Chapter Text
The door to her office clicks shut behind her.
She walks over to her large desk and focuses on cleaning up her notes. The desk is littered with observations from at least seven different cases. She methodically sorts her notes into piles and before long, the surface of her desk is free of clutter. The task barely takes ten minutes to complete.
Chloe lowers herself in her chair. She hates how ungrounded she feels. Hates the feeling even more for not knowing why she’s feeling this way.
The sleeves of her blouse do an adequate job of drying the tears that have made their way down her cheeks. She is reminded of her early days on the force as a uni. Maybe eight months in, she completely lost it at the scene of a double homicide of a man and his eight-year-old daughter. Dan had found her hours later in a supply closet. He had taken her back to their apartment and ran her a bath. He kept her company and even washed her hair, sweetly telling her his tips for dealing with gruesome crime scenes and assuring her that if she decided she didn’t want to do this anymore, he wouldn’t think any less of her.
At the time, she thought was the luckiest woman in the world, even if she was a little put off by the suggestion that she would quit the LAPD. That crime scene, brutal and as terrible as it was, was far from the worst she had seen during her short time on the force. Chloe went back to work the next day, filed her report, and became a Detective a couple of years later.
Her breathing finally steady, she knows she can’t stay in her office too long with arousing suspicion. Chloe checks her face in a mirror out of habit. She knows her eyes won’t be red.
They never are anymore.
The plush carpeting squishes between her toes as she stares at herself in the massive mirror in the closet. Only in her bra and underwear, she had been getting dressed when she accidentally slammed her shoulder into the side of an open drawer, causing her to lose her balance. She fell hard on her right hip and groaned in anticipation of the oncoming pain.
When it didn’t come, she pulled herself up and kicked her ankles out of the dark denim.
There are moments here and there when it hits her. She studies her reflection, taking in the long, blonde hair that is as unfamiliar to her as the idea of not being laid up for two days after a minor fall. The lines on her face are few and shallow. Chloe knows it is her choice to look like this. To look as she did when they were together. And it’s not like she wants hair that is more grey than blonde or a right hip that will sometimes freeze up for no reason.
But sometimes this body feels like a relic of the past instead of hers. She looks like how she did when she had one daughter instead of two. When she didn’t have any of her grandchildren. When she had yet to reach the rank of Captain.
Chloe loses track of time as she sits on the floor of the oversized closet, lost as she refamiliarizes herself with herself. She jumps at the sound of a soft rap on the door behind her.
Lucifer is standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Darling?” He takes in Chloe’s state of undress. “Are we having a day off? I’m terribly overdressed, Detective, my apologies.” His hands are unfastening the buttons of his shirt, ready to join her in whatever scantily-clad plans he thinks she has imagined for the two of them.
She shakes her head. “No, sorry, I fell. I just was getting ready.”
Lucifer frowns. “Are-are you okay?” His concern for her is second nature to him, even if he knows she is fine. Perks of no longer being beholden to a fragile, human body.
“Of course, babe.” She stands and pretends to dust herself off. “Just got lost in thought, that’s all.”
He watches her and she knows he doesn’t quite believe her. But she also doesn’t know what she would even tell him. I miss being old? That wasn’t quite true. She’s not sure where to begin, so she doesn’t.
Chloe quickly pulls on the jeans and a black top she had planned on wearing that day. Lucifer’s buttoned his shirt back up by the time she’s finished dressing.
“Are you sure Detective? We can still take the day off,” he suggests.
“I’m sure. Besides, we’re so close with Mrs. Tyler.” She reaches up to pull him down for a quick peck.
“I think you’re quite right, Detective. Let’s go.”
That was a week ago. Mrs. Tyler had indeed conquered her loop that afternoon and joined her family in Heaven.
Chloe grabs one of the seven recently-organized files to take with her back to the penthouse to talk over with Lucifer later that evening. She’s getting better at sensing the flow of time in Hell. She knows it’s nearing the end of what they consider to be their workday.
When she arrives at the penthouse, Lucifer is nowhere to be found. She sets the file down on the coffee table in front of the couch. With a generous glass of pinot noir in her hand, she tucks her feet under her as she reviews the details of the life of Mackenzie Grey. Ms. Grey was a British woman who had died when she was sixty-five in 1992. Nothing was jumping out as the cause of the woman’s guilt. Chloe had been through three full loops with Ms. Grey. Scene after scene of the woman’s life. And she didn’t have a single lead.
Frustrated, Chloe tosses the file back on the coffee table. She sets her half-full glass next to the papers and lies across the cushions. The tightness of an oncoming headache whispers at her temples, which only serves to irritate her even more.
Why the fuck is she getting a headache? She is fucking dead.
She sits up and drains the rest of the wine, wondering if Hell has Excedrin and how strangely Lucifer will look at her when she asks him if it does.
The pages of the file flutter in the breeze she creates when she flips through the pages another time. Nothing.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Chloe looks up to see Lucifer standing in front of her holding the rest of the bottle she had opened.
“I’m looking through what I have on Mackenzie Grey. And it’s nothing.” She holds out her glass for Lucifer to refill.
He tops her off and takes a seat next to her. “We’ll figure it out darling, we always do. That’s actually where I was. I was in her Hell loop. There was a part of it that just wasn’t sitting right with me.”
Chloe’s a little annoyed that he went into the woman’s Hell loop without her, but is genuinely curious about any insights he may have gleaned.
“What was it?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine.
“There’s a part of the loop that takes place a few years before her death. Her mother passed away in 1990, a few years before Mackenzie.”
“Yeah, I have that in my notes. It was pancreatic cancer, stage 4 when they caught it. Her death was fast. But Mackenzie had a great relationship with her mother, it wasn’t a source of guilt for her. It was the opposite.”
“During the funeral service, I heard a friend of the family make a remark about how it was euthanasia.”
Chloe’s mind floods with possibilities at this new revelation. “Did Mackenzie know?”
He nods.
“So what are you thinking? Do you think she felt like she could have somehow prevented her mother’s death? Saved her?”
“Not exactly. I think Mackenzie accepted that her mother was going to die. Eventually. I think it was her mother’s acceptance of it that might have triggered feelings of abandonment in Mackenzie.”
It is as if the puzzle pieces finally fit together. Lucifer’s theory aligns with everything they have learned about Mackenzie Grey over the past few days.
Chloe thinks she’s going to be sick. Without another word, she runs to the bathroom, thankful they even have a bathroom.
But of course, all she can do is dry heave over the toilet.
Seconds later she feels Lucifer’s gentle hands pull her hair back from her neck where a cold sweat has broken out. Her spasms over the toilet continue as he ties her hair up and rubs her back. When her stomach finally settles, she rests her head on the cool porcelain. The last time they had been in this position, it had been a lifetime ago when Chloe was pregnant with Rory and Lucifer had nearly lost his mind at a simple bout of morning sickness.
Nope nope nope.
Her head feels heavier than normal and she lifts it from the seat of the toilet to rest against the wall behind her. She takes a few deep breaths. When she opens her eyes, she sees Lucifer sitting across from her, his face is stricken.
“Detective….” The pain in his voice is almost unbearable to her.
“‘M fine.” She states before closing her eyes again.
“Darling, you’re not. You’re sick?” His last sentence is more of a question, as if he can’t believe it himself.
She shakes her head weakly. “Didn’t even throw up. Not sick. ‘M dead, remember?” Chloe lets out a small chuckle at her attempt at a joke.
Her joke was a mistake because all it does is cause Lucifer to make an odd strangled sound in his throat. He’s on a never-ending quest to gaslight himself into forgetting that Chloe’s dead and doesn’t like to be reminded of the fact that his Detective is only with him in Hell because she died.
“Please tell me I’m not pregnant,” she mumbles.
It’s his turn to laugh. “Darling, I’ve no idea what’s ailing you, but you’re not pregnant. You’re a soul. An incredibly sexy one, a real MILF, but still a soul,” Lucifer tells her with absolute certainty, as if anything in her life since she met him has made logical sense.
All the same, relief washes over her.
His face turns serious again. “Detective, I’ve seen souls in Hell be sick, but it’s always been a carefully-arranged part of a Hell loop. I think we should call my brother. Or maybe I should take you up there myself now.”
Chloe shakes her head. “I told you already, I’m fine .”
“Is this related to the other day? When I found you in the closet?” Lucifer asks her, desperate for answers.
She presses on her temples with her fingers. “No… I don’t know. Maybe ?”
“Chloe….”
“It’s this case. I just… I don’t know, something about it.”
She can see the gears turning in his head. This is why she never wanted to say anything. He’d panic and insist on taking her to Heaven for the rest of eternity. Lucifer's eyes don’t leave her, even as his gaze darkens. Terror clenches at her gut and she thinks she really could be sick this time.
“Please don’t make me go,” she whimpers.
“What?”
She pulls herself into his lap, clutching at his jacket. His arms go around her as if on autopilot.
“Don’t make me leave you,” she begs.
“What?” he asks again, incredulously.
“Please.”
Lucifer tries to pry Chloe’s head from his chest, but only causes her to burrow in harder. He adjusts her in his arms and slides an arm under her knees. Keeping his other arm at her back, he carries her into their bedroom.
As he sits with Chloe on their bed, he waits for her to say something. Anything at all. He’s terrified something is wrong, but without her human frailties, he’s at a loss as to what it could be. He traces up and down her back with gentle fingers, wondering how his evening took such a sudden, unexpected turn.
“Darling, would you please talk to me?” Now he’s the one who is begging.
Chloe sniffles loudly in his arms and lets out a sigh. One deep breath, and then another before she sits, up. She wipes the tears still in the corners of her eyes. She looks away from him and takes a shuddering breath before she utters, “I’m sorry.”
Suddenly her weight leaves his lap and she’s several feet away from him, hugging herself with her arms wrapped around her middle. He notices the moment the mask slides into place over her face. “I’m fine, Lucifer.” She turns around in the direction of the living room.
He’s not expecting the move, so his fingers grasp nothing but air when he reaches out to stop her, he’s too slow to catch her. Lucifer jumps up from his spot on the bed and grabs her wrist.
“Detective….” he pleads.
“I said I’m fine,” she shakes her wrist from his grasp. Chloe walks out of their bedroom, leaving Lucifer to wonder if he had imagined the last fifteen minutes entirely.
He follows her to the large living room where she pours herself another glass of wine before sitting on the couch. She looks just as she did when he arrived home not thirty minutes ago.
“Are we not going to talk about what happened?” he asks. He is so far out of his depth and is mentally begging the Detective to give him a sign. Give him something.
“I’d rather not.”
“Too bad.”
Her head jerks up at his statement and she shoots him a look that he’s rarely seen on her face. She’s mad at him? “ Really?” she spits out at him.
“My love, you can’t—”
Chloe raises a finger. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Use pet names to try to get me to do what you want.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Yes. You were.”
He huffs, biting his tongue. Lucifer sits down on the couch and lets his head fall back. He hates this. He isn’t even sure what is happening. But he hates it.
As he sat down on the couch, Chloe jumps up as if she’s been burned. He doesn’t move from where he’s sitting, but his eyes flick over to where she is now standing.
“I-I need some air.”
“Mm. Plenty of it,” Lucifer says as he gestures to the balcony with the glass in his hand.
“No. That’s not….I need out.”
With his other hand, he gestures to the elevator that will take her into the central circles of Hell.
She shakes her head. “I need out.”
“Go right ahead. I’m not your jailer,” he says, flinging a few verbal arrows of his own.
He watches his words land and the hurt that echoes across Chloe’s face makes him want to throw himself off the balcony. Still, he doesn’t say anything to take the words back. He’s not sure what he could say.
“You know I can’t.” Her voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it before.
Of course he knows. He knows she’s more or less stuck down here with him without the assistance of himself, one of his siblings, or their daughter. “Regretting eternity already, are we?”
“Fuck you, Lucifer.”
He takes another swig from the glass in his hand. “Yes darling, you did a wonderful job of it last night.” He tries not to think about how easy it is for him to revert to this version of himself. It’s always just below the surface.
Chloe doesn’t respond. Her eyes are glassy and he knows she’s trying to figure out how to leave him without asking for his help. Or involving his brother. Or Aurora.
Watching her indecision, he bites back another comment, too aware of the fact that the hole he has dug himself is already deep enough. His eyes follow her as she storms off, jabbing at the button of the elevator. A few seconds later, he is alone in the penthouse.
Even the worst years he spent here alone never felt as painful as this does.
Lucifer is properly drunk by the time he hears the ding of the elevator again. Self-actualization isn’t too bad once you get the hang of it.
He’s at the piano, his back to the elevator when he calls out, “Back so soon, darling? I suppose the line is ‘til death do us part, and well, you’ve got that one down already.”
But it’s not Chloe in the elevator.
“My lord?”
“Belios! Come, have a drink.” Lucifer pours the demon a sloppy glass of scotch. He mops up the alcohol from the cover of the piano with his shirtsleeve.
Belios gives him a gentle shake of his head, so instead Lucifer downs the glass in one gulp.
“My lord, is everything alright?”
“You’re a demon, Belios, surely you can handle a little liquor. Don’t be so uptight. You’re so unlike your sister.” He misses Mazikeen, even if he knows she’d kill him for how he’s acting right now.
“My lord, the lady, she—”
“She can do as she likes, Belios. You know she’s the sovereign, same as me.”
“That’s not what I am saying. She went into a Hell loop.”
Lucifer tuts. “Belios, I don’t think your little crush on my wife is going to ever go anywhere if you keep spying on her and reporting her every move to me. Women don’t care for being stalked.”
“Sir, would you please just listen? The lady, she went into one of the Hell loops in the western forest.”
Lucifer stills. Sobriety threatens the edges of his mind. The blissful alcohol-induced haze is receding. “Belios, tell me that’s not where the prisoner is.”
“Sir, that’s why I’m here. The prisoner is in that district. Has been for weeks.”
And with that, he’s no longer pleasantly sloshed. He shoves his arms through his jacket and takes off into Hell.
Once he’s on the western edges, he can feel Chloe’s presence. And thankfully, it’s nowhere near wherever his brother is polishing rocks with a loofa or whatever creatively tortuous punishment the demon in charge of his twin has devised.
The door in front of him isn’t one that he recognizes. He doesn’t think he’s been in this loop before and doesn’t think it’s one on the shortlist of souls that Chloe and he are considering handling next.
Lucifer’s command of Hell is great enough that he can sense that Chloe’s perfectly alright inside the loop. Maybe she’s found a loop with a fantastic spa or beautiful sunset or, knowing, the Detective, it is probably an *NSYNC concert in 1998. His hand freezes on the door handle. He should probably leave her be. Thinking about the things he said to her is enough to make him want to never have to look her in the eyes again. It had been decades since they had a fight like this.
Gathering any courage he could, he steps through the door into the bright California sunshine.