Archive of Our Own

Everything happens in a blur.

Motions, sounds, feelings.

Lights flickering, so bright.

Helplessly, Chloe watches Lucifer and Rory; their words are spinning in her mind, faster and faster, until a hurricane forms and blows away her straw house. The foundation must not have been strong enough. She must have done something wrong.

“Rory, no, I’ll miss your childhood, your life.” It cuts like a dagger thrown across the room. Precise and deadly. Her tongue is leaden in her dry mouth.

“That’s- it’s just a blip in our eternal existence, I get that now,” Rory’s voice adds more open wounds. The lights around her swim. “I was so angry before, but I… I’m not angry anymore.”

Both of them, pleading, and every word hurts. The daughter, begging the father to leave her, to leave them, to not change anything, her past, their future, nothing, to keep everything the same. The father, begging the daughter not to make him do it, pain and panic and grief and a hopeless kind of hope in his voice; much like when he begged Chloe not to die on the cold, hard ground of the coliseum.

Barely aware, like pulled by a string, like watching herself from the outside, she moves closer to them. There must be something wrong with her eyes because all she sees is this white light around their daughter, a single focal point.

The color seems to be leaching out of the world.

And then the battle of wills is over. The promise is made. The daughter, their child, the girl she’s carrying inside her is gone; she disappears, enveloped by blinding lights, but all Chloe sees is Lucifer burning up in Heaven.

Her brain tries to catch up, to process what it sees and hears, except everything is just noise. Arms wrap around her shoulders, pulling her closer; she has no fight in her to resist, nor does she want to. Angling her head, Chloe breathes him in, trying to ignore her stinging eyes. She can’t cry, she can’t cry, she can’t cry.

If she cries, she’ll never stop, and it will only make it so much harder for him to do what he promised he’d do.

The Devil is going right back to Hell.

Her heart skips a beat.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Chloe opens her eyes to see the burgundy red of Lucifer’s shirt. He’s leaving.

Lucifer is leaving.

He’s going to leave her again. Her and their baby and Trixie and all their friends. And she knows why. She knows this time he leaves for good.

Like a gut punch, a sound escapes from her throat.

Like waking up from a nightmare, the brain fog dissipates.

Pressing her hands to his chest, Chloe pushes away. “What just happened?” There must have been some mistake, some kind of misunderstanding. Surely what she thinks is happening, isn’t actually?

Lucifer’s hands frame her face; she wants to be closer, until they’re one being, but her feet remain firmly planted in one spot. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, frantic. His lips press desperate kisses to her lips, her forehead, all over her face. 

She almost gives in to his urgency, to his anguish. It rises like a tidal wave, this desire to comfort him, to make it better somehow, to take it all away.

Something else presses on her shoulders, a new weight. The mission that she has to carry out. The task she never agreed to do.

Jerking away, Chloe peels his hands off her. “No.”

“My love,” his voice is breathless and so, so sad it breaks her heart. The way his brows draw together, eyes pleading, for what she has no idea; it breaks her.

And if she breaks, he won’t be there to put her back together.

“No,” Chloe whispers. “No, this isn’t happening. Tell me you’re not going anywhere.”

“Chloe,” he breathes. Her name on his lips feels wrong. Everything feels wrong.

“No.”

His eyes are wide open, his mouth moves but no words come out.

“No,” she says again. “I can’t.”

And just like that, she’s back in that panic room. Only instead of wild despair, it’s cold, metallic calmness that settles on her very bones. Something shifts in the air around her.

“I won’t,” Chloe says, stronger now. “You can’t ask me to do it.”

A shadow crosses his face, shock or confusion. “What- what do you mean?”

She shakes her head as she takes a step backwards. “Everything.” How can it not be clear to him? Does he truly not see it? Because she sees it, her entire life, however many years, 20 or maybe 30, until she dies.

Chloe sees it and it’s void of color but for the red of Rory’s wings.

His lips form a question, but not his voice. And suddenly she wants to scream, like there are multiple people inside her, fighting to get out, fighting to be heard. For once, let her be heard.

“Everything,” she gasps. “My life. Our lives. Our daughter’s life.”

“I have to leave.” Pain distorts his features, and all she can do is stare. “I gave her my word. We can’t change the future. It’s what she wanted. Chloe-” his voice breaks like when he told her he wasn’t capable of love. “You heard what she said. Chloe, I’m so sorry.”

It’s what she wanted.

Instinctively, she presses a hand to her flat stomach. She only found out yesterday. Or was it forever ago? Or perhaps it happened in a dream?

His eyes follow the movement, more pain bleeds into his expression.

She can’t make it better. She doesn’t know how.

The calmness is deep, enveloping, like a chasm on the bottom of the ocean. Like the vastness of space in the documentaries Trixie loves to watch. And Chloe’s falling, untethered.

“But she’s right here,” she says, feeling impossibly small. Their baby is right here. Hopefully still here. 

We know I don’t die today. She’s bleeding out, crumpled on the dirty floor of the warehouse. The words are looping in her mind. We know I don’t die today. Right? There’s so much blood. Keep pressure on the wound. We know I don’t die today.

Lucifer pales, looking whiter than a sheet. “Chloe,” he sounds like a shadow of the man she knows. The man she loves. A doomed man.

A lost soul.

“I- I gave her my word.” He takes a step forward, and like the same poles of two magnets repelling, Chloe steps backwards. A frown mars his features. “I have to respect her choice.”

“So you’ll just do it?” The calm warps, twists into something sinister. Like anger. Pooling and swirling on the bottom of her stomach. Unwanted. Unwelcome. Justified. “You’ll just leave us?”

“I have to,” is a mere whisper on his lips. “You know I have to. She told us I have to.”

“Since when do you do what you’re told?”

A sound escapes him, small and broken. Like someone dragging a knife across his skin. “She’s my daughter,” he says as if it explains everything. Should it? Can it?

She is his daughter, but she’s also hers.

“Do you want to leave?”

His throat moves, eyes glint with unshed tears. “I gave her my word,” Lucifer pleads. Asking for what, she has no idea.

Instructions. Or maybe absolution.

She can’t give him either.

“You also told me that you’d never choose to leave me. That you'd always choose us.” Her voice sounds distant. Cold. Bone chilling; like getting out of her warm car after driving up the mountains in winter.

His face distorts. The pain he’s feeling must be killing him from the inside, but it’s a faraway thought, almost like it belongs to someone else, not Chloe Decker, the woman who loves the Devil.

“I know.” He wrings his hands. She watches silently. “I know. But Rory- she, she asked me not to change her. I have to respect her choice. To be her own young woman. I can’t take her choice from her.”

Something inside her begins to shake.

What about Chloe’s choice?

What about his choice?

She swallows. “So, uh, so what’s going to happen next?”

For a moment, or maybe an hour, an eternity condensed into a single second, he stares.“I have to go back.”

Memories slam into her like a train, forcing all air from her lungs. She begged him to stay then, and he wouldn’t. Chloe Decker, the woman who loses the Devil.

There are no tears this time. Somehow. Only cold, breathless nothingness. “And- and then what? What do I do then?”

Like a fish on the sand, his mouth opens and closes. She waits. He must have some ideas. “You live,” Lucifer says finally, voice so tight it’s almost unrecognizable. He swallows again. “You’ll be a great mother.”

“Oh.“

He takes half a step forward, a tiny smile playing in a corner of his lips. “Rory is proof of that. You were, you’ll be the best mum she could ever have asked for. We know that. She’s… she’s so strong and smart and amazing. All because of you. It’s always you. You- uh, you don’t need me.”

Her cheeks burn hot as if he’s slapped her.

She doesn’t need him?

The numbness grows thicker, condensing, the weight of it settles high on her chest. She must not have heard him right. It’s the only explanation. Or this is truly a dream, a nightmare.

It feels like a break up.

“So-” somehow her voice remains level “-I just do it all alone? The pregnancy, the birth, raising our daughter. And Trixie. And working. I do it all, and then I see you when I die?”

A tear escapes against his efforts, rolling down his cheek; she watches it reach his beard before looking into his eyes again.

“That’s what she wanted,” the pleading is back. The pain. Not a hint of a smile on his face. “It’s already happened, hasn’t it? We’ve already done it.”

What was that bit about the other cheek? She doesn’t remember. Taking a step backwards, Chloe raises her hands. Surrender or attack, remains to be seen. “I don’t remember giving birth to another child, Lucifer. I don’t remember waking up three times a night to feed her. I don’t remember driving her to school. Or holding her when she has a nightmare. It has not happened to me.”

His face, normally so expressive, is a frozen mask. The only emotions she can see clearly is fear and desperation. He tries once, then again, then again, before the words he wants to say finally take shape. “But Rory-”

“Is here. What about this daughter?”

Lucifer stares at her helplessly, and suddenly she remembers another man wearing his face, taunting her. You are a gift from God. Made for Lucifer, to be his little plaything. You were never supposed to exist. And suddenly she can’t breathe. She can’t breathe.  

He sees it, takes a step forward, reaching for her, but Chloe moves back. The thought of him touching her is unbearable. If he does, she will crumble into a million pieces. There’s nothing holding her together, but a tiniest, flimsiest thread. In her mind’s eye all she can see is her future: the pregnancy, the cravings and the nausea, swollen belly and feet; the labor, stitches in places that don’t see the light; the lonely nights and the 2am feedings, waking up Trixie when the baby won’t stop crying, the sleep deprivation and the despair that always follows it; somehow working through it all; watching their daughter grow up missing the father she doesn’t know so bad it turns into anger and resentment; lying to her, hating herself for it, watching her cry, missing Lucifer, wishing things were different, missing him so much she-

The pain doubles her down and Chloe braces her hands on her knees. Immediately, Lucifer is by her side, but when his hands gently make contact with her back, she manages to sway away. “Don’t. Please.”

He heeds her request, but doesn’t give her space.

She wanted so much. She wanted to travel with him, to take him to Italy, to watch him parade through all those places, telling her stories of what used to be, to replace the bad memories with the good ones. She wanted to let him spoil Trixie rotten for her sweet 16, and to be there in the auditorium, clapping and holding her hand, when Trixie graduated. She wanted to go to bed with him every night, and wake up with him every morning. To see the sun rays catch on his lashes, until he opened his eyes, scrunching up his face at the bright light and smiling at her. She wanted to roll her eyes and laugh at his stupid jokes, and make him laugh with hers. She wanted his arms around her whenever she felt overwhelmed and needed support, or just to be held, knowing that he’d never judge her or demand anything, that he’d always accept her and let her be, as she is. She wanted to love him and be loved by him in return.

She wanted to live with him. This life and whatever followed.

She just wanted him.

Stupid, stupid Chloe. 

Taking deep breaths, willing the images to disappear from her head and her heart to slow down, she begins to count. When she gets to 10, when she feels like she’s not going to fall apart at the slightest breeze of the wind, Chloe iron fists her composure and straightens her posture.

She meets his worried gaze like a woman who has nothing to lose, and she supposes it couldn’t be more true. It’s Lucifer’s turn to step back.

Hand on her stomach, Chloe can’t look away from him. He was right about one thing.

This has happened to her already.

Just not with their child.

Something inside her snaps. Gasping in the air, she plunges ahead. “You know what, yes, you’re right, this has happened, actually. I put my body through the enormous stress of a pregnancy. I was also in my twenties then, not nearly fourty. I built Trixie cell by cell, I carried her inside me for nine months, then I gave birth to her. And then I had to deal with everything that followed: the sleepless nights, the middle of the night feedings, the fevers, and the worry of keeping a tiny, helpless person alive. I had postpartum depression, did you know? Of course you don’t because I never talk about it.” Memories flood her mind; she never felt more emotionally fragile than in the first few months of Trixie’s life. “Some days were really bad, but say whatever you want about Dan’s later mistakes, he was there for me when I needed him. He was there to help me take care of our child. And he never complained because it wasn’t just my job, it was also his.”

Lucifer pales even more, if that’s at all possible. “Chloe-” But whatever he has to say, she doesn’t want to hear it. He’s had his chance and he’s said enough. She’s heard enough.

“No,” she interrupts him. “No, whatever you have to say, save it. It’s my turn to speak.” Even if he’s her only audience. “And I’m telling you that I won’t do it.”

Only as she says it, does it dawn on her, the certainty of what she feels. There’s more to it, layer upon layer of all the complicated feelings - this is her daughter, she’s met her, she held her in her arms - but only one prevails, overshadowing them all.

The hand on her stomach feels hot. She has a duty to the baby inside her. She has to give it a good life. She wants it, wants the little girl it’s going to be, wants to raise her with her partner, to watch her grow into a beautiful and strong person.

But she also wants to keep him.

Evidently, she can’t have both.

“I won’t.” Chloe shakes her head. The words are like stones in her heart. And yet, easy.

Eyes wide, Lucifer stares at her, silent.

“Unless you’re there for me every step of the way, I will not be pregnant with your child, give birth to her, raise her,” her voice grows stronger with every word as the images of what that would be like assault her. All the struggles, and the tears, and the lies, and the pain, and the anger, and the wishing. Oh, so much wishing of how things might have been different. “I will not go through that on my own, without my partner, without the father of my child, who gets to skip all the hard stuff and swoop in when she’s all grown up and doesn’t need parenting anymore.” The thought of it pulls on every ugly, bitter feeling inside her that’s been lying dormant or repressed for years, bringing them all into the light. Dan’s later mistakes are the reason they separated, but she could not have seen them coming. She could not have anticipated the change.

And now she’s supposed to walk into this knowing what has to happen from the start?

Rory’s words ring loud and clear in her head, He's not there. He’s never there.

Blinking hard she presses her lips together before breathing out. “I refuse to be used like that, Lucifer.” And that’s the word, isn’t it? “As if- as if I have no say in the matter. As if I’m just a thing created for you to do as you please. As if this is my purpose.”

He recoils, her words, the meaning behind them hitting him hard as another memory assaults her.

Your character, she only exists to serve Diablo. What's your secret to getting up every day knowing everything you do and say is servicing another person?

Has this always been The Plan for her? Is it true and she’s just a thing? Not a person, but a gift? A means to an end? And her mojo resistance is a feature to help her fulfill her purpose? Is this the real reason she was created? Chloe Decker, a miracle, destined to give the Devil a child.

Fuck The Plan, Chloe thinks.

But her self control is starting to slip. Black spots dance in front of her eyes, making it harder to see him. A rush of heat spreads across her body. She feels lightheaded.

“Chloe,” Lucifer begins again, voice trembling.

She raises her hands defensively, stopping him. “No, I don’t wanna hear it. I, uh, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life lying to my daughters about you, Lucifer. And I’m not going to live it waiting to die. I…” She needs to get out of here, now. “I can’t- I- I can’t. I have to- I have to go,” she says and turns. He doesn’t try to stop her. For the best or for the worst. Keeping her back to him, she presses the button, and when the doors close and the elevator begins its descent, Chloe slumps against the wall and lets the tears fall.

The soft whooshing of his wings alerts her to his presence.

Despite the residual, drowsing anger, a part of her relaxes. After getting into her car, she turned her phone off; there was no way to know if he’d stay or if he’d do as he’d promised and go back to Hell. If he were to call or message her, to let her know about his decision.

The thought of that conversation being the last thing she’d ever say to him kept tugging on her heartstrings for the past several hours. Still, she refused to let it move her from the spot.

She hears him walk closer, until he appears in her peripheral vision, stopping awkwardly near the bench she’s sitting on. She doesn’t invite him to stay. After another moment of hesitation, Lucifer makes the choice to sit; close enough and yet not. 

The emotional distance feels like the vastness of space between galaxies. Incomprehensible.

Familiar.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Lucifer says quietly.

For a moment, Chloe lets herself get lost in the blinking lights ahead. The sun shone down on her when she sat on this bench. “I know,” she says softly, eventually. A part of her wonders how he found her, but it’s a small part, not really curious. “I meant to go home, somehow I ended up here instead.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him look at her, his gaze so heavy she would’ve felt it anyhow. She knows exactly what he’s thinking. It’s hard not to, considering where they are.

Chloe sighs. “I’ve been thinking about Charlotte.”

“It’d be difficult not to, considering,” Lucifer says. The words make the briefest of smiles appear on her face. Yes, considering they’re sitting on the very bench next to which they found Charlotte’s body.

But that’s not the reason why she’s thinking about her. Not exactly. “No, I’ve always liked this place, actually,” Chloe says, shaking her head. “After Pierce killed Charlotte, I just had to reclaim it. Took a while, but eventually it worked. I’ve been coming here quite often since you were…” She trails off, fingers twisting the ring absentmindedly.

“In Hell?” Lucifer asks, barely audible.

“With Eve.”

“Oh,” he says, and then nothing else. 

It feels like forever ago, but it’s barely been a few years since Pierce, since Rome, since Eve.

For him it’s been thousands.

The thought sends chills down her whole body, raising gooseflesh under the fabric of her flimsy blouse. How much Hell time is 20 years on Earth? 30 years? What if it’s longer? They don’t even know how old she was.

How many thousands of years for him? How many millions? All alone. Her mind struggles to comprehend it. What was Earth like millions of years ago? He’d have to spend that long alone, in Hell, while for her it’d only be a few decades. It’s not right. It’s not just.

Lucifer shifts, bringing her out of the trap of her own thoughts. He leans forward, placing his hands between his knees. Like he’s trying to make himself smaller. “Why were you thinking of Charlotte then?”

“Uh, Trixie. She keeps in touch with Charlotte’s daughter. They bonded quickly when Dan and Charlotte introduced them, they’re only a year apart. She and her brother are still hurting but they’re moving on. They’re living their life. They have a good dad.” A dull noise and a sharp intake of breath gives away the impact her words have on him, but Chloe doesn’t stop. She’s hurting too. “Charlotte only had about eleven years with her kids.”

She’s been wondering what Charlotte would tell her to do if Chloe could dial up Charlotte Richards, Heaven and ask. What would Charlotte give for the chance to come back? For a third chance? For 20 years? For 10 years? For just a year? For just a day to hug her children again and tell them she loves them?

“Chloe-” Lucifer begins, but she interrupts him.

“Trix is almost twelve. So I just keep imagining that I have to leave her. To never watch her grow up into a beautiful, smart young woman. To make her way in the world, to not just live her life but thrive. I imagine that and I feel sick to my stomach.”

Silence stretches between them. A bird sings somewhere nearby.

“It’s not like I’ve never thought about it,” Chloe confesses quietly. “Because I have. Being a cop married to a cop, it was hard not to think that one day one of us might not come home. I always pushed the thought down, tried to be careful, and just… hoped for the best. I suppose we got lucky.”

Until they didn’t.

The poisoning was the day she’d lost all hope. But Lucifer saved her doing what shouldn’t have been possible. He saved her by dying for her and coming back to life for her.

No one was there to save Dan.

Shaking her head, Chloe pushes the unwanted thoughts and images away. “Do you remember when I told you that my idea of fun was reading Trixie a book?”

A soft chuckle falls from his lips. “I remember thinking you were joking,” Lucifer says, a smile in his voice. “But back then I just thought you an odd duck.”

Laughter bursts from deep inside. Small and shaky and brief, but genuine. “Likewise.” Smiling, she glances at him, just a second or two. “It’s still true. It’s not my only idea of fun, but it’s one of my favorite. Spending time with my daughter.”

For a long moment he doesn’t say anything, and neither does she. The memories of that time play out in front of her eyes. How things have changed. From being too afraid to trust him with her heart, to having a child with him. From thinking he’s a rich playboy with a difficult past, to learning he’s a rich playboy with a difficult past who's also the actual Devil, which explained quite a few things about him.

Though he did break her heart after all.

Chloe supposes she broke his as well.

There’s a certain symmetry in that.

Turning her head slightly, she looks at him. Facing him fully would take the kind of strength she does not possess right now. Lucifer seems older, dark circles under his eyes more prominent in the darkness of their hiding place. He looks tired, worn down.

It makes sense. She feels at least 10 years older herself. Aged up in just 3 weeks. Or maybe longer than that. It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment. Maybe since she died. Maybe since he left. Maybe since she almost died. Maybe since he died for her the first time.

Have they not deserved a break?

He clears his throat. “What Rory said about the future, she’s-”

“Gone,” Chloe interrupts him. It’s another thing she’s been thinking about for the past several hours. Her grown up daughter. Where is she now? Is she back in her time like she said? Is Rory’s dying Chloe her? Did that Chloe also sit on this bench, considering her life, late at night on August 5th?

And if the answer is yes, what does it mean? What does it mean when it comes to her choices?

You make choices, Mom, Rory said. If I told you what they are, you wouldn’t really be making them anymore.

But isn’t that exactly what she did in the end? By telling them how things should go, so that she would grow up into the person she already was? The chicken or the egg?

And what if Rory’s gone forever because Chloe’s sitting here, on this bench, contemplating her life and options? What if she’s gone because her mother doesn’t want to do this alone?

We know I don’t die today. There’s so much blood. Dark spots dance in front of her eyes. She tastes metal in her mouth. We know I don’t die today.

“She’s gone,” Chloe whispers.

A strangled noise escapes him.

“She’s gone back to her time or disappeared into the ether, I don’t know.” Pressing her lips together, Chloe turns to look at his hunched form; she can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’s seen him so lost, so defeated. “But I know these past three weeks have been difficult for you.” Another thing almost impossible to imagine, being blamed and hated for something he hasn’t done. The ultimate injustice.

Guilt stirs deep inside, but she pushes it away. Perhaps she should’ve defended him more, but that’s done and over with. Chloe can’t change her past, the only thing for her to change, or not, is the future.

If that’s at all possible.

Perhaps the Chloe that’s lying on her deathbed remembers this same conversation. She pushes the thought away.

“I almost died today,” she says quietly. The past 3 weeks have been difficult for her too.

His head shoots up, eyes finding hers, wide and scared.

Has he forgotten already? She almost has.

Stretching her lips in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, Chloe nods. “Yeah. In the warehouse.” It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet. “I told you I was fine, and I felt fine, but it must have been the adrenalin.” 

She presses her bloody palm to her shoulder, the same shoulder where Jimmy Barnes shot her. We know I don’t die today. There’s too much blood. Her left arm feels numb. We know I don’t die today.

“The medics told me it was a close call.” His arms twitch. A part of her wishes he would reach out and touch her. A part of her doesn’t want to hurt him when she’d pull back.

Chloe nods. “Apparently. I don’t even know if I’m still pregnant right now.” She trails off, letting the words sink in. She’d almost died, but she hadn’t, just like she wasn’t supposed to. Does it mean anything? Does she want it to? “Maybe that’s why Rory disappeared. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make.”

“What are you saying then?” His question is but a whisper.

Sighing, she looks away, at the blinking lights of the civilization just below and in front of them, ridged only by the mountains on the right. “I was reckless. I felt invincible because, well, I exist in Rory's future, right? But what if I died? Then there'd be no Rory. And I would never get to watch Trixie grow up. Instead, I’d be in Heaven. Or maybe Hell, because I’d feel guilty for failing my children.”

Heaven, the syrupy sweet feel of it is one of the few things she remembers about the place. The cobwebs in her mind, thick like waddling in melted chocolate. The endless afternoon by the lake with her dad. She has no idea how long she spent there, or what she said if her father had asked her about her life.

Hell she remembers clearly. The oppressive heat and darkness of it. The ash falling and the maze of doors. Lucifer’s throne in the middle of it. Jimmy Barnes, the boy he used to be, frozen in his Hell loop with a manifestation of his mom; the mom who’d chosen to abandon him in that motel room all by himself, to go away with a lover and a guitar. It feels like a mockery now, that Jimmy Barnes’ guilt was his parent not choosing to stay.

Me, feeling abandoned and angry. So angry that I traveled back in time.

She shakes her head, blinks away the tears, feeling proud when her voice doesn’t quiver. “I, uh, I’ve been reading about time travel. Math and physics have never really been my strong suit, but there are explanations for dummies. I’ve been watching some videos, trying to make sense of it all. You know me and mysteries. Can’t help myself.” Next to her, Lucifer huffs a soft laugh before shifting. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him stare ahead. “Of course they can only speculate, but a popular theory suggests that our every decision creates a new world, like forks in the road.”

“Schrodinger’s cat,” Lucifer suggests quietly.

“Yeah. Or at least I think so.” She chuckles. It’s complicated, but not completely unlike the cases she solves. The only thing is that this they can’t know for sure. Would Amenadiel know? Would he tell them? “Anyhow, I’ve been thinking about my life and my choices. Have they always been mine? Or maybe if every Chloe, in every world, ends up here, on this bench, today. And if they’re wrong, and there’s only ever been one Chloe…” Pausing again, she lifts up her right hand, then slides the ring off. She holds it between her thumb and index finger, letting the distant light catch on the white stone. “Have I ever had a choice?”

His response is painfully predictable. “Of course you have!” Lucifer exclaims. She shivers. 

And once again she knows what he’d do before he does it. Quickly shrugging off his jacket, Lucifer wraps it around her shoulders before sitting back, maintaining a careful distance between them. The jacket smells like him. It feels like a hug she wants so badly from him, and yet cannot bear the thought of actually getting. Catching his eye, she gives him a tiny smile of thanks.

“I know you believe that,” she says, “but you can’t say for sure. I-” The word lodges in her throat and Chloe looks up. More stars are visible from here, even despite the lights in the distance, and she just breathes deeply for a moment before trying again. “I am a miracle. I was created for a reason, and it had to have been more than just to make my mom and dad happy. Your dad wasn’t blessing every couple who struggled to conceive, was he?” It’s not exactly a question, and Lucifer doesn’t answer it. She lets it hang in the air between them, slowly sliding the ring back onto her middle finger. “And when I almost asked him about it, you-”

“I stopped you,” Lucifer says, voice hollow. Something squeezes her heart at the sound of it.

She doesn’t think about that moment every day, but she regrets never asking every time she remembers it.

“I think you did it because you were afraid. And I let you stop me because I was afraid.” She pauses. “Am afraid.”

He shifts on the bench again, facing her. “Chloe,” Lucifer says, voice tight, anxiety radiating off him in waves. “What are you saying?”

Chloe aches.

There are so many things they don’t know, so many variables to consider, so many players. But if there’s only one thing she knows, it’s this. Reaching for him, Chloe watches as he twists his hand and the grip he has on her becomes desperate, almost as if he's afraid she’s going to walk away. The irony isn’t lost on her.

“I’ve been in love before, Lucifer.” Their eyes meet, his are night black, but shining. With unshed tears, with pain, with desperate fear. “I know love. Many kinds of love. Familiar, romantic. The love you feel for your friends. Puppy love. The way I love egg sandwiches and a fresh cup of coffee first thing in the morning. The way I love cheesy books.” Breathing in, she gathers her courage before continuing. His gaze never wavers. “I know I love you. I choose to love you. The good, the bad, the hurt, the red.” A sound, something between a puff of laugh and a strangled whimper, escapes him. The ache she feels intensifies. “I love you. Despite, in spite, because. I also like you. And I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His eyebrows draw together, the pain is etched into his features as he listens to her with bated breath. For a second, Chloe wonders if her words heal something inside him, or if they only carve in fresh wounds.

She covers their joined hands with her other hand. “I want to spend the rest of my life showing you that you are worthy of love,” Chloe says, looking him in the eye, infusing every word with all that she feels for him. With intent. “But I can’t make you stay. I… I can’t. History as my witness, I never could make you stay.”

Lucifer looks away. Bites his lower lip. She watches his throat bob as he swallows hard. Swallows tears? Is he remembering all those times he left her as well?

“But I also can’t do this alone.” In the future I come from, you’re on your deathbed, and he’s not there. “Or maybe I can, but I won’t. If you choose to do as you promised her, I won’t go through with the pregnancy.” Chloe laughs, bitter and joyless, as something occurs to her. To whom was his promise given if they don’t have a child together? If there is no one for her to raise and keep the truth from? If she doesn’t have the baby who time travels in the future, there is no incentive for him to leave, other than the promise given to someone they will never meet again. “Oh wow, uh, it seems like I’m not actually giving you a choice here.” Disgusted with herself, she pulls back her hands, but he doesn’t let her go.

“He asked me, you know,” Lucifer says, hoarse. He clutches her hand like a lifeline. “In the warehouse, I told him to ask me what I desired most, and he did.”

Half turned towards him on the bench, Chloe still as the words register in her head. She dragged herself, hurt and bleeding out, to help them; she shot Le Mec in the chest for kidnapping and torturing their daughter. But Lucifer chatted with him?

Swallowing hard, the lights ahead blur and lengthen, and Chloe blinks, refusing to let the tears fall.

She shot Le Mec as he was about to knife Lucifer in the back. How did that happen? How did Lucifer get to Rory without killing or incapacitating or at the very fucking least securing the man who tortured their daughter by plucking her feathers, the man who killed Dan?

Now that she’s thinking about it, she has no idea what happened. Rory said he’d saved her, but from what? She thought it was from Le Mec. Is there a story she’s missing?

“-voices in his head,” Lucifer says, and Chloe snaps out of it. “It was his guilt, torturing him in life. I did that to him, for killing Daniel. So he thought that by hurting me, by hurting my daughter in front of me, he would cause me the same pain.” He pauses. A tear escapes from her eye, rolling down the side of her face isn’t visible to him. “Except he was wrong. Hurting Rory wouldn’t have done it. So I told him to ask.”

“What’d you say?”

“The truth. I told him that my greatest desire was to see my daughter grow up. To be there for her. To be the father she deserves.” Another pause. “That leaving my family was what would cause me an unimaginable pain.”

Her heart skips a beat. Did Rory hear him say that?

“What happened then?”

The grip on her hand releases, but she can’t find the strength to move it. Her entire body feels leaden. Everything about this feels like the end. “I offered my life in exchange for Rory’s.”

She jerks her hand out from under his. Wraps her arms around herself. But of course that’s what he did. First the blade, and now this. He told her he’d rather die than abandon his child. A dull sound rings inside her ears. “I suppose knocking him out so you’d both survive did not occur to you?”

He traps his hands between his knees again. “He had her at gunpoint.”

“The whole time?” Her voice rises as something like hysteria rises from the bottom of her stomach. Maybe it is. Maybe she’s going mad. “What happened then, Lucifer? You offered your life for Rory’s, what happened next?”

“Le Mec agreed. He wanted me to suffer. I wanted her safe.”

Her palm is red, there’s so much blood. We know I don’t die today. Blood, soaking through her jacket. She liked this jacket. She’ll buy another because she's not going to die today. We know I don’t die today.

Breathing through her mouth, Chloe wills her heart to slow down. Clearly there’s more to the story. She needs to hear it. She needs to know. “And then what happened?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees his shoulders hunch again. The dark burgundy of his shirt looks almost black in the night. Blood red. “And then I kneeled. He took one of Rory’s feathers, but-” 

With bated breath, Chloe waits for, But then I rose and gave him hell for causing my family so much pain. 

It never follows.

“-then Rory ripped her wings from the chains and-” the pause is too brief, she almost doesn’t notice “-saved me.”

I almost killed Le Mec. I wanted to, I was so close.

I didn’t want you to succumb to that monster that’s inside of you.

No. No, it can’t be…

Chloe faces him, uncaring that he might see her tears. “Saved you how?”

Lucifer gazes away, to the mountains to his right. If he doesn’t want to tell her, it’s too fucking late.

Reaching out, she grabs his chin, making him look at her. “Saved you how?” she repeats again. Will this endless day ever end? Will the revelations ever stop? Will she ever get some rest?

The answer might be no.

His throat bobs as he swallows, then bobs again. “She got a hold of Le Mec,” he whispers, forced to look her in the eye. “She wanted to kill him, to make him pay for what he’d done, and in that moment…” She feels herself pale, somehow she knows the words he’s going to say. “In that moment Rory started to manifest a Devil face.”

Like burned, Chloe drops her hand.

Lucifer reaches for her. “But I stopped her. Chloe, she didn’t do it. I talked her down, she let him go. She was fine.”

Gently, Chloe pulls away. He doesn’t see it. Why doesn’t he see it? Why doesn’t he get it?

A part of her wishes she didn’t know. She can’t unknow it now. And all she can see is Lucifer, panicking and spiraling as he loses control over his own body. I know why I hate myself, because everything I touch I ruin.

Deep down, you blame yourself. You have to stop taking responsibility for things you can't control.

According to Mom, you were aware of my existence, the only thing she wouldn't tell me was why you left.

I get why you had to keep this from me now.

I was one of those lost souls.

Her head swims. The lights disappear, obscured by tears.

Correlation doesn’t have to mean anything, but this is her child they’re talking about. This is what Rory meant when she said Lucifer had saved her. Not from Le Mec. From turning into a monster; from the self-hatred and blame for something she couldn’t control - her father abandoning her; her father choosing to leave after finding out about the pregnancy; after finding out about her.

And then she asked him to leave.

It doesn’t make any sense. Why would she want that? For herself and also… also for them. Why would she want that for Lucifer, who was ready to die just to prove he would never abandon her?

Hot tears spill from her eyes. A gentle hand reaches out to wipe them from one cheek, closest to him. Chloe lets him, wanting this sliver of comfort. No matter what, right now, they’re both in this. Both of them are dealing with a situation that no one’s ever had to deal with before.

And isn’t that a terrifying thought?

Why can’t they just have a break?

“She’s okay, Chloe,” Lucifer whispers again. Unaware that she’s 10 steps ahead of him. “She’s safe.”

Shaking her head, Chloe reaches to wipe under her eyes. She's so tired. He pulls his hand back. “You don’t know that for sure. Maybe she is. But maybe she’s just gone. Forever. And the Chloe that she left on her deathbed will never see her daughter again.”

He freezes, hand still held in the air. “She said-”

“She said a lot of things, Lucifer,” she interrupts him. The anger isn’t slumbering anymore. Is it selfish to want to be thought of first for once? Or is it only selfish when it comes to the child she has not created yet? Wouldn’t even know about, if it hadn’t been for the freak of physics, or if it hadn’t been part of The Plan. Time travel doesn’t happen every day, and it hadn’t ever happened to any of the actual angels; until now, until Rory. “She also left out a lot of things as well.”

“Because she didn’t want to mess with the future. That’s, uh, that’s what she said when she declined the invitation to Eve and Mazikeen’s wedding,” he admits quietly.

Whipping her head, Chloe stares. “She said that?”

He nods.

She squeezes her eyes shut. There’s a headache building around her temples, extending it feels like around her entire head. Does it mean Rory never wanted to change the future? That she never wanted Lucifer to succeed and stay, but only to know the truth of what happened to him?

Somehow this hurts worse than the broken, splintered stick that took her life a little over two months ago.

Nothing makes sense anymore.

A part of her, small and tired and a little broken, can’t help wondering what she’s done wrong to deserve this. But the answer isn’t forthcoming. And anyhow, she missed her chance to ask, the one responsible for her existence is gone too, forever unreachable.

Is Rory now also?

She presses a hand to her stomach, feeling Lucifer’s eyes track the movement. If she’s still pregnant, her duty is to this speck of life. Their duty. To love her and make her feel loved and wanted and accepted. Shouldn’t this make her a good mother? Wanting her child to not feel the pain of abandonment?

Will it make Chloe a bad mother if she denies her child the pain and the lies and the anger she asked for?

But the thought of Rory disappearing forever pushes to the front of her thoughts. What if she’s really gone? Then that would mean that Chloe would lose her in 20 or 30 years, that Lucifer would never get to spend more than three weeks with his daughter.

And if she’s back in her time… then does it mean Chloe has no choice but to make this speck of light inside of her feel unwanted and abandoned by her father?

It leads to what Dad just realized, that he has to help those lost souls, so we can’t change anything or he might never get that idea.

Something heavy settles in her chest, on top of her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

At this cost?

But - pressing her hand harder to her belly, wishing to feel something, anything, some sort of sign, some sort of connection, she’s a miracle carrying a half angel after all - she’s just a child. Her child. She doesn’t deserve to feel abandoned by the father who loves her so much he’d rather die than leave her. She doesn’t deserve to go through all that pain for… for… humanity’s sins.

For the broken system.

Shakily, Chloe exhales.

“What do you want?” she asks after a moment. A bird flies into the tree on her left. The leaves rustle in the light breeze. It must be near or just after midnight, something’s in the air signals it; more of a feeling than anything else. “No time travels, or callings, or meeting children from the future’s. Just… deep down, leaving out all the rest, what do you want, Lucifer?”

Fear sits like a gravestone at the bottom of her stomach as she waits for him to answer.

“Truthfully,” he begins slowly, “at this point all I want is a stiff drink.”

An unexpected huff of laughter falls from Chloe’s lips, making her feel better and worse. Better because even in a situation like this, when she can barely see any hope, he makes her laugh; worse because how is she supposed to ever let him go? She can’t. She doesn’t want to.

Not even for a moment.

“Much as I’d love to, alcohol isn’t going to solve this.” Nothing will. Just them. Making a choice.

“I know.” In her peripheral vision, she sees him drag his hands up his face, then higher, messing up his already unruly hair. He must have been doing it a lot since she left; it’s sticking out in every direction, curling at the ends, not a hint of product left. “I know,“ Lucifer repeats again.

Taking a hold of her ring, Chloe begins twisting it around her finger, waiting for him to answer her question. If he ever does. A long moment of silence passes between them. She gives him the time.

She has nothing else left to give.

“I want… so much.” A bitter chuckle sounds too loud in the quiet broken only by the bird still hiding in the tree. “I want so many things and I feel selfish for wanting them. For believing for just one second that I deserve to have them.”

White hot anger rises from within. Where is the kindness in this? In making one of the most selfless people she knows believe himself so unworthy of love? And what for? To make him humble? Kind? Breathing in harshly, Chloe grits her teeth. As far as she’s concerned, everything that he’s been through could’ve, and maybe should’ve turned him callous and malicious. Except it didn’t.

All that pain, and misery, and loneliness did not make him kind. Because he’s always been kind.

Deep down, at his core, he’s always been good.

Worthy of all the good things he doesn’t feel worthy of.

“I want you. I want to be with you.” A sigh leaves him, barely audible, and yet it makes him sound like a man condemned.

Maybe that’s who he was supposed to be all along.

“I want to be good,” he says, turning to look at her, eyes glistening, barely illuminated by the distant lights. His gaze drops down to her middle. “I- I want everything with you.” He says without saying it, but she understands.

Chloe nods, breathing out. In relief at his answer, but also to try and dispel the anger she feels.

“I don’t really want to have a baby,” Chloe says. The words sound louder than a sonic boom in the night. Surprised, Lucifer makes a noise, but doesn’t say anything. What can he say? She lets the sentence hang in the air before adding, “I mean if I did, I would’ve had one already, or adopted a child that needs a home instead of going through labor and all the complications and risks that come with a pregnancy.”

Turning her head, she gauges his reaction. Shock morphs into something neutral, but pain remains in his eyes, bright even in the darkness of the night.

Shifting, she faces him fully and reaches for his hand. He grips hers tight, almost to the point of pain. “But I'd have this baby with you, Lucifer.” Their eyes meet, then he looks down to her middle again. “Because it’s not just about having a child for the sake of having a child. A baby isn't proof of love; it's a person. It's a responsibility. Mom isn't just one of my titles, it's my job." Pausing, she licks her dry lips. "I already have a kid. I have Trixie, and frankly, she is enough. No, it’s uh… well, for me, it’s about raising them with the right person.”

That’s what she thought holding a positive pregnancy test 13 years ago. That’s what she thought holding another pregnancy test 2 days ago. In the end, things didn’t work out with Dan the way her younger self had hoped, but for a moment they did.

Slowly, Lucifer nods. “I want that too. But…” he trails off, and she just knows what he’s thinking about. What else could he be thinking about? With his past, his history, his pain.

“I know,” Chloe says gently. She does, really; she wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, and the thing is, she isn’t. She’s dealing with her own aspect of this impossible situation, and there’s no point in trying to see who has it worse.

Both of them are parents to be of this unborn child to be. Both of them heard what their grown child wanted them to do. Both of them have their own roles to play if they were to do as she asked.

His would be passive; he’d just leave and never come back, not while she’s alive at least. Hers would be active; she would have to try and soothe her crying child, knowing that the father she cries for, and then grows to hate, longs to be there for them, and she would have to do it in a way that doesn’t quell her child’s anger because that very anger is what would send her through time.

A shudder runs through her.

“I know,” Chloe repeats, squeezing his fingers. “I wish I’d said something.” Their eyes meet again, and she shrugs. “When she was-” vaguely, she waves her free hand around “-you know, disappearing. Asking. I wish I’d said something. I don’t know why I didn’t. Shock, maybe...” Struck speechless by a daughter asking her father to abandon her, when just days ago, another daughter was crying for her father to come back from the dead.

“Are you- are you mad at me for giving her my word?” he asks suddenly.

A strange urge to laugh catches her by surprise. “Wouldn’t be the first time you decide something for me, would it?” The words are out of her mouth before she thinks them, blunt and yet cutting. And also true. Completely and undeniably true.

Lucifer flinches, but doesn’t release his hold on her hand. “Are you mad at me?” he repeats the question.

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. Why deny it? “Yeah, I am. Maybe you had no choice but to go back to Hell because of the demons, and staying longer would’ve only given them the opportunity to do something terrible. So that I can understand. But this? This wasn’t just your decision to make. Or frankly Rory’s. It wasn't just her life and choices, it's also mine. And I deserve to have a say in how I live it. Twenty years is maybe a blip for people who will live forever, but I won’t. When I die, my only options are Heaven-” the mere mention of it drags in the cloyingly sweet feel of it and she shudders again “-or Hell. I only have one life here on Earth. And I don’t want to live it waiting to die.”

Tears ring in her voice. What kind of life would it be? And if the reward is waiting on the other side, then why wait at all? Except she would have to wait until she dies; she doesn’t even have any idea if it happens naturally or something kills her, only that her deathbed is when Rory goes back in time from. Despite the warm August night, she feels chilled to the bone and slips her arms into the sleeves of Lucifer’s jacket, wrapping it tighter around herself.

His hand lies on the bench, touching the outside of her thigh; a minuscule contact. 

Why should she have to think about this? Why can’t she just live her life the best she can with the people she loves? Can a miracle be cursed? Does a miracle have a choice? She shivers again.

“And I’m not…” Chloe swallows the lump in her throat, she may have missed her chance to speak up then, but she will say her piece now. “I’m not going to console another crying for her father daughter, but not too much, because some day, we have no idea when but in more than twenty years, she will need all that anger for her time jump. I’m… I’m not. I’m not.” Feeling helpless, so helpless, she looks at him. The same helplessness and fear stare back at her.

By all means this is a celestial in nature problem, except Lucifer can’t give her the answer either.

Why can’t they just be?

“So, there it is, I guess,” Chloe says, defeated and tired; exhausted. This burden is already bringing her down to her knees. Except she won’t pray.

“Chloe,” Lucifer says, shifting to face her fully, something in his voice that makes her look up. That makes her hope that hope isn’t quite dead yet. “You know I don’t want to leave you. Or our daughter, or the urchin, or our friends. I don’t want to go back to Hell permanently, knowing exactly what I’m missing here. Our family… Everything. I don’t want to make Rory feel abandoned and rejected for a single second, let alone for her entire life until she time travels. But…” he trails off, that something going out of his voice like a candle flame being extinguished. Immediately, she feels dread creeping in, no longer kept at bay by his light.

“But what?”

“But she wanted it,” his voice lowers to a pleading whisper. “She thought it was worth it. She didn’t want to be changed despite all those years of thinking I’d rejected her.”

Pressing her lips together, Chloe looks away. Some of the lights have blinked out. It’s night, people are brushing their teeth and going to bed, warm and cozy. Maybe they’re reading something, or watching a movie or a show, or listening to a podcast. Or talking to their friends or children or spouses. Their loved ones. Normal stuff. Mundane. Yet infinitely precious in its predictability.

She’s never been bored with him. She never could be.

“She liked who she was.” His fingers touch hers, tentative, as if he’s afraid of her rejection. Chloe’s afraid of his too. “I don’t know how to stay and respect her choice. I can’t. They’re mutually exclusive. I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

Looking up at the stars she wishes for the answer. The right path to take. They only know one. Is it their only path? Her heart doesn’t speed up even as the quiet despair opens its maw deep inside her, threatening to swallow her whole.

“Your dad told you he loved you, didn’t he?” Chloe asks softly.

“He did.” A note of surprise colors his voice, changing it from its depressing monochrome of sadness and anguish.

“So does it mean you’re all good now? All healed up? And everything that he put you through, the banishment and Hell; feeling rejected and unloved, shunned by your siblings, hated by humanity; not intervening when you cut off your wings, again and again, that’s all good now? Time to cancel all your appointments with Linda because knowing that your dad loved you through it all means you’re no longer affected by the pain of it all?”

Risking a glance at him, she watches his mouth open in shock. The gears visibly turn in his head. They turn in hers as yet another piece of the puzzle called the future slots itself in place. The angry girl who stormed into their lives so unexpectedly, with sharp words and sharper wings and resentment for her father, who knew her mother had been lying to her, she couldn’t have been just angry.

Trixie’s angry when Chloe keeps things her daughter doesn’t need to know from her, but she also knows she’s a child, even if she deems herself grownup enough to feel entitled to know and able to handle them; she also knows it won’t last. Chloe was angry when Lucifer insisted on what she thought were his metaphors and a wall of defenses to cope, instead of letting her in and trusting she wouldn’t reject him for his past and his mistakes.

Rory’s anger was different. Lingering. Lasting her entire life; it was the thing that made her self actualize time travel. Angry, feeling rejected and unloved by her absent father, who only left her because she’d told him to, except she wouldn’t know it her entire life.

Me, feeling abandoned and angry. So angry that I traveled back in time.

Is allowing her child to feel this pain and doing nothing what makes Chloe a good mother? Is leaving and refusing to answer her pleas as she’s growing up hating him and hating herself what makes Lucifer a good father?

I was one of those lost souls.

Because if it does, then Lucifer’s father is the best parent to have ever existed.

Fuck time travel, she thinks.

Lucifer still says nothing, stunned into silence. She wonders if he’s thinking the same thing, but in the end it doesn’t really matter.

“What if she changes her mind later?” Gently, she covers his hand with hers. His head jerks up to meet her eyes. “What if she goes back and we all reunite and it’s wonderful. And then she… thinks about it and changes her mind and hates us for putting her through all that pain?”

“We don’t know that she would,” he whispers weakly.

Chloe shakes her head. “What an astute observation.” It sounds harsher than she intended, and she takes a deep breath. “No, Lucifer, we don’t know that,” she tries again, gentler this time. “We only know that you have to leave and stay away; that I have to lie to our daughter and do nothing when she cries for you or curses you. And Rory… well, Rory has to grow up angry and she has to hate you so much for leaving us and making her feel this way that she time travels and tries to murder you.”

The last part startles her, but it is what happened, isn’t it? That day in the penthouse when the three of them tried to make sense of it all; meeting their grown up daughter from the future, her coming back in time and talking about Lucifer disappearing from their lives. Rory said she hated him so much she wanted to kill him, but she failed. With the focus shifting to Lucifer’s disappearance, Chloe’s forgotten all about that.

And Rory time jumped from her deathbed.

Just what kinds of thoughts must have been going through her child’s head that made her manifest the ability to time travel and then, in the past, try to murder the man her dying mother’d been talking about her entire life before he’d even left them? Before she knew she’d been conceived? If Rory had killed Lucifer, and if it happened before her conception had taken place, what would’ve happened then?

Her head aches more, temples throbbing dully. There’s a bottle of water in her car, but getting up feels like an impossible task. Any move from this bench feels too final. As if she does, something will shift, and they won’t be able to come back to this conversation, to figure out a solution.

“Perhaps,” Lucifer says, unsure, and she knows he doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, “it was a momentary lapse of judgment. She held her wings to my throat, she could’ve easily killed me, but she chose not to.”

“Oh great, attempted murder then. You do realize I’d still have to arrest her, right?”

Their eyes meet, holding. She sees the same pain she feels etched into his features. This is their child they're talking about. 

Silence stretches between them. The bird chirps loudly in the tree, it probably has a nest there somewhere, and Chloe breaks their eye contact. It’s too dark to make out anything in the canopy, but it gives her something else to focus on.

Birds don’t have to worry about their young coming back in time. Must be nice.

“That’s what she wanted.” His voice is barely audible.

Chloe sighs. She remembers it clearly. Their daughter asking. If he thinks it doesn’t bother her, he’s wrong, because it does. Except... she also said she’d listened to her mother talk about loving him her entire life; little Rory must have asked about him, she must have wanted her dad to come home, mustn’t she?

How can she adhere to the wishes of who Rory becomes only if her mother consistently lies to her and denies her her wishes for well over 20 years?

Looking down at her jacket covered middle, she tries to imagine what’s inside of her. It’s too early, it’s probably a bunch of invisible to the naked eye cells, dividing and whatever else they’re doing. Just cells, not a baby. But if she lets it, it'll grow, it'll become a tiny girl she’ll hold in her arms in a little over 8 months. Then she’ll grow even more, a toddler, a child, a teenager, a young adult.

Can Chloe keep the image of the young woman who called herself a lost soul, who needed her father to save her, asking for the lies and the pain and the anger in her mind as she holds her crying baby girl?

Rory almost manifested a Devil face. Because of the lies, because of the pain, because of the anger. Is preventing that from ever happening not being a good mother?

Heart and head and her very soul hurting, Chloe breathes in, then holds it, then breathes out. An owl hoots unexpectedly somewhere, almost too far to hear, but she does.

She doesn’t need a sign. Not anymore. Maybe not since she watched her daughter disappear. Or maybe even before.

“I know she did,” Chloe says softly, nodding. It sends a spike of pain through her head. “And your ten year old wanted you to come home.” Trixie too. And Chloe. And Lucifer himself wants to stay with them. She can see how this is tearing him apart.

His mouth opens and closes, eyes pleading. He goes to say something, but nothing comes out, and he looks away, into the night sky. She sees his eyes close as a tear escapes at the last moment and longs to wipe it away.

But she can’t touch him.

Not until he makes his decision.

“She thought it was worth it,” he whispers into the night. If the night has opinions, it doesn’t share them.

Staring ahead, Chloe traps her tongue between her teeth and her hands between her knees. She wanted to say her piece, and she has, now it’s his turn to make a choice. Truly make a choice.

She’s made hers.

For a while neither of them says anything. Even the bird is quiet, probably asleep at last. A sense of finality settles over Chloe, but strangely, without the panic that usually accompanies it.

She wants him, and she wants this baby. But what she wants more is to raise her with him, she wants to see him experience precious, once in a lifetime moments with their child. And she definitely doesn’t want to witness her daughter’s pain and tears and to lie to her about Lucifer’s whereabouts and why he left them.

“D'you… do you really think she wanted me to come home when she was ten?” he asks, voice dull, but for a single note of barely breathing hope.

Do you really need to ask? sits on the tip of her tongue; she doesn’t say it out loud. Though for a moment it seemed they may have dealt with the worthiness issue, they haven’t. Of course they haven't. Millions of years of suppressed issues, and it’s only been a few years since he started therapy. Only a few months since their relationship really began.

And then there’s something else Rory said. That even after learning the whole story, she wouldn’t change a thing. There is no doubt in her mind that Lucifer took notice of that moment too. His brain is probably hard wired to seek and create evidence that the people he loves are better off without him, that he’s poison for them. And then his own child says to his face that she doesn’t want to change her fatherless upbringing. The childhood he wasn’t part of. The life he wants to be part of.

That she doesn’t want him to be there for her after all.

Even though him not being there is what she was so angry about.

Tears sting Chloe’s eyes. Conflicting feelings rise in her chest like a storm, and the fragile sense of calm crumbles like a sandcastle. This is too much. She’s just a person and she’s not equipped to deal with something like this. Children from the future. Time loops. Lying and watching her child be in pain. Knowing that Lucifer is alone in Hell, in pain.

All of them would be in pain. And for what?

It hits her square in the chest; the brought up earlier thread unspooling even further. What if Rory changes her mind later? They don’t know that, they can’t know that until they get there. But also… what happens to them by that time? How much will lying to Rory and watching her cry and then hate her father affect Chloe?

Just how strong will she have to be? Just how much will it fuck her up? Does she die of old age? But if so, it could mean more than 20 years, it could mean 40 years. Could Rory be older than she is now? 40 years of lying to her daughter and waiting to finally die just so she would stop fucking lying to her child.

And then, is Lucifer even alive in that future? Millions of years of Hell, alone, without his family, his friends; without breaks. Healing souls. Whatever that means Chloe has no idea, but she knows the kinds of souls that reside in Hell. How does Lucifer help Jimmy Barnes? How does Lucifer help the child whose deepest, hell-dooming guilt is holding his parent back until she abandons him in a motel room to pursue her calling?

How much more will it fuck him up?

And Rory might still change her mind.

In the end, they only know one tiny part of the future. In the end, they’re still looking into the face of uncertainty. Be it tomorrow and every day after if Lucifer doesn’t leave, or in over 20 years when Rory returns to her time. If she returned to her time at all. They don’t know that for sure either. They could do what she asked only to deny themselves a life on Earth and lose their daughter like she never existed once Chloe dies.

They just… don’t know. And maybe they shouldn’t. Maybe it’s better than they don’t, especially if knowing means she can’t prevent her child from experiencing the pain of rejection by a father who already loves her so very much.

“Chloe?” Lucifer asks. A hand touches her upper arm, bringing her back to the present.

When she looks at him, he’s blurring in front of her, and Chloe blinks until the tears fall and the view clears out a little. He asked her something, didn’t he? She breathes out. “I can’t imagine how she wouldn’t. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have cared so much. She wouldn’t have been so angry you weren’t there.”

He nods, once, twice, then looks down. His shoulders remain hunched over. The urge to reach out, to hold him is almost overwhelming, still she holds herself back; he has to make his decision. And suddenly it makes her wonder if this is close to how it would feel to lie to Rory, to force herself to not intervene when her child is in pain.

She can’t do that.

With or without him, she won’t.

“You truly think so?” Lucifer asks again, a broken whisper. “That… that there was a time when we all wanted to be together, a family?”

More tears fall down her cheeks, she wipes them with the long sleeve of his jacket; a ten thousand dollar handkerchief. “Yes, I do. I think for years, or maybe even the whole time until she goes back, we all wanted you to be there.” She can imagine a little girl asking about him. What she can’t imagine is lying to her. Watching her cry for him and do nothing. “We all wanted to be a family. Otherwise, why would she be so angry? Why would she hope you’d show up when I die? Why would she-” another suppressed memory surfaces and Chloe gasps “-why would she say your disappearance ruined her life?”

With a groan, Lucifer buries his face in his hands. Back bowed, he looks so small. Not just his build, but his very presence feels diminished; like there are parts of him missing.

Everything else disappears, all the thoughts, all the feelings, there’s only heartache. For herself. For their child. For Trixie. For him.

Is this part of The Plan too? This continued misery and loneliness and pain that Lucifer has to keep on bearing? And now his family too. His child. What for? A reward at the end? Does he make it to the end? Do they? Rory was hurting so much she sought to kill him. And Chloe has to knowingly let it happen to her baby.

She shakes her head. Not if she has anything to say about this. She’s a miracle, yes. Well, the miracle says no.

Reaching out, she touches his back, not pulling away when he flinches before relaxing a little. It’s hard to even begin to imagine what must be going through his head, so Chloe doesn’t try. Saying any more of her mind feels like a swaying argument, yet she needs him to choose to stay, to choose them without being coerced, or begged, or pleaded.

She doesn’t have it in her to beg.

And him staying because she begs him to stay will mean nothing.

Not that it worked in the past anyhow.

Her hand continues to lie in the same place, only her thumbs moves back and forth, offering if not comfort, then hopefully something. Hopefully it is enough.

Lucifer remains frozen in place.

It’s up to him now. She’s made her choice. For once, she won’t be settling. For once, she’s getting all or nothing. For once, she’s going to put herself first. Which also puts Trixie first. And this baby - looking down the only thing she sees is his jacket - well, it’s not actually a baby yet. It can’t be more than a 3 or 4 weeks old cluster of rapidly dividing cells.

She won’t go through with the pregnancy and everything else just to deny this baby the love of her father and watch her cry for him. And if she changes her mind, then she won't lie to her. Either way, this baby won't hate Lucifer. She won't feel abandoned by him, nor will she time travel.

Free will, you remember? Chloe asked him, what, two days ago. Well, she remembers.

“I gave her my word,” Lucifer mumbles, face still covered by his hands. Chloe almost doesn’t hear. Her brain takes a moment to process the words, but her thumb doesn’t stop moving. “I hate the idea of breaking my promise. But… I-” like a man resurfacing, he uncovers his face, looking up and breathing in “-I can’t stand the thought of hurting you or our child for even a second. Let alone…”

Let alone more than 20 years.

She can’t stand the thought either.

“Can’t have it both ways,” she reminds him gently. They can’t do what Rory asked of them without hurting her. And they can’t not hurt her without changing her.

How much of her would they be changing?

Not the looks, that's for sure. If Chloe’s pregnant with her, then they know for a fact what their daughter will look like when she’s a young adult. They know the color of her eyes, and the color of her wings. They know she’s small and slight. And the rest? Do they even know her?

Nature versus nurture.

You had a lot to deal with, Mom.

She still has no idea what it means. Except the obvious. If she were to do as Rory asked, she’d have a lot to deal with. Alone, more likely. Was she there enough to nurture her daughters? Or was she taking more work that she could handle in order to minimize the time spent lying to them?

She’d have to lie to Trixie too.

“I know. I know, I know, I know!” His shout startles her. Though she can’t fault him for it. She’s calmer, surer in her choice, but other feelings are there nonetheless. Frustration and helplessness at being put in this position, with this nearly impossible choice. Pain and grief as well.

But unlike him, Chloe has the advantage of not giving her word to her disappearing future child, which she knows is what’s tearing him apart.

Still, he must decide.

That's what parents do.

Deflating, as if the outburst punched all air from inside him, Lucifer breathes in deeply. Chloe holds her breath. “I can’t do it,” he says to the stars, then turns his head. Their eyes find each other, and she wonders if this is it. The end. “She was so angry. She was so… so angry and so… hurt. I know she wanted it, but you said-” his words smash together, fast and panicky “-she must have wanted differently too. All those years, she must have wanted the opposite, because why would she be angry then?” Lucifer’s eyes bore into hers, pleading, but Chloe can only stare back. “I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t… I can’t be like my father, Chloe. I- I can’t. I can’t-”

Reaching out, she grabs his hand and the stream of barely coherent words ceases like pressing the mute button. “You’re not,” she whispers. “You couldn’t.”

Eyes wide open, Lucifer hangs on to her hand and her words like a man drowning.

A thought strikes her. Whatever they end up doing, he’ll have to pay for this dearly. She can only hope Linda is up to it.

“But,” Lucifer whispers, “if I do as she asked, then I would have to stand back and do nothing when she’s hurting. When she’s wishing the opposite.”

“You and me both.” She’d have to actually watch it and listen to their daughter wish for things she’d later refuse. He’d just be in Hell. Though there’s nothing just about it.

“Like my father did, when I was in Hell. When I begged for forgiveness. When I pleaded for an answer. When I thought… I was a monster.”

I hate that I am poison for anyone who dares to care about me.

Her heart skips a beat, tightening in pain. No child deserves that.

“You said she started manifesting a Devil face. That you talked her down.”

A noise of distress escapes him.

A Devil face doesn’t just happen. And it doesn't just go away. He talked her down, he merely treated the symptom. Tired, she is so tired. The reason for it will develop in the next 20 years. She’ll have to watch it happen and do nothing. She can’t do it.

She won’t.

Shivering, Chloe pulls back her hand and wraps the jacket tighter around herself.

“Are those my only options?” Lucifer says, not quite a question, into the distance. “To be a liar or to be my father?”

Disbelief runs through her. Maybe she’s having auditory hallucinations, because he did not say what she thinks he said. Turning her head, Chloe stares at him, wordlessly, until he meets her eyes. “Well, I suppose this is another thing you’ll have to decide, Lucifer. What’s more important to you, your honor or your child’s wellbeing.”

Color drains from his face again, but she doesn’t feel a twinge of sympathy. How is this still about him? And in a way, it is, except it’s also about her. And most importantly it’s about a little girl that doesn’t even exist yet.

Lucifer stares at her and Chloe stares back. Raising her eyebrows she waits for him to catch up. If he catches up. They’ve been talking for how long, an hour? Two hours? Has she been having this conversation with herself?

Disbelief morphs into anger the longer he doesn’t respond. Maybe they shouldn’t have this baby no matter what. And just like that, it vanishes, leaving only empty sorrow in its wake. 

Suddenly, his face distorts. “I’m sorry,” he says at last. Slipping off the bench, Lucifer kneels on the hard ground, presses his forehead to her thigh. “Chloe, I’m so sorry.”

Her heart skips a beat. Is this really it? Is this him apologizing before he leaves her for good? Were they always going to end? To end here? Were they never supposed to create something good, a life of their own? A family of their own?

Frozen in place, pulse beating loudly in her ears, Chloe waits to hear the sentence, his and hers. She thought she had nothing else to lose, but she does. She did.

There was still hope.

For them.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m so sorry, Chloe.” His words jumble together; it takes her a moment to understand what he’s saying. What she hopes he's saying. “Please.”

She looks down at the same time as he looks up. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy, black, not warm brown. Must be the darkness, she thinks absentmindedly.

“Please,” he whispers; she doesn’t know what he’s begging for anymore. His throat bobs as he swallows, still holding her gaze. Intensity and intent pin her, reminding her of something else, but the image remains shadowed.

Until.

“I choose you.”

Heaven and its sickly sweet scent and feel don’t slam into her. Yet her defenses crumble.

Once again, Lucifer presses his forehead to her leg. “I love you,” he whispers. “I choose you. I’m so sorry. Chloe, I’m sorry. I love you.” Like tears falling from her eyes, words fall from his mouth. Just three sentences, over and over and over again, filling the silence.

Relief curls her shoulders forward. Winding her hand into his hair, Chloe combs gently through the strands. “C’mere,” she whispers, tugging lightly on his arm to get him to move, but instead of getting up, he stays on the ground, straightening and letting her pull him into a hug.

“I choose you,” he says again, lips brushing her neck, voice wobbling a little, with emotions, with anxiety. With relief too. “I choose her. I choose our family. I’m not going to leave. I know my word doesn’t mean much right now, but I promise you, Chloe.” When he pulls back, he blurs a little, and he reaches out to wipe under her eyes with his thumbs. So gently. “You said you don’t want to do this alone, and you won’t. I want to be there for you, so… so I will be.”

The urge to thank him almost pulls the words out of her, but Chloe bites her tongue. It doesn’t feel right to thank him for choosing their family, so instead she simply nods and pulls him closer again. “I love you too.”

Looking up, cheek against the side of his head, Chloe finds the brightest visible stars. She won’t say it out loud, but she will think it. A silent thank you, not directed at anyone specific, but sent out into the universe.

Pressing a kiss to Lucifer’s hairline, Chloe reaches for his hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”