them."

Chloe shook her head, giggling. Lucifer was so weird sometimes. So adorably, lovably weird. He had told her that ages ago. Another lifetime, it seemed.

Lucifer chuckled a little, enjoying her laughter, then looked back at the piano, the light mood draining out of him as darker things crept back in. But they'd had enough darkness—at least for tonight. Probably for a few millennia.

"Come on," Chloe said, taking his hand and standing up. "Let's go back to bed."

She tugged him toward the bedroom and he followed willingly, his warm breath tickling her ear with naughty words. Chloe laughed as she shoved him onto the bed.

"Tomorrow, Lucifer. Tonight, I just want to sleep, okay?"

Lucifer sighed mournfully. "Oh, very well. Spoilsport."

Despite his played-up disappointment, she could see a measure of relief in his eyes, too. In truth, they were both still exhausted. It had only been five days since the warehouse, and they'd spent the first three of those apart at Chloe's insistence. She'd refused to come within ten miles of him until she was convinced that he was well and truly healed.

Now, Chloe sighed happily as she slid under the sheets beside him, grateful for his warmth and closeness. She nuzzled closer, breathing him in, getting high on the scents of top-shelf bourbon and piano strings and fancy-ass French soap.

Those three days apart had been hell. The nights had been even worse. No casework to distract her, no Lucifer teasing her over the phone, just the screaming silence of her apartment. And then, when sleep finally came, so did the nightmares—twisting their way around her like snakes, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Because every night when Chloe closed her eyes, she dreamt about the same thing: Being trapped in a dimly-lit room. A room with moving shadows on the walls. A room that was slowly but surely running out of air. Trixie, Dan, Lucifer and her mother were all trapped in there with her, their faces turning blue as they suffocated. Chloe would run around, screaming for help, frantically trying to find a way out, but her screams just echoed back at her. Helpless cries of a powerless woman losing everyone she loved, as the shadow angel on the wall flapped closer, closer, closer.

She'd wake up gasping in terror, sweat-soaked sheets tangled around her. And then she'd just lie there in the dark, panting and alone, as the nightmare gradually receded back into the depths.

The dreams weren't as frequent since she was back with Lucifer, but they still came. And they were just as awful. The only difference was that now when she woke up it was to a long-fingered hand gently stroking her face, a British voice reassuring her in soft, melodic tones:

"It's all right, Detective. I'm here. It's only a bad dream—nothing more."

And soon, the nightmares were just faded memories.