Work Text:
“What a gentleman,” Chloe chuckles as she lets Marcus pull her chair out so she can sit at the table.
The date is going smoothly as usual. They’re about to get into the main course—a nice pasta with marinara sauce—but she’s already tipsy.
A pleasant buzz washes over her whole body as her bloodstream is flooded by the second beer of the night. Chloe’s tongue is coated with the aftertaste of the fermented liquid mixed with the salty one of the cheese and all of the other things on the charcuterie board Marcus and she had as an appetizer.
In other circumstances, beer wouldn’t have been her choice. She doesn’t mind it, but she doesn’t exactly like it either. Chloe usually goes for wine, her favorite being the red one Lucifer brings every time they have game night at her place, the kind that tastes expensive—and most certainly is—and makes her feel fancy by just drinking it. But Marcus is more of a beer kind of guy, and she doesn’t really mind indulging him, especially since he has been thoughtful enough to make her a homemade dinner from scratch.
He’s no chef, Chloe can tell, but he put effort into it. They’ve been dating for nearly six months now, and this is probably the only time he’s actually cooked for her. Pierce is a very no-nonsense man, just like her, and prefers professionally crafted take-out over slaving for hours in the kitchen for a simple dinner date. It’s understandable. Because of this, she appreciates the gesture even more.
It’s a bummer when she takes the first bite of her pasta—which smells mouth-watering delicious—only to find out it’s overcooked. The thought that follows hits her like a punch in the gut.
Lucifer always cooks it just right.
She hates that she’s thinking of him when Marcus is right in front of her, smiling lovingly at her as he dives into his own plate.
They’re not really on good terms, Lucifer and her. The relationship they had before Pierce arrived—both the professional and the more personal one—feels strained lately. Something inside their dynamic has shifted. Neither wants to be the one to put that feeling into words, but it’s clear as day the heart of the matter lies in the fact she’s dating someone else.
Not just someone—Marcus Pierce.
Where her boyfriend hasn’t blatantly asked her to put distance between her and Lucifer, her civilian consultant has made no mystery of his dislike for the lieutenant. He’s even inserted the poor guy into his extravagant metaphor, rendering him Cain, the first murderer. Clearly, in Lucifer’s mind, Marcus is some sort of ancient villain trying to sabotage the sad Devil’s life. Chloe should be used to all of his celestial shenanigans, yet the way her partner’s mind works never ceases to amaze her. It’s like they’re all characters in his play. At this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if God himself made a little cameo.
Even though their friendship is on the outs, she can’t help thinking about him fondly. All in all, he’s always been a good friend, and they’ve been through so much together. Lucifer knows her, really knows her, from the most common things to the tiniest details.
For example, he knows how to make her pasta exactly the way she likes it, which is al dente.
It’s clear her brain can’t avoid drawing a comparison between Lucifer and Marcus, but even inside her mind, it all seems unfair.
Pierce and she have been dating for a few months only, whereas Lucifer has been in her life for years at this point. Besides, Lucifer actually likes cooking, especially when he’s able to showcase his incredible skills for everyone to see and compliment him. Marcus is different; he’s reserved, doesn’t like to show off, doesn’t really pay all that attention to the details. Unlike Lucifer, he’s reliable and stable, dependable even, strong and even stoic at times, but comforting.
A twinge of shame jabs at her when she realizes she’s just described Marcus as if he was a damn Ikea chair.
That is not the way one talks about the person they are in love with.
That’s what she feels for him, right? Love. It only makes sense. They’ve been seeing each other exclusively since the Axara concert, and she’s even introduced him to Trixie—which is a big deal for her. They share the same values, like to spend time at home in front of a good movie, and enjoy the same things. He makes her laugh. What more could she ask for?
She can’t help but wince at the realization she’s justifying herself inside her own mind. Who is she trying to convince? She’s in love with him, end of story.
“Is everything okay?”
Chloe looks up from her plate to find Marcus staring at her curiously. He must have noticed her zoning out.
“Oh,” she exclaims, shaking her head, “it’s nothing. Stressful day at work.”
Marcus nods slowly, clearly unconvinced. “Has Lucifer not been of any help with paperwork as usual?” he asks.
She grimaces. It’s not the first time he’s taken a jab at the way her partner works, or at Lucifer’s presence in general. She’s under the impression Marcus would remove him completely from the LAPD if Chloe wasn’t so adamant about needing him. They do have the highest closure rate, after all, and that is undeniable.
“You know how he is,” she replies simply, giving a little shrug. “Is more of a hands-on kinda guy.”
“You’re always making excuses for him,” Marcus comments. He doesn’t sound too annoyed, but the tone of his voice is somewhat accusatory.
In all honesty, it does feel like she’s making excuses. The more the relationship with Pierce progresses, the more she seems obligated to justify Lucifer’s presence in her life. She needs him there, but not just for work. She doesn’t want to lose the closest friend she’s ever had. And if that means making up excuses for him, covering his misconduct on the job, and accepting all his quirks, she’ll gladly do it.
Chloe can see why Marcus has such a hard time accepting it, though. Still, she’s selfish enough to want both men in her life.
“I’m not,” she counters as she plays around the plate with the fork, her appetite completely lost. “I’m used to doing paperwork on my own. You know how I am. I’m way too precise and wouldn’t let him near important documents anyway,” she adds.
Putting down his own fork, Marcus grabs the beer in front of him to take a sip. His lips are still touching the rim of his glass when he mumbles something that sounds vaguely like, “I wouldn’t let him near the precinct at all.”
Chloe’s shoulders slump. “Do we really have to talk about Lucifer tonight?” she asks through a sigh.
His partner is always a sore subject, yet it always finds a way to sneak into their discussions. She tries not to, but it’s almost impossible. Lucifer’s presence looms over their relationship, casting a shadow neither can truly ignore for too long. One of them wants it gone for good.
Her boyfriend shakes his head. “I’d rather never talk about him, actually.”
And yet you always bring him up, Chloe finds herself thinking sarcastically.
A not-so-subtle scoff escapes her lips. “Sometimes it sounds like you can’t stop thinking about him when you’re with me,” she points out. Her tone holds both playfulness and mockery, but the latter prevails. “I wonder if it’s him you’re in love with. Maybe you’re with me just to provoke him.”
It’s not her intention, but she seems to strike a nerve. Marcus chokes on his beer, causing him to sputter and gasp for air. Taken aback and worried, Chloe rushes to his side.
Once his breathing is under control, Marcus croaks, “Is that really what you believe?”
Mortified, she shakes her head no. “No. I just…” she tries, but nothing sounds right inside her head. “It looks like you two have some sort of rivalry and I don’t wanna get caught in the middle of it.” She gestures for him to move and make some room for her, then sits on his lap. “You’re my boyfriend, Marcus, and he’s my partner. You both mean a great deal to me, and I just wish you got along,” she admits in the end, going to circle his neck with her arms.
His big hand moves to clutch her side, and she can’t help but shiver at the contact. Marcus is usually cold, no matter how warm the Californian weather is. It’s not unpleasant but, in the chill of mid-December, it doesn’t feel right.
“I’m not good at pretending to like someone I despise,” he answers plainly.
Her brows knit together, her expression softening. “Not even for me?” she nearly pleads.
Marcus heaves out a big sigh. “I can try,” he concedes.
The words sound empty and unconvincing, as if he knows, deep down, he’s not actually going to try at all, but it’s the best Chloe can get for now.
She leans forward to place a small peck on his lips, then stands back up to return to the other side of the table, where they go on about their dinner without further mention of Lucifer. And yet, even though neither dares speak his name, it feels just like he’s sitting right between them, like a bomb ready to explode.
***
When Chloe steps foot inside Marcus’s bedroom around bedtime, she finds the room a little messy. Some of his clothes are on the floor next to his bed, while others just lay in a heap on his nightstand.
Truth be told, she wasn’t supposed to spend the night, but Trixie is at Dan’s and it’s kind of late, so it makes sense for her to stay. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He wasn’t expecting company. Marcus isn’t that messy when he knows she’ll be around.
Not that this is a big deal for her at all. She’ll just help him tidy up a bit while he does the dishes.
Gathering a couple of shirts from the floor, then puts them back on the hangers and places them inside his closet before folding a white t-shirt that will go into the drawer. She puts it on top of other folded clothes, but when she goes to close the drawer, it gets stuck. It feels like something is blocking it. Trying to find the source of the problem, she reaches inside with one hand, feeling around in search of the unknown object.
And then she does. Her fingers close around a square velvety box, the kind that oftentimes contains jewelry. It’s almost inevitable for her to bring the little container up to eye level. Chloe’s a detective, after all; curiosity is part of her nature.
It looks like a ring box, yet she can’t remember a single time she’s seen Marcus wear a ring. She’d notice. His hands are massive, and it would be impossible for her to miss that kind of detail. For a second, she wonders if perhaps, hidden inside that little case, is a family heirloom or a prized possession from his dead brother Marcus hardly ever mentions.
It feels like she’s prying. She shouldn’t look into it—she’s well aware of that—but whilst her brain tells her to put the velvet box back in its original place, her hands move of their own volition to open it.
The second her eyes fall to the content inside, she regrets it immensely. Her stomach drops, her throat feeling suddenly too dry and closed. The light coming from the lamp bounces off the small clear stone embedded into a simple silver band. It’s a small ring; it could only fit on a feminine hand, so she knows for certain it’s not Marcus’ or his late brother’s.
It looks like an engagement ring.
It is an engagement ring.
Maybe she shouldn’t jump to conclusions. What if it actually is a family heirloom? He could easily be holding onto it for when or if he finds the right person. Or perhaps he’s hiding it for a friend. There are so many different explanations that wouldn’t imply he’s going to propose to her, right?
But she’s lying to herself. The most logical explanation is usually the right one.
What she doesn’t understand is why. Why does he want to get married so soon? They’ve only been together a couple of months and barely know each other. Why has he never even mentioned it? Shouldn’t people at least hint at it before popping the big question?
Most importantly, why is she not excited at all? Her heart is pounding, her eyes are watering, and she’s sure she’s about to go into hyperventilation, but it’s all for the wrong reasons. Chloe’s not elated. She’s not over the moon with anticipation. All she can feel is fear. Fear that when he’s eventually going to propose for real, she’ll say the wrong thing.
What if she says no? What if she panics and he can see it in her eyes—the gnawing terror that’s overpowering her at this very moment? She doesn’t want to break his heart.
Or worse—what if she does say yes? Why does it feel like accepting his proposal would be a far more scary fate?
She’s in love with him, isn’t she? Chloe should want this. And yet…
“Please, don’t do that.”
She nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of Marcus’ voice behind her. Her grip loosens around the box, which drops back into the drawer and closes with a muffled click. Quickly, Chloe hides it under the clothes once again, then shuts the drawer before turning to face him.
Her poker face is awful, but she’s still able to muster an innocent smile. “Don’t do what?” she asks casually.
“Clean up my room,” he replies, closing the distance between them to place both hands on her hips. “I should be the one doing that,” he adds further.
“Oh!” She can barely hide the relief in her voice. “I really don’t mind,” she tells him as he draws her closer to him.
Their mouths are mere inches apart now. Chloe should want to kiss him, should want his hands on her body, and hers on his, but she doesn’t. Her heart is still thundering inside her chest, beating against her ribcage as if demanding to not be ignored anymore.
It’s her own personal lie detector, and it’s sick of hearing her repeat this is what she wants.
I want Marcus, she thinks.
Lie, her heart replies stubbornly.
I want to kiss him.
The muscle in her chest pulses harder, faster. Lie.
I love him.
But it’s only herself she’s being dishonest to.
If he asks, I’m gonna say yes.
Her heart is screaming at her that it’s all false, but she’s not listening anymore. Their lips met, and soon enough there are new clothes on the floor she’s not going to help put away later.
***
In the darkness of Marcus’ bedroom, Chloe lies wide awake. He’s snoring softly beside her, one heavy arm draped around her middle, but it’s not the sounds he makes that keep her eyes open.
It’s the ring. That small piece of jewelry hasn’t left her alone the whole time.
It was all she could think about even while they were having sex. Chloe was so much in her head, she wasn’t able to finish.
To his defense, Marcus did try his best. He went down on her for ten minutes straight before she simply told him she was getting too sore and tired to go on. In reality, she couldn’t concentrate at all, images of a proposal swarming behind her closed eyelids and haunting her.
And then, for whatever reason, the thought of Lucifer had popped inside her brain, making things all the more confusing and weird. He was the last person she should think of while having sex with her boyfriend. Actually, she shouldn’t think of anyone or anything else but her boyfriend.
Yet, even now, the only one she’d like to talk to is Lucifer.
It’s all wrong. She should want to call Ella, or Linda, excitedly squealing about a ring she found by accident but wanted to receive more than anything in the world. Chloe should be making plans, imagining her wedding day in meticulous details, but she’s not doing any of that.
She wants to call her best friend.
Deep down, she hopes he would tell her what to do, helping her out of a situation she feels stuck in.
Calling Lucifer is probably the worst decision she can ever make—she’s well aware of that—but it doesn’t stop her from carefully sliding away from Marcus’ embrace, getting up from the bed to retrieve some of her clothes and her phone. Slowly, cautious not to make a sound, Chloe slips into her pants and shirt, then pads her way down the stairs. With one hand, she opens the sliding door leading outside with painstaking attention, listening to any sound that would indicate that Marcus is awake. When she’s certain enough he’s oblivious to her absence, she walks outside.
The early winter night air is colder than she expected. A cool breeze blows through the trees in Pierce’s backyard, instantly freezing her cheeks and nose. Chloe shudders, but she stays rooted to the spot, phone in hand already open to his number. Her thumb hovers above the dial button for a couple more seconds before she finally makes the decision to call.
It takes Lucifer all of three rings to pick up the phone. “Hello, Detective,” he greets her, his tone somewhat confused.
Two simple words she’s heard a million times before are all it takes to make her throat go dry and brain completely blank. All of a sudden, she doesn’t even know why she called. It was a stupid idea. She should have known better.
“Detective, are you there?” Lucifer asks when she can’t muster a sound. “Did you butt-dial me or something?”
For a second, she ponders hanging up and pretending it was an accidental call. She really should do that, but she doesn’t want to, and that makes all the difference in the world—and that’s enough for her to gather up some courage.
“Hey, Lucifer,” she finally says. “No, I… I wanted to call you.” It’s a simple admission, so why does it feel like she’s confessing to way more than just wanting to talk to him?
On the other line, he sounds vaguely surprised. “Oh, you did?”
“Yeah, I— Wait,” she mumbles, moving the phone from her ear to check the time. It hasn’t occurred to her that it might be very late. It’s almost 1 AM. Shit. “Oh God, did I wake you? It’s very late, I’m so sorry,” she’s quick to apologize.
“There’s no need, Detective,” he reassures her, and Chloe can picture the smile spreading on his face as he speaks. “I’ve just gotten inside the penthouse, to be honest. I had a bachelorette party to attend.”
Chloe can’t help but roll her eyes, her jaw tightening at the mention of the umpteenth party. There seem to be a lot of those going around lately, all of them hosted at Lux for some reason. She can’t help but wonder whether the reason lies in the rumors about what a generous man the owner of the club is, especially when it comes to giving future brides the best night of their lives.
She hates that, even in her own mind, she sounds jealous. She’s not. She simply can’t be.
“Oh,” she mumbles in acknowledgment. “Okay, then. Glad I didn’t wake you.”
Silence stretches between them for about ten seconds before Lucifer finally probes her. “So, what did you want to tell me?”
Truth be told, she doesn’t even know why she called anymore. All she’s aware of is that, for some reason, even just the sound of his voice is enough to calm her down. The anxiety holding her hostage since the moment she’s seen the ring is gone, completely dissolved the second he answered the phone.
Chloe could pretend it’s about something work-related, but Lucifer values honesty more than anything and she hates being dishonest with him. The only thing she can do is tell him the truth.
“I… Uh…” she struggles, searching her brain for the best way to put her thoughts into words. “I think Marcus wants to propose.”
“Propose what, exactly?” comes his reply from the other side of the phone.
A small, almost imperceptible smile makes her lips twitch. Only Lucifer could ask something like that.
“A marriage proposal, Lucifer. What else?”
She waits for his next words for what feels like an eternity.
“I beg your pardon?” it’s all he seems able to say.
Deciding it’s best to explain everything from the beginning, she starts recounting the events that led her to that conclusion. “I found a ring box stashed under some clothes in his drawer, and inside was an engagement ring.”
“How do you know it’s an engagement ring?”
She exhales through her nose in exasperation. “It looks like an engagement ring, alright?” she replies. “Why are you focusing on the meaningless details?”
“I’m simply trying to make sense of what you’re telling me,” Lucifer answers, his voice not betraying any emotion. “Has he ever mentioned wanting to get married?” he asks her then.
Chloe shakes her head as another shiver runs down her spine. She’s freezing, but there’s no way she’s going back inside. “No. He never said a word about it,” she admits.
“And you’re a hundred percent sure the ring is for you?” is his next query.
“I am,” she responds without hesitation. “I don’t know why, but I just can tell. My gut instinct is telling me I’m right.” Even though it’s not a very exhaustive explanation, it’s the best she can offer at the moment.
Lucifer sighs, the sound of his breath going straight through his phone’s microphone causing the line to crackle. “Your instinct is hardly ever wrong,” he concedes in the end.
Now more than ever, Chloe wishes it was.
“I guess congratulations are in order, then.”
His words sound empty and insincere, as if he’s trying his hardest not to tell her what’s really on his mind. Lucifer is a better liar than that. He hardly ever resorts to deceit but, when he does, he sells the lie in the most convincing way possible.
“There’s nothing to congratulate me about,” she gushes in a fit of honesty before she can catch herself. “I mean, Marcus hasn’t asked me yet,” she adds in hopes to salvage the situation.
“Do you want to marry him?”
There it is, the question she hoped he’d never ask. Chloe doesn’t want to lie, but the truth is far more difficult to admit, both to him and herself.
Thankfully, she doesn’t have to do either when a voice from behind startles her.
“Chloe, are you okay?” Marcus asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She turns around slowly, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, breath hitching in her throat. Her phone is still plastered to her ear, the line dead silent as if Lucifer too knows they’ve been cornered.
“Who is it?” demands Marcus when she doesn’t offer any sort of reasonable excuse as to what she’s doing outside, in the freezing cold, in the middle of the night.
Shame washes over her the second she lifts a finger to point to her phone and mouths, “It’s Trixie. She had a nightmare.”
Her daughter is old enough to soothe herself after a bad dream and, even if she wasn’t, Dan is with her, but Marcus doesn’t have to know that. He can’t know who she’s really talking to, otherwise, she’d have to explain why she made that call in the first place, and that’s just not an option for her.
Marcus nods, patting her gently on the shoulder.
Her voice trembles slightly when she asks, “Are you feeling better now, baby?” to the man on the other side of the phone.
“He’s there, isn’t he?” Lucifer poses it as a question, but it sounds like he already knows the answer.
“Uh-huh,” she mutters in response. “Get back to bed then, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she adds to let him know she’ll need to hang up.
Although he doesn’t say a word, she knows what she’s doing is hurting him. The silence between them is thick and heavy, the kind that holds a multitude of unanswered questions and about the same amount of regret and disdain.
“Night, baby,” Chloe says a second before the line clicks dead.
What did she expect? She just treated Lucifer as if he was some sort of secret affair. Their relationship is already complicated as is, nowadays.
“Is Trixie alright now?” Marcus asks her. “I woke up and you weren’t in bed, so I got worried.”
Waving a dismissive hand, she replies, “Oh, I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t wanna wake you.”
His brows furrow. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here, though. You’re freezing,” he notices.
She lets out a short laugh, hoping it sounds sincere. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I don’t know what I was thinking. Overprotective mom mode makes me do crazy things,” she shrugs. “Let’s just get back inside.”
Chloe doesn’t wait for his response. She walks around him, opening the sliding door to re-enter his apartment. They walk back to his room in silence, and she lets Marcus hug her to warm her chilly body up, but the rest of the night it’s another man that floods her mind and doesn’t let her sleep.
***
“What are you doing on Christmas Eve?” is the way Ella greets her the second Chloe sets foot at the precinct the next day.
Pierce is already in his office; she can see him through the clear glass doors, working on some papers at his desk. They never get to work together. Despite the fact their colleagues are aware of their relationship, she prefers to keep as much as possible private. This isn’t her first workplace relationship; she’s been there and done that already with Dan, and knows better than to give anyone more gossip material than they already have.
Besides, she needed some time alone. Last night was a rollercoaster ride of the worst kind possible.
“Good morning to you too, Ella,” Chloe retorts, trying to bypass the forensic scientist with little success.
The woman is tiny but stubborn as hell, and looks like she will tackle Chloe to the ground if need be. There’s no escaping.
“Yeah, right, whatever,” Ella says, waving her clipboard back and forth. “Christmas Eve plans. Out with it.”
Chloe blinks, stunned. “A little aggressive this morning, aren’t we?” she mumbles, then quickly adds, “Truth be told, I don’t know if I have plans. Why are you asking?”
Ella plasters the clipboard to her chest, crossing her arms over it. “I’m throwing a Christmas Eve party at my place. I’ll make all the dishes from scratch like my abuelita used to, and there’ll be lots of eggnog and gift exchanging. Oh, and board games! The whole shebang,” she explains giddily, rocking back and forth on the tips of her toes.
“It sounds lovely,” Chloe has to admit. “But aren’t you going to celebrate with your family?”
Shrugging, Ella replies, “I was supposed to, but my whole family is in Detroit and I can’t take any days off of work, so I thought—why not celebrate with my second family?”
It warms Chloe’s heart that Ella thinks of her as family as well. They’ve known each other for a little over a year now, but it feels as if they’ve been friends forever.
“How can I say no to that?” she replied with a smile and she barely has the time to blink before she’s enveloped in a nearly suffocating embrace.
When Ella ultimately releases her, she asks, “The lieutenant is coming too, right?”
Chloe gives her a one-shoulder shrug. “I’ll have to ask him, but I guess he’ll agree.” She’s about to walk away, then stops. “Can I bring Trixie as well? I’m not sure about Dan’s plans for the 24th,” she admits.
“Oh, it’s no problem at all! Dan is invited as well,” the other woman tells her.
“Awesome. Thanks, Ella.”
“What about you?” the brunette demands, her eyes moving to someone behind Chloe. “Are you coming to my Christmas Eve party?”
Upon turning around, Chloe finds Lucifer standing only a couple of feet away. How long has he been there? He’s crazy silent when he wants to be. She’s always joked about putting a bell around his neck, but maybe she actually should.
The look on his face is a mixture of aversion and incredulity. “It baffles me that you humans still choose to celebrate my half-brother’s birthday after so many years,” he says, completely disregarding Ella’s question.
“Dude, it’s Christmas. Who doesn’t celebrate that?” Ella retorts.
“Me, for starters,” Lucifer continues. “And you wouldn’t too, if you knew what a bloody self-centered prick he can be.”
Both women are left speechless, but Ella is the first one to regain her voice. “Man, you really take this method actor thing seriously,” she mumbles, shaking her head. “So, are you coming or not?” she asks once more.
Lucifer shrugs with indifference. “I’ll check my schedule and let you know.”
“Why?” The question is out of Chloe’s mouth before she can stop herself. “Is there another bachelorette party you can’t miss?”
One of his eyebrows arches theatrically. “And what if there was?” he questions, cocking his head to one side as he eyes her curiously.
She racks her brain in search of something to retort, only to come back empty-handed. He’s right, after all. What if he does attend another one of those parties? It isn’t any of her business.
“That reminds me...” Lucifer adds before she can say another word, “Can we talk? Somewhere… private.” He gives a little nod in Ella’s direction, who’s been listening to the whole thing and looks rather interested.
This doesn’t sound good.
Panic spreads inside Chloe’s chest like wildfire; she knows exactly what the topic of the discussion will be, and she’s not ready to sustain it. But it’s her own fault. No matter how she tries to spin it, she’s the sole reason this conversation has to happen in the first place. This wouldn’t be happening, if she’d just resisted the urge to call him in the middle of the damn night.
Ella is still staring at the both of them. She’s eyeing Chloe and Lucifer quite curiously, as if she can sense the shift in the air between them.
“Yeah. Sure,” Chloe finally replies, her eyes scanning the bullpen as she tries to think of a private place to speak. “Uhm, Ella,” she says almost absent-mindedly, “why don’t you invite the lieutenant yourself? I’m sure he’ll appreciate that a lot.”
Just like that, Ella’s interest is piqued. “You think?” she chirps.
Chloe gives her a quick nod. “Oh, yeah, definitely.”
“Cool! I’ll do that right now.” With that, the forensic scientist spins on her heels and marches across the bullpen with purpose.
Chloe doesn’t dare look in Lucifer’s direction when she asks, “Do we really have to do this now?”
“There’s no time like the present,” he retorts, his voice tainted by slight annoyance.
There was no avoiding this, apparently.
Barely able to stifle a sigh, shoulders sagging under the weight of the impending talk, Chloe starts walking towards the evidence closet. It’s the only place she can think of where they would be away from prying eyes—and ears.
The last time she’s been inside the evidence closet, there was a lot less clothing involved. Now, as she closes the door and locks it just to be extra careful, she feels naked for entirely different reasons.
Lucifer is the only person who’s able to make her feel that way. She’s said in the past—he makes her vulnerable. Sometimes it’s a good thing, knowing there’s someone in your life who understands you completely, someone you can be fully honest and open with; at the same time, it’s scary and complex. He sees right through her and there’s nothing she can do about it.
Chloe turns around, flattening her back against the door at the same time he leans on the edge of a metal table, arms crossed over his chest. It’s like she’s about to be interrogated and, for some unknown reason, she feels guilty.
“Has he proposed yet?” Lucifer fires the question at her point-blank, his dark eyes fixed on her.
A nervous scoff tumbles out of her lips. “No. Of course not. We barely had time to have breakfast this morning,” she replies, voice dripping with annoyance.
“Do you think he’ll do it soon?”
She shrugs her shoulders, eyes darting around the room just so she doesn’t have to look directly at him. “How am I supposed to know?” she retorts.
They’re both tense, way more than two friends discussing one’s impending wedding proposal should be. She should be ecstatic, and he should be supportive, yet everything from their posture to the way they nearly glower at each other screams resentment.
Lucifer doesn’t dignify her with an answer. Instead, he demands, “Are you going to say yes?”
The panic that overcomes her at the thought should be enough of a wake-up call. It’s all wrong. This is not the reaction her body should have at the idea of marrying Marcus, but it is. How long will she be able to ignore it?
All she manages to reply with is a meaningless sputter, words coming out jumbled and confused as she struggles to find the right thing to say.
“Do you even want to marry him?” he urges her furthermore.
“What kind of question is that even?” Chloe scoffs.
“A very straightforward one, if you ask me,” is his sarcastic retort.
Aggravated, she peels herself off the door and begins to pace the narrow corridor made out of metal racks. With one hand, she smooths the hair at the top of her head, then goes to tighten the low ponytail she’s wearing it in.
“This is none of your business, Lucifer.” Her voice sounds small even to her own ears. It’s not an accusation; it’s a plea. She’s begging him not to make her say something she might regret.
“Why did you call me last night, then?” The words come out accusatory. He’s still composed, not moving an inch from his spot, and that’s even worse. He’s not angry—he’s disappointed. By what exactly, she can’t tell. “Why, if this is none of my business?” he prods.
“I don’t know!” she exclaims, voice rising a few octaves. “I needed someone to vent. Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Oh, I see,” he snapped. “You can talk to me, but I’m not allowed to ask questions.”
Chloe stops dead in her tracks, only a few feet separating her from Lucifer. She pinches the bridge of her nose between index and thumb, eyelids fluttering shut for a moment only.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have called you in the first place. Frankly, I don’t know why I did that,” she admits before she goes to walk away, striding towards the door.
When she’s about to unlock it, his fingers close around her elbow, preventing her from moving any further. His grasp on her is gentle but steady, and she can’t miss the way his hand trembles ever so slightly. With light pressure, he forces her to turn around.
“Don’t marry him,” Lucifer murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. He’s imploring her. It’s unmistakable in the way his expression has now softened, his eyes are tender and sweet as they meet hers, molten chocolate in which she could easily let herself drown. “Please, don’t marry him,” he pleads again.
It’s a punch straight to the gut. Now more than ever, Chloe regrets telling him about the ring in Marcus’ drawer because, if she hadn’t, it would have been easier to pretend she didn’t have to make a choice. Her boyfriend would have been the only option available.
But that’s not the truth. And, deep down, she knows the choice has never been between saying yes or no to a hypothetical wedding proposal.
The choice is between a man who treats her right and makes her feel safe, shares her values, is stable in every way, and a man who’s carved out a huge spot in her heart that will never truly heal.
She needs to choose between her mind and her heart.
Marcus or Lucifer.
She doesn’t think they have a future, Lucifer and her. He’s not the serious relationship kind of guy, he’s not mature and responsible, not to mention the fact he hates kids and she is a mom. Marcus is simply the most sensible choice.
And who is Chloe Decker, if not a person of reason and logic?
Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat, she says, “You can’t ask me that. It’s unfair.”
“Don’t do it,” he insists, placing a hand on her cheek.
It’s only when his thumb wipes away a stray tear from underneath her eye that Chloe realizes she’s crying. She blinks through the mist in her eyes, a few stubborn droplets clinging to her lashes for dear life.
Give me a reason not to, she wants to tell him.
Instead, all that leaves her mouth is, “I’m sorry,” before she turns around to unlock the door and walk out of the evidence closet.
And in doing that, she’s walking away from the person her heart is screaming at her to choose.
***
Ella’s place is a true Christmas Wonderland when Chloe crosses the thresholds on December 24.
The gigantic Christmas tree grazes the ceiling and is decorated in a multitude of color-coordinated ornaments and twinkling lights. Stockings hang from the lit fireplace crackling away in the corner of the room, and there’s fake snow, tinsel, and mistletoe everywhere.
“Wow,” Chloe says as she puts her coat on the hanger. “You really went all-in with the decoration.”
Ella beams at her. “Oh, you know me. Go big or go home,” she replies with a wink.
“Everything is so pretty!” Trixie chimes in, looking around the place in awe.
“You gave it everything you’ve got, Lopez, huh?” Marcus comments. It’s clearly not his style—especially considering his idea of interior design consists in filling his house with a rock collection—but he seems to appreciate Ella’s Christmas spirit.
“You can call me Ella, lieutenant,” the woman reminds him.
He gives her a curt nod. “And you can call me Marcus.”
“Ms. Lopez, where do you keep your whiskey hidden?” comes a voice from the kitchen in an unmistakable British accent.
Immediately irritated, Marcus asks, “What is he doing here? I thought he wasn’t coming.”
Before Chloe can say anything, Ella intervenes. “Well, that’s what I thought too, but a couple of days ago he barged into my office saying his schedule was wide open for Christmas Eve and I thought…”
“It’s okay,” Chloe reassures her. “It’s not a problem for you, is it?” she then asks Marcus.
It is. They both know he’d rather spend Christmas Eve by himself than with Lucifer, but he’s not going to give her civilian consultant the satisfaction.
“Not at all,” he replies flatly.
“Ms. Lopez?” Lucifer calls again, this time louder as if he’s growing impatient.
Ella rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “I don’t have any whiskey, Lucifer,” she tells him.
“What a shame,” he sighs as he appears from the kitchen, his trusted flask in hand. “It’s a good thing I brought my own.”
Chloe watches him lean with the right side of his body on the doorframe, then cross one ankle over the other. He’s dressed in his customary three-piece suit, this one black, paired with a burgundy shirt that matches the pocket square perfectly tucked at the top of his left side. Stemming from the same pocket, there are two strings of tinsel—one gold, the other red—tied together in a bow.
“Hey, Lucifer,” Trixie greets him. Throughout the years, she’s learned not to run up to him and tackle him with a hug, although it’s clear he doesn’t mind her affections anymore. “Love the bow,” she comments.
Lucifer looks down his chest as if he’s just remembered about the thing inside his pocket. “Oh, it’s not there by choice,” he replies. “Ms. Lopez pretty much bullied me into it.”
Chloe flashes Ella a confused look.
The other woman giggles. “I told him he couldn’t pull it off,” she explains with a shrug.
“And we all know I can pull anything off,” retorts Lucifer before taking a swig from his flask.
Ella ignores him. “By the way, I have Christmasy accessories for everyone,” she informs the newly arrived, pointing at a basket full of gadgets placed just above the fireplace.
“I want the reindeer antlers,” Trixie exclaims before scurrying off to the other side of the room.
Weirdly enough, Lucifer hasn’t acknowledged her presence in the slightest. He’s barely looked at her once the entire time she’s been there, not to mention that he hasn’t even greeted her with the usual, “Hello, Detective,” with that specific twinkle in his voice he only reserves for her.
Things between them have only gotten worse since the day he’s told her not to marry Pierce. He’s still coming into work, and they do solve cases as partners, but they’re barely on speaking terms. All they talk about is strictly work-related, and oftentimes he doesn’t stick around to annoy her or Dan while she’s taking care of the paperwork. The comfortable routine they used to have feels broken now, irreparably so.
She misses him, misses her best friend, but that’s what happens when a platonic friendship morphs into something more, something neither of them is ready to face.
As her gaze moves to observe him chat with her daughter, giving her advice on what cute accessory matches her outfit best, Chloe feels a hand move behind her back until it’s resting on her shoulder. Marcus gives her a gentle squeeze, and she senses her heart do the same when she notices Lucifer look in their direction, his expression completely blank.
What was she expecting to see, looking into his eyes? Jealousy? Anger? Pain, even? Would any of that make her feel better?
She practically heaves out a sigh of relief when Dan walks through the door with Charlotte, because she doesn’t have the time to give herself an answer. Soon enough, Linda arrives too, accompanied by Amenadiel, and they can start the dinner. There’s a missing piece of the group—namely Maze—but she’s apparently cross with Linda, Amenadiel, and Lucifer too. Trixie is a little sad when her friend doesn’t show up, Chloe can see it in the way she glances to the door every once in a while, but she seems to be fine once she’s gotten acquainted with everyone.
The rest of the evening goes by smoothly. Lucifer is still ignoring her, concentrating all his efforts into driving both Dan and his own brother insane, which he seems to be enjoying greatly. The whole group chats and eats in harmony, and maybe it’s the wine, or perhaps the familiar atmosphere, but Chloe is truly happy and relaxed for the first time in a long while. That constant feeling of impending doom that’s been accompanying her since the night she found the ring is suddenly gone. She can breathe easily. It feels great.
Then, the moment comes for them to exchange Christmas gifts, and it all goes to shambles.
While everyone is busy unwrapping presents and wishing each other merry Christmas right beside the tree, Marcus takes her hand between his and goes down on one knee.
Her heart sinks to the pit of her stomach with him.
Right then and there she knows there’s only one answer she’ll ever be able to give him. Because this, the swirl of emotions inside of her right now, isn’t love. Her first instinct is to scream, to run as far away as possible, to hide so that he can never, ever, find her again. She’s been ignoring all the signs, but she can’t keep doing it, not anymore. It needs to end. It needs to end right now.
Chloe tries to stop him, but her mouth refuses to work, her whole body frozen in place.
He takes a little box—the velvet box, the one she’s already seen in his drawer—from the pocket of his pants and opens it.
Around them, everyone falls silent. Chloe’s gaze is fixed on the slim silver band, but she can sense a multitude of eyes staring at her. Tears threaten to fall, something Marcus must take as an emotional reaction to an unexpected, happy surprise because he smiles up at her.
It’s not. Her tears are full of shame, of regret, of all the things she wants to tell him but is unable to.
“Chloe,” Marcus begins, tightening the grip on her hand, “you gave me a new life. I thought my destiny was to be alone forever, but then I met you and my perspective on life changed. I finally have someone I can spend the rest of my days with, and that’s you. I wanna start the rest of my life—of our lives—right now.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching hers, before he says, “Will you marry me?”
Someone squeals in excitement from the sidelines. Maybe it’s Ella or Linda; Chloe doesn’t care. All she knows is that, when those dreaded words ultimately leave his lips, it’s Lucifer her gaze flickers to.
He’s watching her as well. This time, his expression is far from disinterested. His lips are sealed, and he’s so still it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, but he doesn’t need to speak to convey what he’s thinking. His chocolatey irises are screaming at her.
Don’t marry him. Please, don’t marry him!
And that’s all she needs.
“Marcus, I…” Chloe finds herself saying after a moment that feels like an eternity, “No. I can’t.”
A general gasp comes from the group watching them. She’d rather have the floor open beneath her feet and swallow her whole than do this in front of her friends, but she’s got no choice. This is why public proposals are risky—now they’re forced to have a public breakup as well.
Clearly taken aback, Marcus asks, “Why not?”
“I just can’t. Don’t make this any more difficult,” she begs him.
He narrows his eyes, scrutinizing her as if the answer to his question was written in tiny letters on her face. Slowly, his gaze never dropping from her face, he gets back on his feet and closes the jewelry box with a resounding snap.
“Why are you doing this?” he demands.
Chloe shakes her head. “It’s not you, Marcus, I promise. It’s me—”
“Save me the bullshit,” Pierce interrupts her before she can say anything else. “I know this is not about me. It’s not about you, either. This is about him,” he spits out before pointing at Lucifer.
People around them gasp again, just as Linda exclaims, “Oh my God.”
“I can assure you my Father has nothing to do with this,” Lucifer mumbles in return.
Everyone chooses to ignore his remark, Pierce included.
“I never asked you to choose,” he says, his voice a low, glacial rumble, “but maybe I should have.”
“Please, don’t do this,” Chloe tells him, almost pleading with him.
“Why not?” Marcus asks, and there’s something devious in the way his lips twitch with a smirk. “It’s a very easy choice.”
Tears roll down her cheeks as she shakes her head. “Don’t make me say it,” she whispers.
But he doesn’t listen. “Who is it? Who are you choosing?” he prompts her again.
“There was never a choice to be made,” she finally tells him, her eyes falling to the floor between them. “And if there ever was, I’d choose him.” The admission stings, opens her heart right in two but at the same time sets her free. It’s the whole truth, and Chloe is sick of pretending otherwise. “It’s always been him.”
The sudden burst of laughter coming from Marcus is ominous and chills her to her bones.
“You really were made for each other,” he comments, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in his tone. “I hope you and Devil boy have a very happy life,” he adds before walking to the coathanger near the door to storm off.
There’s a loud thud as Pierce shuts the door behind him with a little too much force, then utter silence falls on the whole living room.
Chloe doesn’t even dare lift her gaze. All she can do is mumble a meek, “I’m sorry,” and run to hide inside the bathroom.
She can barely look at herself in the mirror above the sink. A huge part of her is relieved, knowing she’s done the right thing—because stringing Marcus along even more would have been far worse—but a small part of her hates that things have to be this way. He’s a good man who treated her right. Being in love with him should be easy, but it’s not.
What’s natural for her is whatever she feels towards Lucifer.
All she knows is that her heart—and who is she kidding, her mind and her body as well—have belonged with him each day more since they’ve met. It wasn’t a conscious decision, the one to fall in love with him; it was inevitable. As easy as breathing, as vital as eating or sleeping.
Apparently, she doesn’t have to agree it’s a smart idea for it to happen anyway.
And even though he may not feel the same way, even if they might not ever work as a couple, it’s not fair of her to drag someone else in the middle of it.
A couple of minutes pass in which all she does is try to slow down her breathing and dry her eyes. With one hand, she has propped herself on the edge of the sink, splashing some cold water on her face with the other.
The knock that comes from the other side of the door is soft and almost unsure, but it nearly gives her a heart attack regardless.
Clearing her throat, she says out loud, “I’ll be out in a minute,” to whoever is looking for her.
“Can I come in?”
Right now, Lucifer’s voice is the last one she’d like to hear. She’s not ready to talk, nor to explain why she said those things to Marcus—for everyone to hear, no less. The temptation to tell him to go away is strong, but she can’t bring herself to do it.
“I don’t wanna talk, Lucifer,” she replies instead.
A sigh comes from the other side of the door, then there’s a soft thud, and she can picture him leaning with his forehead resting on the smooth wooden surface. Her heart gives a little squeeze.
Being in love sucks, Chloe thinks as she moves to unlock the door and let him in.
There he is, towering above her even though his shoulders are slouching and his head hangs low, one hand on the doorframe as if looking for support. He doesn’t look content in the slightest. Isn’t this what he wanted all along? For her to say no to Pierce? But now that he’s actually got it—got her—he doesn’t want it anymore, like he always does.
She’s getting sick of this never-ending dance between them, of taking a step towards him just so he can take two back—and even a couple more for good measure.
It’s not her intention, but Chloe can’t help herself from snapping, “What?”
Their gazes meet, and Lucifer looks sincerely worried. “Are you okay?” he asks.
She scoffs out loud. “I just made a fool of myself in front of our closest friends and my own daughter, so yeah, I’m great,” she retorts, sarcasm dripping from every word.
“I’m sorry, Chloe,” he murmurs.
She hates that he sounds truly regretful, but what rubs her the wrong way even more is the use of her name, because then she knows he’s being utterly sincere. He means what he’s telling her.
“Don’t be,” she replies bitterly. “I did all of this to myself.”
“I was the one who told you not to marry him.”
Chloe doesn’t know whether to laugh or slap some sense into him. Pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers, she takes a huge gulp of air before speaking. “Do you honestly think that matters? I wouldn’t have said yes even if you hadn’t asked. That’s how stupidly in love I am with you.”
There’s a moment of silence as her words sink into both their minds. It’s the first time she’s been able to admit she’s in love with Lucifer, even to herself. Yet, it’s not an earth-shattering revelation like she expected it to be. It just makes sense. It’s the way things were always supposed to be.
Lucifer, on the other hand, like he’s just heard the most unbelievable story ever. His mouth hangs agape, eyes wide as saucers, but she notices a glimmer in there she’s never seen before. Is he tearing up? That can’t be.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, slowly, as if in a sort of trance.
Chloe is starting to get irritated. “What are you sorry for?” she asks him.
Finally, he moves, reaching forward to envelope one of her hands with his. His skin on hers feels just right; he’s warm, the heat radiating from his body almost feverish, but it’s a pleasant sensation. She can do nothing but bask in it, as if she’s finally seeing the sun after months of incessant rain.
“I’m sorry for not telling you how I felt that day in the evidence closet,” he tells her, his gaze holding her hostage. “I don’t regret asking you not to marry Pierce, but I should have told you why I didn’t want you to.”
Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat, she croaks, “Why did you do it?”
A tiny, sweet smile forms on his lips. “I wanted you to choose me. The idea of the two of you together—of you being with anyone besides me—drove me crazy, but I wanted your happiness, even if it wasn’t with me. But I was selfish enough to still try and prevent you from marrying him,” he explains.
“Lucifer, I—”
“But you did choose me, no matter my mistakes,” he says, interrupting her. There’s a pause before he admits, “I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to love.”
It doesn’t come as a surprise to her, yet it still stings to hear him say those words. “We don’t have to do anything. Saying no was my choice, Lucifer. What I feel is entirely on me, and you don’t have to do a thing about it.”
His brows knit together, then he shakes his head. “Do you always jump to conclusions?” he asks jokingly. “What I mean is, I’ve never done this before, but I am willing to try with you. You’re more than worth the risk, Chloe.”
“But… you’re not… boyfriend material,” she argues, but it’s not him she’s trying to convince. Chloe’s forcing herself to remember who he is, to evaluate the situation rationally, because right now all her defenses are tumbling down and all she wants to do is let him in.
“Ouch,” he hisses theatrically, clutching his chest with one hand. “You wound me.”
Chloe presses her lips together hard to stifle a laugh, but it’s nearly impossible. Rolling her eyes at him, she hits him with a back-handed slap on his chest.
Lucifer chuckles before growing more serious. “I mean it. I want to be with you, and truly try to be what you deserve. That is if you’ll have me,” he tells her.
How can she say no to that? It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear from him.
“Okay,” she whispers as one of his hands sneaks up to cup her cheek.
He bends forward, and with her head tilted back to look at him, the tips of their noses touch. There’s mere inches separating their mouths now.
“Can I kiss you?” There’s sweetness in his voice, but no hesitancy. He’s not asking because he’s unsure—he just wants to be certain she wants it as well.
Chloe, on the other hand, hesitates. Only a couple of hours prior her lips had touched someone else’s, someone she’d convinced herself she loved, and it doesn’t seem fair to Lucifer, in a way.
He seems able to perceive the uncertainty, or maybe he sees it inside her light blue irises, because he adds, “It’s tradition,” before glancing briefly at the ceiling above them.
Confused, she follows his line of sight. They’re standing just below some mistletoe.
Laughter bubbles up inside Chloe’s chest. “I can’t believe Ella decorated the bathroom as well,” she commented, shaking her head.
“It’s quite literally everywhere,” Lucifer informs her. “It’s like a minefield out there.”
His other hand moves to her hip, pulling her closer to his body. They stare at each other for a long while, and she can feel his warm breath on her face, and wants to taste the whiskey on his tongue.
“Kiss me,” she finally tells him.
When he closes the distance between their mouths, Chloe’s eyes remain open. She doesn’t want to miss a single moment, hoping to forever burn it all inside her memory. It’s a chaste kiss; gentle and unhurried, the kind of kiss you only give someone you know is there to stay.
She’s not going anywhere, and it seems like he isn’t either.
A little too soon, Lucifer breaks away, slightly winded. She’s out of breath as well, but they both can’t hide the smile forming on their lips.
“They’re all probably wondering where we disappeared to,” she tells him, almost as if she’s just remembered the people they’ve been spending the evening with.
Lucifer nods, then extends one hand for her to hold on to. “Ready to go?” he asks.
“Yes,” she replies, weaving her fingers with his, and it’s not just to his question she’s saying yes.
It’s a yes to them, to finally being together, to figuring out if this can work. It’s not going to be easy, they both know that, but Chloe feels like this is the right thing to do.
Finally, she knows where her heart lies—and it’s with Lucifer.