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The sounds of giggling eight-year-old are what Chloe wakes up to on her first Saturday off in a month. She smiles, thinking how nice it is to sleep in on a weekend and to hear evidence that her child is happy. It wasn’t so long ago that she wasn’t sure she’d ever hear that laugh again. It’s been a tough year for Trixie, dealing with her parents’ official divorce, her kidnapping by Malcolm and the upheaval of a move to a new apartment with a new roommate. But in true Decker fashion, she’s rolled with the punches and Chloe is glad to see her daughter start to come out of her shell once more.
Chloe feels her jaw crack on a yawn as she slowly starts to consider getting up. She thinks about Maze’s propensity for sharp objects and sex toys and how much of an unknown she’d been in the beginning. Chloe had been more than a little reluctant to move in together, especially knowing that the offer to move in together had been made when she’d been three sheets to the wind – “drunk as a skunk” according to Maze. That being said, Maze has been nothing but patient with her kid and Chloe is grateful for the extra help with Trix.
She hears her monkey let loose with a true belly-laugh that is quickly muffled, as if she’s buried her face in a pillow. The laughter is not such an unusual sound – Trixie loves her weekend cartoons – but the hushed conversation that follows definitely is. She blinks her eyes open, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom and trying to make out the words. Maze is not the quietest of roommates – even and especially on weekends – and Chloe also remembers with a growing frown that she’s out on a bounty. And Dan is visiting his family in San Jose, so that means…
Chloe’s eyes snap to her bedside table, where she’s left her LAPD-issued firearm. With an instinct honed from years on the force, she crawls quietly from her bed, grabbing her sidearm as she goes. A quick check confirms that it’s loaded and she steps as carefully as she can to her bedroom door. Thankfully, the door doesn’t make a sound as she opens it. Her weapon is held at a forty-five degree angle to the floor, poised to move into a shooting position at the first hint of a threat. But there’s nothing in the upstairs hallway and another snicker from downstairs tells her that Trixie is there.
Stepping as lightly as a cat on the prowl, she moves slowly down the stairs, her back to the outer wall. Her heart is pounding and she feels sweat trickle down her lower back. When she reaches the final two stairs, she peers carefully around the corner into the first floor of her apartment. Her eyes flick to the patio door, the front door, to the kitchen and finally, the living room. The TV is on low, showing a familiar character with long blonde hair and her handsome prince. Trixie was obsessed with Tangled when it first came out and it doesn’t surprise her that her daughter’s choice of cartoon for the day is the TV spinoff.
What does surprise her is that she isn’t paying attention to the screen, but to the handsomely-dressed man sitting next to her on the couch. Chloe breathes out a quiet sigh of relief and lowers her weapon, trying to calm her racing heart. Her back rests against the stairwell wall, relief making her knees weak. Ever since Malcolm, she has been on high alert for anything even slightly out of place. She wouldn’t subject her daughter to another traumatic event, not when she was still so small and innocent and unaware of the horrors of the real world. Tears burn at her eyes and her throat closes around a lump, the release of adrenaline making her hands shake. Vaguely, she picks up a bit of the conversation, trying to distract herself from the fear that is only just done squeezing at her lungs.
“…so there I was, caught with Azrael’s blade. Amenadiel was furious,” she hears her partner say to his rapt audience of one.
“What did you do?” Trixie asks, with the dread that only a child who’s been caught at mischief can understand.
“Blamed Michael, of course,” Lucifer states smugly. She can see his eyes twinkling, caught within the throes of a good story and lit up with the joy of memory. “He was always getting into trouble with or without me in those days.” And suddenly, Lucifer’s face shutters – the way it always seems to when he experiences a negative emotion and doesn’t want anyone to see. “That all changed when I Fell.”
“Did it hurt?” her little girl asks softly. Chloe’s heart squeezes at the pain she hears in her daughter’s voice. Trixie’s always been like her mom; wanting to help people and unable to stomach anyone’s pain.
“Did what hurt, child?” Lucifer asks, his head tilted as though he cannot compute what the tiny human in front of him is doing and why she’s looking at him that way.
“When you fell. I fell off the swing set when I was five and I had to go to the hospital. Did you have to go to the hospital, Lucifer?”
The man whom Chloe usually can’t get to shut up is silent. His eyes, which were luminous a minute ago, have gone dark and unhappy. His mouth makes a moue of discontent and his eyebrows draw down so that he’s frowning.
“There is no hospital in Hell, spawn,” he finally admits softly.
From the profile of Trixie’s face that Chloe can see, she can tell that her daughter’s face is mirroring Lucifer’s upset and watches her chin start to wobble. Lucifer’s face goes from sad to mildly horrified, sensing the impending meltdown.
“It was a long time ago, Beatrice. No need to be upset. As you can see, I’m fine, now.”
Lucifer’s smug look as he adjusts his suit jacket is very on brand. Chloe has noticed that he does this with her as well when she gets too close to unearthing feelings. Because God forbid that he have to deal with those, she thinks with a roll of the eyes and a huff. She must have been loud enough because Lucifer turns to look at her.
Back when they’d first met, Chloe knows that his eyes would have done a full sweep of her body, taking in her attire and leering in that infuriating – sometimes attractive – way. After over a year of being partners, of getting to know one another, his gaze softens and he beams at her. Her heart does a little flip in her chest. It’s the smile that he reserves just for her. The one that he flashes when he’s done something cheeky and he wants to see her reaction. The one that he wears when she’s just solved the case and put another murderer behind bars. The one that makes her feel like she’s the only one in the world.
“Detective! I was just telling your offspring about my youthful shenanigans. D’you know, you’ve got no breakfast food at home? I cannot in good conscience count those flakes of processed sugar that come from a box and require rehydration to eat as sustenance – I don’t know why you let your flesh and blood consume it. I was thinking we’d take your progeny to that diner we discovered the other week. How does French toast sound?”
Lucifer has said all of this in a single breath and he looks at her, waiting for a reaction to the overload of information. As she tries to decide what to answer first, Trixie comes pelting at her from the couch and launches into her side. With an “oof” of discomfort, Chloe latches onto her baby with her free arm. The other is held firmly behind her back to hide the gun in her hand.
“Can we go out for breakfast, Mommy? Please,” Trixie begs, turning her puppy dog eyes up to her mother. Chloe never could resist that look.
“All right,” she agrees softly. And before Trixie’s shout of glee can finish ringing in their ears, she adds, “But only if you brush your teeth and get dressed, you little monkey!”
Chloe gives her daughter a tickle to her side and chases her in the direction of her bedroom as they laugh together. Trixie scampers the rest of the way there, sliding her door shut to get ready. Chloe uses the opportunity to turn to Lucifer, who is just now getting up from her couch. He does up one of the buttons on his suit, fiddles with his cufflinks and then turns to her with that same, soft look on his face.
“I hope you don’t mind, Detective,” he says quietly, looking a bit bashful. “My mum’s still in town and I needed a bit of time away.”
Based on what family history she’s heard, Chloe can imagine that he would absolutely find his mother’s company draining after a while. Even though she has a relatively good relationship with her own mother, a little bit still goes a long way. And Lucifer’s mom seems to have been eager to spend as much time as she can with him these last few weeks.
“It’s fine, Lucifer. Trixie didn’t let you in, did she? She’s not supposed to answer the door without an adult around.”
Dan and she had sat Trixie down after the Malcolm incident to set some more ground rules and explain the dangers of other people, even when you were at home. She couldn’t face losing her little girl to another psychopath.
“No, no. I let myself in,” Lucifer assured. Somehow, Chloe didn’t find that news at all reassuring. “I…I didn’t realise that you might be worried. I’ll knock next time,” he concedes with a glance down at the gun she’s still holding. Chloe wants to be mad at him and his lack of understanding of basic human safety needs, but she can’t find it in herself to be angry when he’s looking at her like that. Like he cares about her feelings on the matter.
“Right. Let me just go get dressed and we can go out for breakfast.”
And now, the original Lucifer Morningstar, playboy extraordinaire and general womanizer (person-izer?) rears his ugly – okay, rather handsome – head. His eyes drop to her chest and she can see his tongue swipe against the back of his teeth like she’s some tasty treat. She’s wearing a tank top and her comfiest sleep shorts and nothing else. The self-proclaimed leg man seems to notice her bottoms next and she hears his breath hitch in delight.
“It’d be just fine if you wanted to go out in that, Detective,” he purrs lowly. “I myself find it rather fetching.”
“Grow up, Lucifer.”
Chloe rolls her eyes again and scowls, turning and almost flying up the stairs. What a menace.
Ten minutes later, Chloe’s dressed in a much more sensible jeans and t-shirt combo and her hair is up in a loose braid. As she walks downstairs again, she finds Lucifer tinkering with one of the knickknacks on her coffee table. When he turns to see her, his eyes light up again and the smile she’s coming to begrudgingly adore greets her.
“You look radiant, Detective,” he tells her, rather sincerely. When she looks at him with a raised eyebrow, he hastens to add, “The Devil never lies, darling.”
Chloe hums in amusement and she can’t help but return his smile as she pulls on her favourite boots. When she stumbles a bit trying to get the second one on, Lucifer is there with a steadying hand to hold her up.
“Thanks,” she offers shyly as she finishes putting it on. He doesn’t let go of her elbow, instead looking down at her fondly.
They are interrupted rather abruptly by Hurricane Trixie. She runs up to them and squeezes between them, grabbing hold of Lucifer’s arm in hers. His face goes slack in horror.
“I hope you washed your sticky little fingers. This suit is worth more than your life,” he advises, all outrage.
Trixie giggles and just holds on tighter, cuddling his arm in hers and leaning her head against it, almost daring him to pull away. Chloe smiles at the look of adoration that Trixie reserves for her parents and more recently, Lucifer. Lucifer, who has been coming over more frequently, finding excuses to skip out on time with his own family to spend the mornings, afternoons or evenings with them. Who has allowed Trixie to paint his face inexpertly with makeup and proclaimed that he’s never seen better work. Who’s likely to make her laugh and always lets her pick the movie.
“Come on, monkey. Let’s go get some breakfast,” Chloe finally cajoles, trying to distract Trixie with the promise of food. It almost works.
“Carry me, Lucifer? Please,” Trixie implores, turning her best “I’m cute, love me” eyes on Chloe’s partner.
“I’ll do no such thing,” Lucifer harrumphs. But even as Trixie’s little face falls, he is moving his arm up with her still attached. Her surprised laugh is amazed and triumphant as he uses his arm like a monkey bar that she can cling to.
“Trix, let go, babe. You’re getting too big to carry,” Chloe tells her.
“Nonsense, Detective. She’s light as a feather,” Lucifer interrupts, using his arm to swing Trixie gently to and fro while he walks to the door.
Trixie’s delighted shrieks bubble out of her like too much pressure being released at once. And if Chloe’s heart does another little flip from sheer contentment, no one else needs to know but her.
“I shouldn’t have eaten that extra hash brown,” Chloe complains as she flops down on the park bench so that she can watch Trixie playing from a distance.
“What’s life without a little bit of sin, Detective?” Lucifer asks rhetorically, grinning at her slyly and taking a swig from his flask as he settles next to her.
Chloe laughs at his continued adherence to the Devil schtick, as they’ve come to call it around the precinct. Dan, in particular, likes to remind everyone of what a loony Lucifer sounds like, but to Chloe, it’s become part of his charm – and she did not just think that. Charming was not a word she should be associating with Lucifer. Delusional, yes. Annoying, absolutely; often to the nth degree. But broken, too. Chloe pauses to recall a moment early on in their relationship, after she’d seen the scars on his back. It didn’t take a psychologist to put two and two together. Children of abuse had many coping mechanisms and it hurts Chloe’s heart to know that he has been through trauma so abhorrent and distressing that he’s fallen into this persona to protect himself from the truth.
Shaking herself from those dark thoughts, she watches Trixie cajole the other kids into a game of tag. Running around the playground is a favourite pastime and Chloe can’t help but grin as she watches her daughter laughing and chasing her new friends.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about, you know,” Lucifer interrupts her thoughts. His gaze is also on Trixie and he looks uncharacteristically serious. When Chloe hums in question, he turns to her. “I’d never let anyone hurt you or the urchin.”
The brown eyes she’s come to know so well are determined, so much so that she can’t help but believe him, even as she knows logically that he can’t make promises like that. No one can predict the future and it’s not like he’s around twenty-four/seven. But his words act as a balm to her anxious heart and she smiles while laying a hand on his arm. His lips quirk too and she can’t help but look upon them, soft and kissable. And where did that come from?
She clears her throat and turns away, flustered. Her daughter’s brown pigtails bounce as she climbs up a ladder to escape one of the other kids in their ongoing game. The thousand-watt grin that she wears makes Chloe’s heart expand with joy. She looks back at Lucifer to see if he’s watching and if he’s as affected by the scene as she is, only to realise that he never stopped staring at her. Her heart stutters as his hand rises to brush a strand of hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. His skin is warm where it brushes against her own and she feels a flush steal across her cheeks and down her chest. Lucifer’s eyes, warm like dark honey, follow the creeping heat and she watches him inhale sharply.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, soft as a prayer.
And how is Chloe supposed to respond to that, exactly? Because Lucifer is watching her like she’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen; like she hung the moon and he gets to marvel at her splendor. They’ve had moments where he’s looked at her with sexual tension, with pride, with some sort of happiness; but never quite like this. Never like she means something to him.
She wonders, not for the first time, what it would be like to give into him, to let him have his way with her. What would he be like? Would he be gentle – touching her body with reverence? Treating her like glass, treasuring her? Or would he take what he wants, satisfying her only as a means to an end? His eyes darken in response to whatever he sees in her expression and she wonders what he’d do if she leaned forward just that last few inches to kiss him. She’s saved the trouble of finding out by a lapful of eight-year-old.
“Mommy, can we go get ice cream?” Trixie asks, all sweet innocence.
Chloe’s heart continues to hammer and she can feel the blush to her cheeks, but she smiles and tickles her daughter.
“How can you possibly have any room for ice cream, you little monkey?” she asks as Trixie shrieks with laughter. Hugging the little girl close, she brushes a kiss to her hair and pushes a loose strand off her forehead as Trixie beams at her. Chloe sighs and looks at Lucifer with bemusement. “What do you think, Lucifer? Have you got a craving for ice cream?”
Chloe watches as he blinks, as though only just coming back from their moment. He takes a second to recover, then grins wickedly.
“I’m nothing if not a generous Devil. And besides,” he adds after Trixie’s finished celebrating. “I could use a little something to cool me down.”
Chloe refuses to look at him, even as she feels another flush radiating from her cheeks.
Hours later, after ice cream – most of which had ended up all over Trixie’s face, with a spot or two painted on Lucifer’s cheek by Chloe just to see his scandalized expression – they find themselves back at the apartment. Lucifer has uncharacteristically spent the entire day with them and as the sun begins to set in L.A., Chloe appreciates his willingness to not just be with her, but with Trixie too. Her kid is great, but Chloe will be the first to admit that her monkey can be a handful. And as someone who claims to hate children, she knows it can’t be the first choice for how he spends his time.
Trixie has dropped, boneless, onto the couch and is watching Frozen for the millionth time; and they’re standing in her kitchen, enjoying a glass of wine. Lucifer has removed his suit jacket and cufflinks and his sleeves are rolled up to reveal his lithely muscular forearms. Chloe is actively not watching his body as he washes the dishes that she’d let pile up in the last day. When Chloe had protested that he didn’t need to do that, he’d answered her with an easy smile and a quiet, “allow me, Detective. You have enough on your plate with the little parasite.” She’d tried not to let his insistence on cleaning her kitchen affect her, but her heart had done that funny little flip again, even as she’d rolled her eyes at his description of her daughter.
“I had fun today,” Chloe tells him, unable to keep her mouth shut. She grimaces into her wine glass as she takes another sip; real smooth, Decker.
“I did too, surprisingly.” And he does sound a mixture of awed and disbelieving, as though he didn’t expect to have such a good time hanging around a middle-aged cop and her eight-year-old daughter.
Chloe has noticed this, too; his seeming inexperience with family dynamics. She speculates again about the kind of childhood he’d had if he finds this type of normal behaviour foreign. Her heart aches the way she’s come to associate with him; mourning for the boy in the man’s body who has never known loving parents. It makes her want to hug him, to wrap her arms around his tapered waist and give him some fraction of the affection that he’s been missing. But she knows that her touch would be unwelcome, recalls the way he always tenses at unexpected physical contact and she won’t put him through that. Not after such a good day.
“What will you do tomorrow?” Lucifer startles her by asking.
“I hadn’t thought of it, yet,” she hems carefully. “I haven’t had a full weekend off in I don’t remember how long. Maybe we’ll just have a girls’ day and paint each other’s nails and watch rom-coms.”
“Sounds revolting,” Lucifer quips, eyes on the suds in the sink as he wipes down a plate. Chloe huffs and rolls her eyes at his typical aversion to anything involving quality time with family.
“What will you do with your day off?” Chloe inquires innocently, taking another fortifying sip of wine as she tells herself she doesn’t want to know.
Lucifer’s face is blank and a little frown mars his forehead as he thinks about his answer.
“I don’t know, really. Mum will likely want me to spend time with her and Amenadiel.”
His frown has deepened and his full lips are pursed in a pout that Chloe refuses to think of as adorable. He still won’t meet her eyes, totally focused on what his hands are doing. She watches as his shoulders tense under the white dress shirt he’s wearing, and his movements slow.
“I suppose I could come ‘round with breakfast supplies and cook for you and the urchin. Can’t have her starving, after all,” Lucifer jokes softly. “And perhaps I can even be persuaded to let her paint my nails and watch the tripe you consider romantic comedies.”
Chloe’s heart does a full three-sixty in her chest and her lips part, astonished. Lucifer must read her body language as a rejection because he stammers to find his way out of what he thinks is an embarrassing situation.
“Of course, you likely want time to yourselves and I should really get back to Lux and make sure its patrons are having a good time and I’ll just let these dry, shall I? I suppose I’ll see you back at the precinct on Mon –”
Lucifer stops talking and his eyes meet hers, wild and wide. She’s taken a step towards him and laid what she hopes is a soothing hand along his arm, squeezing the muscle there lightly. He’s trembling ever so slightly, as though his body is thrumming with unspent energy and if she’ll just let him go, he’ll fly out the door. But she doesn’t want that. And she has a feeling that he doesn’t either.
“Lucifer,” she soothes, smiling gently. Best not to scare the cornered animal. “I’d love that. And Trixie would, too. She’s been dying for a repeat performance of make-up tutorial with her favourite Devil.”
Her lips quirk at the irony of her use of his alter ego, but the way his eyes light up and the happy smile that takes over his face literally takes her breath away. She’s coming to realise that she would do almost anything to make him look at her that way again and again.
“It’s settled then,” he murmurs, almost shyly. “Shall I drop by around 10 tomorrow?”
“That would be perfect,” Chloe reassures with an answering smile.
Later that night, after Trixie has been put to bed and read a bedtime story – “Lucifer, can you please do the voices?” – they find themselves standing in her front entry.
“Well, Detective, I really should be going. There’s no telling what mischief my staff have got up to in my absence. When the Devil’s away, his minions will play,” Lucifer huffs while adjusting his cufflinks. Chloe feels her own lips stretch in a grin, even as she shakes her head at his silly turn of phrase.
“Goodnight, Lucifer.”
“Goodnight. Sweet dreams, Detective.” Lucifer’s teeth gleam in the darkness, dark eyes sparking as she closes her door on him.
Leaning her back against the door, Chloe puts her fingers to her mouth to try to hide her smile. The blush in her cheeks returns as she thinks of the kinds of dreams she’d like to have of him. Sweet dreams, indeed.