Work Text:
“A wise woman once said that the only way to deal with your problems is to talk about them.”
It felt like every word sliced through her chest—like every jagged and raw emotion was tearing her apart from the inside.
“Just hoping that you and I might be able to do that now.”
She hated that he sounded hopeful.
She lifted the bottle of red back up to her lips, not even tasting it as she swallowed. It burned, though, and she was happy to focus on that hurt instead.
Not the one that had her on her knees in the shower earlier or the one that had her crying into the empty darkness of her room.
She had spent months longing for him to just knock at her door. To come back into her life and just be with her.
But not like this.
The man she loved—was made to love—was barely a foot away from her, asking her to talk, and she couldn’t make herself get up.
She heard herself sob, a pathetic and utterly broken sound that echoed through her empty apartment.
All she wanted was to feel nothing . To numb away the pain of getting Lucifer back only to lose herself and them in the process.
He was the only one that would have been knocking at that hour, and when she’d heard his voice her stomach had turned, full of alcohol and heartbreak.
She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but a sincere apology and offer to talk weren’t at the top of the list.
Turning her head, she tried to catch a glimpse of him through the window. A silhouette was all she found, and just like everything else lately, it wasn’t enough.
When she heard his sigh and the footsteps that followed, she let her head fall back against the door.
If she was a gift, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.
Her entire body felt tired, like every ounce of fight she had left simply vanished. She was confused, her heart aching to be comforted and soothed by the man her mind was telling her to stay away from.
Everything about Lucifer felt like a contradiction.
He was reckless, but no one made her feel as safe as she did when he was by her side.
His immaturity made itself known with every leering glance and offhand comment, yet he somehow always had the words that made her feel better.
He was flighty and impulsive, but he was the one who had been there in that courtroom and held her in her kitchen.
He was careless, but he was also the most thoughtful man Chloe had ever known.
He was selfish, but he really wasn’t.
He was the one that had used his body to shield hers only days after meeting.
The one who had put aside his own trauma and prejudice to befriend a priest.
The man who had followed her to that hangar and saved Trixie from Malcolm.
The one who had truly believed she was too good to ever be with him.
The one who laid on the floor of her living room and played hours of Monopoly with her daughter.
He was the one that gave her a necklace with a bullet he had saved for years and the one who threw her a prom just to make her smile.
The man who had sacrificed himself over and over again to keep her safe.
The man who she hated , but also the man she loved.
And she loved him enough to fight for him, even if that meant fighting against God himself.
If she was really a gift—someone made to be the perfect Mrs. Morningstar—she realized that it shouldn’t hurt like this. She should have felt nothing, fallen right into his arms and walked into their future without a care for her creation.
But she did care, and it did hurt.
The hurt was real, but so was everything else.
She wanted real, and she had just let him walk away.
Standing up on shaky legs, she turned to open the door, hoping that he hadn’t gone too far. With the bottle still hanging from her fingers, she walked on bare feet towards the parking lot.
She was startled when she heard a muffled sob come from somewhere off to the side. It was dark, and she could barely make out the shape of him against the outside wall of her apartment. His legs were drawn towards his chest, long arms wrapped around them.
He looked small, and it made Chloe’s heart ache. She might be the one having to deal with it all for the first time, but she had failed to consider that it was hurting him just as much.
My first love was never Eve, he had told her months ago on his balcony. It was you, Chloe, always has been.
He might not have said the words exactly, not like she had, but she knew he loved her. Loved her enough to go back to Hell and save the world even if it meant doing it alone.
They were both victims in this celestial puppet show, but she realized didn’t care. She just wanted to be with him.
To love him, and let him love her in return.
“Lucifer?” she called, her voice raspy and tired.
He looked up, his eyes sunken and red. Chloe sat down next to him, not caring that any of her neighbors could look out and see them on the ground.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, taking in her appearance, not knowing what else there really was to say. He wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for.
For coming into her life at all? Bringing his celestial drama and causing her more emotional turmoil than she ever deserved?
She shook her head, setting the bottle of wine down behind her before bringing a hand up to wipe at the tears on his cheek.
“You should have told me sooner, but nothing else is your fault. I love you, Lucifer.” Her voice was trembling, but she meant what she said. He seemed to relax at her words, and she let his reaction soothe her as well. “But I also hate you sometimes. You annoy me and you make me angry, but at the end of the day I still love you. I’m not sure how gifts from God really work, but I do know how love works, and it works like this.”
She raised her hand, pointing back and forth between the two of them as she spoke.
He opened his mouth, closing it again when nothing came out. Just like he had been hundreds of times before in her presence, he was in awe.
“I’m not saying I am okay with it right now,” she inhaled, sniffling to keep her tears back, “but I am saying that I think I’d like to figure it out with you. I don’t want to miss you anymore.”
She watched him process her words, watched as he sat up straighter and leaned in towards her.
Unable to resist, she closed the rest of the space between them. She felt him choke back a sob when her lips met his.
He tasted like whiskey and smoke and it mingled with the wine still on her lips and the salt of their tears into something intoxicating.
“I can’t lose you, Chloe. Please,” he whispered when he pulled back, his forehead pressed against hers. “I love you.”
It was reminiscent of her pleas on the balcony, and it threatened to break her in two. He hadn’t had a choice back then, but Chloe knew that she had a choice now.
And she wouldn't leave—wouldn’t suffer alone when she knew the man she loved was suffering too.
The man who loved her back.
It might not make sense, might still leave her feeling used and manipulated, but in that moment she knew they would make it.