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“Detective! No!"
Lucifer sits straight up in bed, his arm stretched out, gasping and covered in a sheen of sweat as he looks around wildly. A dream. It was only a dream. Sighing in relief, he collapses back into the pillows, trying to will his heart back into a more normal rhythm. He stares straight up at the ceiling, seeing his pale, panicked reflection as he tries not to replay the images he just saw.
The Detective, falling through the guardrail of his balcony. Him, diving after her, wings out, desperate to catch her. His wings, stopping him in mid-air as she continued to fall. Thankfully, he woke before the ending, but he knows how it would have played out and his imagination conjures it for him, anyway.
“Bloody hell,” he groans, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes until stars erupt in them.
For once, he’s glad he didn’t bring anybody up with him to the penthouse tonight. The last thing he wants is to deal with some human whose name he wouldn’t remember after what he saw. What he dreamt. Because it was only a bloody dream. It certainly wouldn’t be the first bad dream he’s ever had; Lucifer is more than familiar with night terrors. He’s been experiencing them since he crash-landed in Hell. It isn’t even the first time he’s dreamed about something happening to the Detective. Something he should have been able to prevent and couldn’t.
One of his recurring nightmares revolves around her poisoning. Although he knows he saved her by dying and going to Hell to retrieve the formula antidote, his imagination twists it. Sometimes he gets trapped in his Hell Loop, though instead of stabbing his brother over and over again, he’s in Chloe’s hospital room, watching her die and unable to do anything to stop it. Sometimes he succeeds in retrieving the formula, but by the time he reaches her room, it’s too late. Every time, he wakes with a strangled shout and his eyes burning with tears.
Growling in frustration when he can’t fall back to sleep, Lucifer throws the covers off his nude body and gets out of bed, snatching his robe off the chair as he passes. He doesn’t break stride on his way to the bar for a drink, refusing to let his eyes drift towards the balcony.
“Get a grip, man,” he hisses to himself. “It wasn’t real.”
For once, he doesn’t need Dr. Linda to tell him the meaning of this nightmare—that he fears Chloe will be hurt due to who he is. Or that he’s afraid of losing her. That certainly isn’t anything new. He’s feared losing her since their first case when Jimmy Barnes shot her.
Without his permission, his eyes slide towards the balcony, anyway, as he sips his whiskey.
Glass shatters as the Detective backs away from him in shock, the railing giving way. She falls. Lucifer’s terrified shout rings out as he rushes after her and dives without hesitation. Her piercing screams as she reaches up for him, her eyes begging for him to save her. Their fingers brush. His wings flare out and he’s frozen in mid-air, watching in horror as Chloe falls farther and farther from him—
Glass shatters in Lucifer’s hand as he grips his whiskey glass too hard. He curses at the mess, eyeing his unscathed hand. Of course it’s unscathed; the Detective is nowhere nearby. Shaking the liquor off his hand, he grabs the bottle, deciding to clean it up tomorrow.
Normally, he would head out to the balcony, but under the circumstances... He drops into one of his caramel-colored armchairs and takes a deep gulp of whiskey. This is bloody ridiculous. He’s the Devil, for crying out loud; he shouldn’t be so affected by a nightmare, regardless of the subject matter. Part of him wants to call the Detective to make sure she’s safe, but a glance at the clock shows it’s past three in the morning; she’ll be fast asleep.
“She’s fine,” he growls to himself.
His heart is still racing, his chest still tight, and the fear remains, rushing through his veins. He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.
Later that day, Lucifer bursts through the door of a skyscraper rooftop, chasing after the Detective who is chasing after a suspect in their latest case. The humans falter slightly as the midday sunlight blinds them momentarily, but the Devil has no such handicap.
“LAPD! FREEZE!” Chloe shouts, raising her gun as the suspect comes to a stop at the edge of the building.
The killer stops, realizing he’s cornered, and raises his hands in surrender. Lucifer smiles in satisfaction, watching his Detective approach their suspect to apprehend him. Her gun never lowers, one hand reaching behind her for her handcuffs. Lucifer’s stomach tightens the closer she gets to the edge, but he pushes the feeling away; he’s being ridic—
Before Chloe can snap the cuffs on the suspect’s wrist, he spins around and shoves her off the edge of the building. Her shocked shout reaches Lucifer’s ears and his heart jumps into his throat.
“DETECTIVE!” he shouts, not hesitating to sprint towards the edge of the building. He dives, stretching out his hand. Chloe looks up, still shouting and her eyes widen at the sight of him, her own hand outstretched. “Detective! Take my hand!” Déjà vu washes over Lucifer; he pushes it back.
“Lucifer!” Her eyes are full of fear and pleading to help her, and he’s bloody well trying, but he didn’t catch enough velocity. His wings instinctively unfurl, flapping a few times to gain acceleration, then tighten at his spine. He hears Chloe’s shocked gasp at the sight of them, but he ignores that, too; all that matters is that he reaches her.
“Take my hand!” he shouts again, his voice more desperate than he’s ever heard it. He’s gaining speed, closing distance between them. His heart is beating faster than it ever has before. The ground is also getting closer and closer; he doesn’t have much time.
Their fingers brush, but not enough for him to get a grip on her. “Lucifer! Help!” she begs, trying to stretch her hand even further towards him. He flaps his wings a little more and it’s enough. His hand wraps around her wrist and he doesn’t hesitate to pull her up into his chest. Arms wrap tightly around his neck, legs around his waist.
Lucifer flares his wings out and suddenly, instead of falling, they’re flying. His arms tighten around her, cradling her head to his shoulder. She’s whimpering and crying and shaking in his arms. Jaw tightening, he flies to a nearby empty parking lot where he lands, gently setting her back on her feet. Chloe’s legs fold beneath her, probably weak from adrenaline. Again, Lucifer catches her.
“It’s all right,” he whispers against her ear. “Detective, it’s all right. You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.” He isn’t only referring to the drop she just took.
Chloe’s arms loosen slightly. Panting, she backs away, staring up at him in utter shock. She’s pale and wide-eyed, her mouth still open in a silent scream. Then her eyes slide past him—behind him—to where his wings are still on display. “What?” she breathes in shock.
The realization of what’s happening catches up to Lucifer. There is no doubt in his mind that she knows the truth about him now. Or at least that he isn’t human. There’s no refuting this anymore. That his nightmare didn’t turn to reality is a relief, but he’s in a new nightmare now: the one where Chloe learns who and what he is...and she runs. Well, right now, he doesn’t think she’s capable of running, but it won’t be long before she regains strength in her legs.
“Detective? Are you all right?” he murmurs.
“I...” Chloe shakes her head as her eyes move from one wingtip to the other. It feels like an eternity before she looks at his face again, eyes still wide. “You saved me.”
Lucifer swallows hard and nods. “Of course I did,” he whispers. “I’ll always save you, Detective.”
Her eyes dart to his wings again. He wants to ask her if she’s okay with him, but given what just happened, it’s probably best to give her some time. Chloe searches his eyes, her eyebrows pulled close together. He lets her. He’ll give her whatever she needs right now.
Lucifer gasps when her arms wrap around his neck again. Only this time, she’s hugging him, her face pressed into his neck. “Thank you,” she whispers fervently. “Thank you, Lucifer.”
Feeling a bit shocked himself, Lucifer hugs her back, keeping his hold loose in case she comes to the sudden realization she’s hugging the Devil and needs to get away from him. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, unable to resist pressing his cheek to the top of her head. Relief floods through him, not just because he saved her, but because she doesn't seem to be afraid of him. That could change later, once she's had a chance to calm down and process everything, but for now, he can enjoy the moment.
He feels her lift her head, her lips brushing against his ear. He shivers. “Your wings are beautiful.”
With a gasp, he tightens his hold on her slightly. For the first time since his wings returned, he thinks they might not be so bad, after all.