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Lucifer’s fingers drum idly against his knee as he stares unseeing out the car window, but the repetitive movement does nothing to soothe his tumultuous thoughts. Gone is his typical smirk, try as he usually might to keep it up—with no immediate distraction or reason to keep the mask up, his face is set into an uncharacteristically troubled expression, lips pursed in a near-pout, brows drawn low and knitted close together.
The reason for his brooding is none other than the Detective. Lucifer spares a glance at her, silent and seemingly deep in thought as she drives. Her jaw is clenched, a clear sign that her mind is elsewhere, though her focus doesn’t waver from the road. Chloe Decker, always safe and practical.
Since their… interaction in the interrogation room this morning, Chloe has been acting strangely. On the surface, everything is as it should be, but he’s caught her staring at him when she thinks he’s not looking on at least four separate occasions, face lined with worry, lower lip caught between her teeth. She’s been more tolerant than usual of his inappropriate comments, as well, curbing most of her reproachful looks. Complaints about his behavior that normally fall on deaf ears have been conspicuously unvoiced, and it unsettles him more than he’d like to admit. Even taking into consideration the fact that he himself has been a bit subdued, Chloe’s behavior is out of the ordinary. He’s uncomfortably aware of her attention, but when asked, she’d brushed it off, insisting she was fine.
She must still be worried about his back. It’s the only explanation, but that doesn’t make it make any more sense, he thinks, frown deepening as he looks out the window again. He’d done his best to get things back to normal when he’d met Chloe at the crime scene, now dressed entirely in black—a precaution, as the dark fabric will hide any more pesky bloodstains should he happen to reopen his wounds again—but the throbbing pain, while somewhat faded, is harder to ignore now that Chloe knows about it.
It’s the reason behind her apparent concern that still baffles Lucifer. He keeps flashing back to how cautious she’d been as she patched him up, how gentle her hands were, caring for him in the same way she might have cared for her offspring. The thoughts that plagued him earlier have not left, only growing the longer his questions go unanswered. Why does she care? And would she still, if she knew the truth? The tapping of his fingers against his leg only increases in tempo, frustration making his nerves feel frayed and raw.
“Lucifer? You coming?”
Pulling himself out of his increasingly tangled musings, Lucifer blinks, realizing that they’re already back at the precinct. He hadn’t even noticed the car stop moving.
Chloe is giving him yet another one of those concerned looks, forehead creasing in such a way that he wants to smooth the lines away. She’s half out of the car, door propped open by her leg, but she’s waiting for him, expectant.
“What? Oh, yes, of course,” he answers belatedly, jerking upright. His back protests the sudden movement, but he doesn’t let it show on his face, opening his door and climbing out of the car with as much dignity as he can muster.
The Detective’s expression is still pinched, the unnatural light of the parking garage casting shadows on her face, but she doesn’t comment on his stiff movements, instead just shaking her head slightly and leading him into the precinct.
“I want to go over the case files again, and update them with the statements from our witnesses,” she tells him as they make their way down the stairs into the bullpen. “It shouldn’t take long, and then we can go question the victim’s boyfriend. He’s the best lead we have right now.”
“Very well.” Lucifer gives her a short nod, eyes wandering around the room. He’s somewhat relieved to note that Dan isn’t currently at his desk, probably off working on his own boring cases. Dan’s words from earlier still sting, leaving Lucifer a bit stumped as to why; he’s endured far worse insults, so a few harsh words from someone like the Douche shouldn’t have such an effect on him.
He ignores the little voice telling him that Dan had been notably less douchey of late, and that perhaps that’s why it hurts so much now. Because they’d been, if not friends, then at least on friendly terms before Dan had subjected him to that little tirade this morning.
Even if it had been mostly deserved. Well, except for the part about him only pretending to care about Chloe. Daniel may think him incapable of truly caring for someone other than himself, but that, at least, Lucifer knows to be untrue.
Lucifer slumps into the chair beside Chloe’s desk, heedless of the sharp twinge behind his shoulder blades. She’s already settling in her own chair, soft blue eyes only lingering on him for a moment before she redirects her attention to the stack of files on her desk.
Good. He’s had quite enough of her scrutiny for one day. The paperwork should keep her busy for a while.
With nothing to keep himself occupied, though, Lucifer finds his mind wandering again. The ceaseless whirling of his thoughts is thoroughly distracting, but he can’t seem to latch onto anything, adrift in a sea of disconcerting questions. He glares sullenly at the floor, itching to do something productive, to find an outlet for the distressing feelings.
But underneath the agitation is something cold and terrifyingly numb that threatens to overtake him, icy tendrils wrapping around his heart and compelling him to just lie down and sleep. The top shelf of his personal bar is calling to him, beckoning with the promise of sweet oblivion. He can’t actually drink himself into a coma without consuming truly exorbitant amounts of alcohol, but the temptation is difficult to resist.
These sorts of dark moods are thankfully few and far between, but the physical pain of the jagged wounds on his back has shattered his carefully maintained walls, leaving him feeling just as raw. On days like this, it feels damn near impossible to keep the tide of darkness at bay, and not for the first time he wonders what would happen if he allowed it to sweep him away. He already feels like he’s about to drown in it. Would anyone care?
Would anyone even notice?
“Hey, Lucifer, uh… Can I talk to you for a second?”
Lucifer’s eyes dart up, then immediately narrow when he’s met with the sight of a very hesitant Dan standing in front of him. The sheepish look on the man’s face does little to curb Lucifer’s ire, that darkness easily channeling itself into anger now that he has a target for it other than himself.
“Detective Douche,” he enunciates, relishing in Dan’s wince. The way the Devil’s lips pull back to reveal his teeth can barely be called a grin, and it slips off his face moments later, a cold, dangerous stare taking its place. “To what do I owe the displeasure of seeing your face?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Chloe has paused in her perusal of the case files. Her gaze darts back and forth between Dan and Lucifer, but she remains quiet, apparently wanting to see how this will play out.
That makes one of them.
Dan swallows, looking nervous. “Look, man, I… I just wanted to talk to you about—about what happened earlier,” he begins, stumbling over his words a bit. “I said some pretty awful shit to you, and that wasn’t cool. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m having a… bad day, I guess, and I took it out on you. And I—I didn’t realize you were injured, or else I wouldn’t have… you know, slapped your back. I didn't mean to hurt you.” He grimaces. “So… yeah. I’m sorry.”
As Dan speaks, Lucifer’s eyebrows climb steadily toward his hairline, disbelief replacing the icy anger in his gut. As painfully awkward as the apology is, he has no doubt of its sincerity, and he has absolutely no idea what to do with that. He’s not sure what he’d been expecting, but genuine remorse was certainly not it.
Reaching into his jacket pocket, Dan pulls out a small, foil-covered cup that Lucifer recognizes as chocolate pudding and sets it on the edge of Chloe’s desk nearest to Lucifer. “Uh, here. I know you really like these ones, since you steal them the most, so…” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, looking somewhere between anxious and hopeful as he awaits Lucifer’s reply.
A tad suspicious, Lucifer picks up the pudding, examining the supposed gift. It’s clearly unopened, which rules out anything nefarious such as poison. In fact, the only obvious difference between this cup and all the others in Dan’s stash is the writing on the top. Dan’s name has been crossed out, with LUCIFER scrawled in the tiny space beneath, the letters cramped together at the end like Dan had run out of room sooner than he’d expected to.
Which is… horribly endearing, actually, and again, entirely unexpected. Unprecedented, even. Any true animosity about the pudding situation has long since faded, but Lucifer would’ve never thought that they were at the point of Dan willingly giving it to him instead of just putting up with the thievery.
It hits him, like a punch to the gut, just how badly he doesn’t deserve this inexplicable kindness. First Chloe, now Dan? Why must they torture him with something he is unworthy of accepting? They’re worrying over him for an injury he inflicted on himself because he refuses to accept the “gift” of having his wings forced upon him. And the Detective’s hard work in patching him up will be pointless in days or less, because he knows by now that his bloody wings are going to come back, no matter what he does. They’re wasting their energy on him.
Lucifer is well and truly drowning, now.
“… Lucifer?” Dan says, tentatively.
Startled, he jumps, nearly dropping the pudding cup. A bright flare of agony effectively reminds him that sudden movements are bad, and he bites back a gasp, but he forces both the pain and the overwhelming self-hatred to the back of his mind. He just hopes no one notices the way his hands are trembling.
He focuses on Dan, who is looking increasingly worried, and huffs a little, trying to brush off his reaction. “Well, I suppose I can’t say no to pudding,” he says, unable to keep the bemused tone out of his voice. “Apology accepted, Daniel. No harm done.”
Dan brightens a little, and although he still looks a little hesitant, he seems to believe Lucifer. Maybe he’s actually taking it to heart that Lucifer doesn’t lie. “Yeah? So we’re cool?”
Lucifer sighs a little. “Yes, we’re ‘cool’,” he confirms, air quotes tangible even though he doesn’t lift his hands.
“Cool.” Dan nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I mean, uh, good.” He looks entirely too pleased, trying and failing to hold back a grin. “I’ll see you later, man.” With a quick nod to Chloe, he departs, heading back over to his desk.
There’s a short pause before Chloe speaks, her voice carefully even. “Well, that was nice of him.”
“Yes, it would’ve been nicer if he’d brought me a spoon. How am I meant to eat this?” Lucifer grumbles. Then he arches a brow, looking at her. “Did you put him up to that?”
Chloe looks a little embarrassed, avoiding his gaze. “Well, I—I may have snapped at him a little earlier,” she admits, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “After you left. I told him he was an ass and that he should apologize to you. But I didn’t tell him about…” She stops, swallowing heavily. “You know.”
Lucifer squints at her. “But then how did he know I was injured?”
“It was… kind of obvious, Lucifer,” Chloe says quietly, meeting his eyes this time.
Ah. Lucifer finds that he’s the one who can’t maintain eye contact now, suddenly much more interested in the dessert in his hand. “Right. Well, I’d better go find something to eat this with,” he says briskly, pushing himself to his feet.
Chloe looks like she wants to say something else, sitting up a little straighter and opening her mouth, but she just sighs a little and nods. “Okay,” she says, glancing back down at her paperwork. “I’ll be done with this soon, if you’re… still feeling up to going back out?”
“Of course, Detective,” Lucifer assures her, managing to sound almost entirely like himself. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
He’s rewarded by her smile, and despite everything, the sight does bolster his spirits. He even returns it, lips twitching upward before he turns to leave.
As Lucifer heads to the break room to locate a spoon, he blinks away the stinging sensation in his eyes, firmly telling himself he needs to pull himself together. The existential crisis can wait until later, when he’s alone, when no one will be around to do anything so ludicrous as worry about him.
But his hands are still shaking when he peels the foil top off the pudding.