7. Seven

The sound of half a dozen AK-47s shooting simultaneously is deafening. 

Lucifer’s body hits Chloe hard when he lunges to shield her, and her phone slips through her fingers and bounces out of reach. She doesn’t even see where it lands. She drops to a crouch and Lucifer goes with her, his body like a blanket over hers. 

Chloe squeezes her eyes closed as she hears more breaking glass from somewhere in the house. One of Lucifer’s hands is on the back of her head, and the other is holding her waist because his arm is wrapped tightly around her. She can feel him breathing by her ear. Her gun is a familiar weight in her hands, and her adrenaline spikes.

They can’t stay like this. She has to return fire. 

“Let me go,” she says, twisting in Lucifer’s arms. 

“Detective,” he protests. 

She elbows him in the chest and then crawls out from beneath him and along the floor under the window. 

“Detective, no,” he shouts, reaching for her foot. 

She ignores him and peers over the edge of the window sill. The men outside all stop to reload, and she immediately returns fire. The men scatter and duck behind cars. 

“LAPD!” she shouts. “Stand down!”

“Like fucking hell, puta!” one of them screams back. 

Chloe grits her teeth around the urge to yell a few expletives back. She keeps her gun trained out the window and glances at Lucifer. “You okay?”

“I’d be better if my girlfriend didn’t have a death wish,” he mutters.

“Are you vulnerable right now?”

“Well I don’t know,” he huffs. “It’s not like being hungry or tired, I can’t just—”

“Can you find out?”

“Can you spare a bullet?”

“I’m not going to shoot you, Lucifer.”

He grins. “I’ve heard that before.”

Movement catches her eye, and she looks back out the window. One of the gang members is rising from behind her cruiser. She squeezes her trigger. Her shot hits him in the shoulder, and he collapses with a yell.

“We can’t stay here,” she says, her eyes scanning the street outside. “We’re sitting ducks for the guys coming in the back.”

Lucifer hisses in pain. Chloe glances over at him, and sees him with a shard of glass in his hand. He looks up at her and shows her his bloodied palm. 

“Does this answer your question?”

“Damn it,” she mutters, looking out the window again. She was hoping the danger had made him become invulnerable again.

“Detective, I may be vulnerable, but that doesn’t mean I’m not strong.”

Chloe frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that if you can keep those miscreants out front in one place for a few moments, I can go take care of the two in the back. Prevent us from being sitting ducks.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “No way. You’re not wearing a vest, and you’re not armed.”

His eyes flash. “I won’t need either of those things.”

He gets to his feet and strides toward the back of the house without another word, sticking close to the wall so that he’s not visible to the guys outside.

“Lucifer!” she hisses. “Get back here!”

He ignores her. She wants to follow him, but the guys outside are moving. Three of them rise from behind her cruiser in unison, and she only has time to shoot one before she has to duck to avoid a barrage of bullets.

They’re not firing as fast now, which means they won’t need to reload as soon. She has a feeling they’re doing that on purpose—they’re using their fire as cover while they creep closer to the front door, which is...not good. Lucifer, at least, isn’t in the line of fire. She can’t see him, though, and that makes her nervous. He must be in the kitchen, waiting for the other two guys. 

“Lucifer?” she shouts over the sound of gunfire. 

No response.

Her heart shoots up into her throat. She wants to go after him, but she can’t. She has to deal with the guys out front. She waits for the brief moment of silence when they’re all reloading, and then rises up and returns fire. She’s surprised to find that instead of being halfway up the front yard, they’re all still back in the street. She misses one guy by inches, and the other two dive behind her cruiser. 

The fact that they’re still in the street tells her two things. One, they’re amateurs with no tactical training. They could’ve kept her pinned and rushed the door and she’d have been screwed. But they didn’t. Which brings her to number two: They’re banking on the guys coming in the back to take her out while she’s distracted.  

“Lucifer!” she shouts again.

She’s answered by a crash and a yell. She turns—still crouched beneath the windowsill but with her gun pointed toward the back of the house now—and is just in time to see one of the gang members fly through the kitchen doorway and land on the dining table with so much force that the table cracks down the middle and collapses inward. 

“One down,” Lucifer calls cheerfully.

Chloe eyes the guy on the demolished dining table. He’s not moving. She turns back to the window, and fires a pair of shots at one of the guys who’s trying to dart between her cruiser and one of the muscle cars. He shouts more expletives at her. 

“Yeah, you too, asshole,” she mutters. 

She flicks her thumb over the release button on her gun so that her now empty magazine hits the floor, and then shoves her spare magazine in place with the heel of her hand. She’ll be out after this. Maybe Lucifer can bring her an AK-47. 

If he’d fucking answer her, that is.

“Oh, hello ghost number two,” Lucifer says brightly from the kitchen. Chloe can hear the grin in his voice. “So sorry, but I’m going to need to break this arm so you can’t shoot at my girlfriend. I like her best when she’s not riddled with bullets.”

An ear splitting yell echoes from the kitchen and then cuts off abruptly with a horrible strangled groan. Sirens wail in the distance and get louder. Chloe’s certain it’s backup headed her way, and she wants to be relieved, but she can’t be until she knows Lucifer isn’t the one who just screamed.

She crawls out from underneath the window and rises up to stand with her back against the wall.

“Lucifer, I swear to god if you don’t answer me—” 

“Two down, darling,” he calls back. “No need to bring Dad into it. As I said, I...oh, what’s this? I think—”

He doesn’t finish. There’s a crash from inside the kitchen and a pained grunt. 

“Lucifer?” Chloe shouts. “What’s going on?”

No response. Chloe peeks out the window. None of the guys in the street are visible and they’re not shooting. She turns back toward the living room just as Lucifer and another man tumble through the doorway and land on the dining table in a heap of tangled arms and legs.

Lucifer struggles to the top, and immediately rears back to punch the man beneath him. Chloe steps forward, then remembers the window. She turns her body so she can see the fight to her left and the street to her right. The gang members outside still aren’t visible. 

She glances back at Lucifer just as the man beneath him grabs a ceramic bowl filled with apples from the wreckage of the table and smashes it against the side of Lucifer’s head. Lucifer falls sideways with an angry yell. The man scrambles, climbs on top of Lucifer, and reaches toward the sidearm on his hip. 

Chloe shoots him in the head before he can get it out of the holster. 

He collapses onto Lucifer, dead. Lucifer shoves him off with a disgusted huff, and then sits up. 

“Oh nice shot, Detective. Right between the eyes.” He looks up at her, grinning, and then he glances past her and his eyes widen. “Detective!”

Chloe turns, gun raised, and sees one of the men creeping through the front yard next door. He spots her, straightens, and aims for her. 

They shoot at the same time. 

Chloe can hear the rapid report of his gun. A second later, he clutches his chest and collapses onto the grass as blood blossoms on his shirt. 

The other two men dart out from behind her cruiser. Chloe shifts her aim. The sound of another gun explodes behind her in the same instant she pulls her trigger. Seconds later, the last two men outside are dead on the sidewalk.

Chloe doesn’t lower her gun. Adrenaline is roaring through her veins. Her ears are ringing. No one outside is moving, and then all of a sudden four cop cars skid into view and uniformed officers pour out onto the street with their guns ready.

It’s over. 

Chloe turns to look at Lucifer. 

He’s got the dead man’s sidearm in his hands and an enraged look on his face. His eyes aren’t just red, they appear to be on fire. She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him this angry, and she’s suddenly afraid he might shoot one of the officers outside because he thinks they’re a threat to her. 

“Lucifer,” she calls gently.

He shifts his gaze toward her but doesn’t lower the gun. 

She holsters her gun and walks toward him slowly. “It’s over. You can put the gun down.”

“LAPD!” one of the cops outside bellows. “Hands up and identify yourself!”

Chloe steps between Lucifer and the cop and holds her hands up as she turns to face him. He’s standing outside the broken window, his gun raised.

“I’m Detective Decker,” she says. “I made the call to Dispatch. See the badge on my hip?”

The cop’s eyes dart down to her hip, and then he glances past her at Lucifer. “What about him?”

“He’s with me. He’s my partner.”

The cop hesitates, and then lowers his gun. “You guys okay? Medics are on the way.”

“We’re fine,” Chloe says, lowering her hands. “You should clear the back of the house. And there are civilians upstairs.”

The cop nods obediently and turns to shout orders at his colleagues. Chloe turns back to Lucifer. 

He’s staring at her. His eyes aren’t flames anymore but his whole body is tense, like a predator ready to pounce. He’s still holding the gun tightly. 

“Lucifer,” she murmurs. She reaches out and covers his hands with hers. “Give me the gun.”

He swallows and then lets go of the gun. She takes it from him and slips it into her waistband, and then looks up at him. He’s still staring at her with an unreadable expression on his face. She’s never seen him like this. They’ve been in shootouts before, but he’s never seemed shell shocked afterward.  

“Are you okay?” she asks, sliding her hands over his chest. She moves them up to his neck, and then rises to her toes to study a bleeding cut on his forehead by his hairline. “Is this from the bowl?”

He doesn’t answer her. She shifts her gaze to meet his. For the first time, she can read his expression. He looks terrified.

“He shot at you,” he whispers in a broken voice. “He shot at you and I couldn’t get there in time.”

She feels a lump rise in her throat. “I’m fine.” 

His fingers curl around her waist. She strokes her hand over his cheek, and then leans forward to press her forehead against his. 

“Detective,” he breathes.

She closes her eyes. “We’re fine.”

Chloe doesn’t realize there are bullet holes in her shirt until the paramedic notices them while he’s checking her out as part of department protocol. 

“Holy shit, are you…?” he says, his eyes wide as he stares at her chest. 

For a second, Chloe thinks he’s about to ask if she’s that Chloe Decker, the one who got out of a hot tub naked. But then she glances down at her blouse and sees what he’s staring at—not her chest, but three circular holes in the fabric over the left half of her abdomen that are the same size and shape as…

Bullets. 

She feels suddenly light-headed. She knows the guy in the yard next door fired his gun at the same time she fired hers. She remembers hearing the report. But nothing actually hit her. She would have felt it, right? She would have…

Holy shit, did she get shot?

She whips her shirt upward to check, but there’s nothing to see. No holes in her stomach, no blood, no bruises. Just smooth, unblemished skin that could probably use a day at the beach. She checks her shirt again, and then her skin, and then her brain short circuits and suddenly all she can hear is Lucifer’s voice. 

He shot at you. 

It’s the paramedic who pulls her back to reality. “Detective?” he says. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine,” she says, dropping her shirt back into place. She can’t talk to a random dude about this. She needs to find Lucifer. Lucifer will know what to do. 

The paramedic frowns. “There are bullet holes in your shirt.”

She forces a laugh. “They’re obviously not bullet holes if I have no bullet wounds, right?”

His frown deepens. “Right. But…”

“I must have torn my shirt somehow.” She hops off the edge of the ambulance. “Good news is I’m fine, and I need to get back in there, so if you’ll excuse me.”

“But Detective—”

“Do I have any injuries you need to treat?” she challenges.

He looks like he wants to say yes, but they both know he can’t. He shakes his head. “No ma’am.”

“Cool. See you later then. And thanks.”

She walks away before he can stop her. Her heart is racing. She scans the crowd of crime scene techs and cops, searching for Lucifer, and finds him leaning against the hood of her cruiser. Just the sight of him makes her feel more steady. 

She strides toward him. He gets to his feet when he sees her. 

“Clean bill of health?” he asks, smiling as he thumbs his cufflink. His smile fades when she stops much closer to him than she typically does at crime scenes. “Detective? Are you—”

“I got shot.”

He blinks at her in surprise, and then concern explodes across his expression. “ What? ” he demands. He grabs her shoulders and scans her body. “Where? Why did you leave the bloody ambulance?”

“Because I’m fine. I—”

“We have to get to a hospital.”

“Lucifer.”

He straightens. “I can fly you. Just put your arms around my neck—”

“Lucifer,” she says firmly before he can whip his wings out for everyone to see. “Just wait a minute, okay?”

He goes still. 

She glances around to make sure no one is listening to them, and then grabs her blouse and pulls it taut so the holes are obvious. “I got shot. But nothing hit me.”

Lucifer stares down at her shirt. He frowns. He runs his index finger over one of the holes, and then he slips his hand under her shirt and rubs his thumb over her abdomen. His skin is warm. She tries to stifle a shudder because now is not the time, but her body shivers at his touch without her permission.

He looks up at her. “How?”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I was hoping you could tell me.” 

He stares at her for a moment, and then turns away from her abruptly. He opens the driver’s side door of her cruiser, and bends down to pop the trunk. 

“What are you doing?” she asks.

He strides toward the trunk without answering. He disappears for a few seconds, and then slams the trunk and returns. When he stops in front of her, he holds out the knife she keeps in her trunk. 

She realizes what he’s after—he wants to test to see if she’s invulnerable—and she yanks her sleeve up and offers him her arm.

“No,” he breathes. 

She glances up at him. 

He looks like he’s going to be sick. He shakes his head. “I can’t…” He swallows and holds the knife out farther. “I can’t do that, Detective.”

Chloe’s throat tightens. She takes the knife from him, and then slides the blade gently along her forearm. The pain is immediate and sharp and then fades to a dull throb. Blood blossoms along the line of the cut in her skin.

Lucifer stares at the blood on her arm, and then he tugs at her shirt and stares at the bullet holes again. “Impossible,” he whispers. 

Chloe frowns. “Maybe they’re not bullet holes.” 

“They’re bullet holes,” Lucifer says. “I just don’t...”

A thought strikes Chloe suddenly. She looks up at Lucifer and reaches out to grab his arm. “Could your dad have done this?”

The confusion on Lucifer’s face smooths into surprise, and then something that looks a lot like rage. He pulls out of her grasp and strides away from her. 

“Lucifer,” she calls after him. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t turn around. She glances past him and sees that he’s headed for his dad, who is standing with Lucas and his mom by a squad car. She starts after him, but gets intercepted. 

“Detective Decker,” a man says, stepping in her path. “Are you ready to give your statement?”

Chloe glances past him at Lucifer. No I’ve got celestial shit to do, she wants to say. But she can’t.

She smiles. “Yeah. Ready if you are.”

When Chloe is finally done giving her statement, Lucifer is nowhere to be found. 

She makes her way through the cars and techs and cops, squinting against the glare of flashing red and blue lights in the darkness. She asks around, but no one has seen him. A familiar feeling of abandonment is welling up in her chest, and she can barely breathe around it. 

She finds his dad standing by her cruiser. “Detective,” he greets. 

“Where’s Lucifer?”

John blinks at her. “He left a while ago. Did he not tell you?”

Chloe’s stomach drops. No, he didn’t tell her. He just...left her. 

Again.

“Right,” she says, trying to school her expression into something unbothered. She forces a smile. “Ready to go?”

“I can find my own way home if you’d like to go in search of Lucifer,” John offers. 

Chloe shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I can catch up with him later. Come on. I’ll take you home.”

He heads for her backseat. 

“No,” she says, shaking her head at him over the roof of the car. “Lucifer isn’t…” He’s gone, the voice in the back of her head whispers. She swallows. “You can ride in the front.”

John smiles and gets in the passenger seat. 

They drive to Linda and Amenadiel’s house in silence. Chloe doesn’t have the energy to make conversation, and she’s past caring if she’s being rude. She just wants to go home and drink a beer in the shower and then crawl into bed and sleep for a week. 

When they finally get there and she parks the car by the curb, John turns to look at her. “Thank you.”

Chloe smiles. “Sure.”

He studies her for a moment, and then he turns more fully toward her. “If you have a question, I’d be happy to answer it.”

Chloe stares at him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Lucifer’s voice is whispering It’s a trap. But she has a million questions, and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get this chance again. God is sitting in her front seat. She could ask him anything. The meaning of life. If aliens exist. Who shot JFK. If her dad can hear her when she talks to him. 

“Did you save my life today?” she asks.

John frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Chloe pulls her shirt out so he can see. “These are bullet holes. But I don’t have any bullet wounds. Is that because of you?”

Understanding dawns on John’s face, and then he tilts his head. “That’s a complicated answer.”

Chloe sighs. “I am so sick of hearing the word complicated.” 

John nods sympathetically. “I understand. And I would very much like to answer your question, Chloe. Believe me, I would.”

“But?” 

“But I don’t think you’re ready to hear the answer. And I don’t wish to interfere with what’s already been put into motion.”

Chloe stares at him. “Seriously?”

A hint of a smile appears on John’s lips. “That’s what my son said as well.”

Chloe shakes her head. “No offense, John, but your son’s not entirely wrong about how infuriating you can be.”

John’s smile deepens. “I understand.”

They sit in silence for a minute or two. Chloe stares down at the holes in her shirt and thinks about how out of sorts Lucifer has been the last few days, and the agony that flashes briefly in his eyes whenever the topic of his fall comes up. 

“Lucifer is a good man,” she says quietly, looking over at John. “Or a good angel, I guess. A good…” She trails off and sighs and looks back down at her hands until she finds the right words. “He’s not perfect. But deep down, at the very core of who he is, he’s nothing but good.”

“You bring that out of him.”

“No,” she says, looking up at John again. “I don’t. That’s the thing. This gift you gave him, this blessing, whatever it is I am or have...I’m not blind like everyone else. I see him for who he is. For who he truly is. Which means if I see good, then that’s what he is. I don’t bring it out. It’s already there.”

John nods. “You’re right.”

Chloe opens her mouth, ready to argue, and then she realizes what he just said. “I am?”

John reaches out and puts his hand on her arm, and she feels the same warmth course through her veins that she felt the first time she met him. 

“Thank you for loving my son so well,” he murmurs. He pulls his hand back, but his warmth lingers. He smiles. “Good night, Chloe.”

He gets out of the car before she can say anything else, walks up the front path, and disappears into the house without looking back.

It’s early enough that Lux isn’t open yet, but there’s a line at the front entrance anyway. 

Chloe parks her cruiser behind Lucifer’s car in the alleyway. As she’s getting out, a young guy she’s never seen before trots around the corner. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he says. “You can’t park there. Only the owner and his guests park there.”  

Chloe shuts her car door with a smile. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

He looks confused. “Yeah, it’s my first night. Why?”

She smiles instead of answering and heads for the front entrance. 

“Lady, seriously,” he says, following her. “You can’t park there. I’m so sorry. I can find a parking deck close by if you want.” 

“That won’t be necessary. What’s your name?”

“Jake. Please don’t make me call to get your car towed. Please. I don’t want to cause a scene and get fired on my first night.”

“You’re not going to get fired, Jake.” 

They round the corner and the entrance comes into view. Rick, Lucifer’s favorite bouncer, is at the front door. He smiles as soon as he sees her.

“Good evening, Detective.”

“Hey Rick.”

“Detective?” Jake squeaks. “You’re a cop? ”

“I am,” Chloe confirms. She gestures at her hip. “Badge is right there.”

Jake looks down at her hip and then his eyes widen. “I didn’t see it.”

“Obviously.” 

Rick frowns. “Is he bothering you, Detective?”

“No,” Chloe says. “He was just doing his job and making sure I knew I couldn’t park in the alley.”

Rick turns toward Jake with a stern look. “Don’t you know who this is?” 

Jake sputters. “Uh...no?”

“Detective Decker,” Chloe says, offering Jake her hand. “You can call me Chloe, though.” 

Jake reaches out to shake Chloe’s hand, but Rick smacks his hand away. 

“No he can’t,” Rick says. “Detective Decker is Mr. Morningstar’s partner. Don’t touch her. Don’t tell her what she can and can’t do. She can park wherever the hell she wants and do whatever the hell she wants. If she asks you for something, you give it to her. Even if she asks you to stand on your head and sing I’m A Little Teapot.”

“I won’t do that,” Chloe says, shaking her head.

Jake looks dumbfounded. “Partner?” he repeats.

“Girlfriend also applies,” Chloe says with a shrug. 

Jake’s eyes get even wider. “Oh...oh god. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Chloe says sincerely. “You were just doing your job.” She turns her attention to Rick and tips her head toward the crowd of people. “Little early for a line, isn’t it?”

Rick smiles. “Haven’t you heard? We were named the hottest club in L.A. by some hotshot party website. It’s been nuts since Monday.”

Chloe lifts her eyebrows. That explains why Lucifer has had his hands full the last few days. “I hadn’t heard. Congrats.”

Rick shoots a look at Jake. “Won’t last if our new staff keeps screwing up.”

Jake seems to shrink under his gaze.

Chloe pats Rick’s shoulder as she starts past him toward the door. “Be nice to him, Rick. He was just doing his job.”

“Mhmm,” Rick says.

“Hey!” someone in the line shouts. “How come she gets to go in?”

“Because she’s Mr. Morningstar’s girlfriend!” Jake shouts back. 

“Jesus, kid,” Rick sighs. “That’s not something you just shout at people. Are you an idiot?”

Chloe presses her lips together around a smile and opens the front door of the club. 

It’s dark and quiet inside. She checks the main room to see if Lucifer is in there, but it’s just bartenders and other staff milling around and getting ready for the night. She heads for the elevator. While it carries her up to the penthouse, she fires off a text to Dan to remind him to check in with Trixie about whether she finished her social studies project. She slides her phone into her back pocket just as the doors open to reveal the penthouse. 

She steps off the elevator and immediately goes still. 

Lucifer is sitting at his piano with his back to her. He’s wearing the same suit he was earlier, but he’s ditched the jacket and his shirt sleeves are rolled up. His head is bent forward, and his fingers are dancing over the keys as he plays. Chloe knows this song. He’s playing Hallelujah.  

He’s not singing. He’s just playing, and the mournful melody makes her ache. The penthouse is dim. The city lights beyond the balcony are bright and brilliant against the night sky, and their glow frames Lucifer’s body like a halo. 

The song builds toward its crescendo, and the sound that fills the penthouse leaves Chloe completely, utterly breathless. It is, hands down, the most beautiful thing she’s ever heard, and the sight of him sitting there, his head tilted slightly and his body edged in light, is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

He plays the final chorus slowly and with a tenderness that makes her eyes warm and her throat feel tight. When he finishes, the last note hangs in the air. The only word she can think to describe it is melancholy. 

It fades, and then there’s silence. Chloe stands, frozen in place and unwilling to break the spell, but then Lucifer turns his head—not far enough to look at her, but enough so that she knows he realizes she’s there. 

“Detective,” he says softly. 

The word pulls her toward him like a magnet. She crosses the room and stops next to him. He doesn’t look up at her. She reaches out and brushes her fingers through the hair that’s cut short on the side of his head. He closes his eyes at her touch.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she murmurs. 

He sits as still as a statue for a moment, and then he sets his hands back on the keys and starts to play again. Chloe recognizes this song too. It’s Something by The Beatles. 

He only plays the first few lines, but it’s enough to make warmth unfurl in her chest. The final note he plays hangs in the air just like before, and then he lifts his gaze to hers. 

“You know I believe and how,” he whispers.

It’s the first time in four days she isn’t frustrated by song lyrics coming out of his mouth. It’s the hundredth time in four days she wants to tell him she loves him. 

You’re the only thing I believe in, Chloe.

She bends forward and kisses him. His fingers wrap around her hips, and then he pulls her gently down onto the bench next to him without breaking the kiss. She holds his face in her hands, and he wraps his arms around her and holds her like she’s priceless. 

When he finally pulls back, she’s breathless. He seems a little breathless too. 

“Hi,” she whispers, unable to stop a smile. 

He smiles too. “Hello darling.” 

He calls plenty of people darling. But the word sounds different when he says it to her. It makes her heart skip. 

He presses another brief kiss to her lips and then lets go of her waist and turns to face the piano again. She misses his touch the moment she no longer feels it, but they’re close enough that she can press her shoulder to his and feel his warmth, and she knows she could kiss him again if she wanted to. She watches as he reaches for the whiskey glass sitting on top of the piano. 

“You didn’t tell me that Lux was making headlines.” 

He frowns at her over the rim of his glass. 

“Rick said you got named hottest club in L.A.”

“Ah. Yes. I think he’s prouder of that than I am. Truth be told, I wish we hadn’t. It’s quite a lot of work to be the best.” He smiles at her. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

She smiles but lets the compliment slide. He’s trying to shift her focus away from him. He might be proud and self-absorbed more often than not, but he’s pretty good at deflecting attention away from himself when he wants to. Usually he does it when he’s trying to keep a secret, but she doesn’t think that’s the reason this time.

She puts her hand on his knee. “You should have told me so we could celebrate.” 

He shakes his head. “You were focused on the case. Seemed trivial.”

Chloe frowns. “What happens in your life isn’t trivial, Lucifer. If it’s important to you, it’s important to me.”

“So you’ve said. But you’ve devoted a considerable amount of your time and energy to me and my drama as of late, and much as I like your attention, I don’t fancy becoming a black hole.”

Chloe frowns. “What?” 

“Black hole,” he repeats. “Devours everything in its path until it all ceases to exist.” 

Chloe blinks. “Oh. That’s not...that isn’t what you do, Lucifer.” 

“Well not if I can help it. And speaking of holes.” He casts a sidelong glance at the holes in her shirt. “I spoke to my father about your...situation.”

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs. “So did I.”

Lucifer looks over at her in surprise. “What did he tell you?”

“Same thing he told you. It’s complicated and I’m not ready for the answer.” She bumps her shoulder against his. “Welcome to the bloody club, right?” 

He smiles. “I’d say I hate for you to be part of it, but that would be a lie.”

Chloe smiles too. “Well at least he won’t be shadowing us anymore.”

“Oh?”

“The guy whose arm you gleefully broke flipped on the Fantasmas.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Dan paid him a visit in the hospital and told him that you’d be stopping by every day to see him until he told us what we needed to know. Apparently the idea of seeing you again was so terrifying that he spilled his guts. We didn’t just get our killer, we got the whole gang.”

“Oh, well, nicely played, Daniel,” Lucifer muses before downing the rest of his whiskey. 

“I’ll tell him you said so.”

“Please don’t.”

Chloe laughs. Lucifer leans over and brushes a kiss on her temple. “Stay here.”

He gets up from the bench, and she watches as he walks behind the bar and pours himself more whiskey. He leaves his refilled glass on the bar and turns his back to her. She hears the clinking of bottles, but she can’t see what he’s doing.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Patience, Detective.”

She rolls her eyes. 

“I heard that.”

She laughs.

He turns around and walks out from behind the bar with a glass in each hand. He sits next to her, and then offers her a glass.

“What is it?”

He grins. “Do you trust me?”

“When you’re smiling at me like that? No.”

He chuckles and holds it closer to her. “I think you’ll like it.”

She purses her lips and studies him for a moment, and then takes the glass and takes a sip. It tastes divine.

“Wow,” she says. “That’s...wow.”

He looks pleased. “I thought you’d enjoy it.”

“What’s in it?”

“Oh a magician never reveals his secrets, Detective.”

Chloe rolls her eyes again and takes another sip. Lucifer watches her mouth around the glass. She feels a familiar twinge of anticipation deep in her body, but she ignores it. She wants to talk to him first.  

“So now that he’s no longer our shadow, do you think your dad will make his decision soon?”

Lucifer exhales a heavy breath. “Hard to say. Depends on how long he spends with Mum, I suppose.”

Chloe frowns. “What?”

“Oh did I not tell you that? Yes, it appears that in his infinite wisdom, Dad has decided unilateral decisions are not, in fact, good practice for a marriage. So he’s going to take a hop, skip, and a jump over to Mum’s universe and chat with her about which of her boys should follow in his footsteps.”

“What do you think she’ll say?”

“I’ve no bloody idea.” Lucifer sips his whiskey. “I suppose if either of them have any sense, they’ll choose Amenadiel. He’s the only real choice, seeing as I don’t want it and Michael is...well, Michael.”

“Did you tell your dad you don’t want it?”

“Yes. Not that it matters. He’s never cared what I want before, there’s no reason for him to care now.” 

“So what are you going to do if he chooses you?”

“Same thing I always do, darling. Rebel.”

Chloe nods and stares down into her drink. Fear is suddenly gnawing at her. All this celestial craziness is...it’s so much bigger than her. So much bigger than them. What if, even though they want to be together, they can’t be? What if John chooses Lucifer, and Lucifer rebels, and he’s forced to go back to Hell? What if John chooses Amenadiel, and Lucifer is forced to help his brother, and he has no more time for Lux or police work or her? What if John chooses Michael, and Lucifer has to start a war to protect her? There are so many what if’s she could drown in them, but they all end the same.

He leaves her.

Again.

“You’re thinking very loudly over there,” Lucifer murmurs. “Care to share with the class?”

Chloe presses her lips together. She doesn’t want to play the what if game with him. But she does want to know why he left her earlier.  

“Why did you leave me at the scene?” she asks, looking up at him.

He blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You stormed away to talk to your dad,” she clarifies. “And I couldn’t follow you because I had to give my statement. And then when I was done, you were gone.” 

She thinks she sees a flash of guilt on his face, but it doesn’t linger long enough for her to be sure. 

“Ah,” he says quietly. “Well, I uh...I needed some air. So to speak. My apologies. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. He just swallows a gulp of whiskey and then bends forward to rest his forearms on the upper edge of the piano. 

“Did you get some?” she asks. 

He turns his glass slowly. “Get some what?”

“Air.”

He doesn’t answer.

Chloe shifts on the piano bench and leans away from him so he’s got some space. Ever since he got back from Hell, he’s been pretty good about talking to her instead of shutting her out. He didn’t have Linda in Hell with him for thousands of years, but Chloe can’t shake the feeling that all those centuries down there gave him the opportunity to really absorb all that he learned. She’ll never say that their separation was good—she missed him too much to say that—but she also can’t ignore that he’s far more emotionally available now than he was before. 

He’s still Lucifer, though, and he has his limits. He’s had a rough go of it recently with all the family drama, and the last thing she wants to do is be something else he has to cope with. She doesn’t want to be a burden. 

She sets her glass down on the piano. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“Talk about what?” he asks, a tinge of bitterness in his voice as he straightens. “The fact that you would have died if not for my father’s meddling? Or the fact that for the first time in my life I’m so bloody grateful that the bastard meddled that I…”

He presses his lips together and doesn’t finish. 

She leans toward him so that their shoulders are touching again. “You what, Lucifer?”

He closes his eyes. “You think I’m only vulnerable when I’m bleeding,” he murmurs. “You think that when I don’t bleed, I’m invulnerable. But that isn’t true, Detective. Every breath you take makes me vulnerable, regardless of what can or can’t hurt me.”

Chloe frowns. “I don’t understand.”

He opens his eyes and finally looks at her. “What happens the next time I can’t protect you? What happens if you…?” 

She understands, all of a sudden, why he looks so agonized. The grief in his voice makes her chest ache. 

“What am I supposed to do?” he whispers, his voice breaking a little on the last word. “What am I to tell the urchin? Or your mother?”

“You tell them the truth. You tell them that I loved them very, very much, and that I died trying to make the world safer for them.” 

He flinches when she says died. She can’t not touch him anymore. She turns toward him and lifts her hand to stroke her fingers through his hair like she did before. 

“This isn’t about Trixie and my mom, is it?” 

She watches as he stares down into his whiskey glass and rotates it in a slow circle. 

“My brother was right,” he says eventually. “If I lose you, you’ll go somewhere I can’t follow.” His hand tightens on his glass. His knuckles are white. “I can’t bear that. So I told him I’d follow you.”

Chloe frowns. “Told who?”

“My father,” Lucifer rasps. He looks at her. His eyes are glassy. “I told him that if he doesn’t want a bloody celestial war then he’d better make you bulletproof permanently, because if he doesn’t, I’ll follow you. I’ll storm the gates of the Silver City with all of Hell at my back because I can’t bear the thought of it. Of never seeing you again. Of separation for all eternity.”

“Lucifer,” she breathes.

“Don’t ask me to,” he says, shaking his head. “Now that I have you, I can’t let you go. I can’t, Detective. Don’t ask me—”

The glass shatters in his hand. Chloe startles in surprise as tiny pieces of glass spill through his fingers and cascade down her jean clad thigh. They hit the floor and scatter, glinting in the dimness like diamonds. 

“Damn it,” Lucifer says. He brushes his palm over her thigh. “I’m so sorry, Detective.”

“You’ll cut yourself,” she says, reaching out to grab his arm. 

He ignores her. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I could have—”

“Lucifer, stop.”

He goes still. He won’t look at her. Chloe’s heart is pounding in her chest. The what if’s are back, and they’re overwhelming. She can’t stop thinking about Lucifer with a horde of demons at his back, rushing at a pair of pearly gates, and his father waving his hand in retaliation and sending Lucifer to the same place Uriel went. 

She tightens her hold on his arm. “What did your dad say?”

Lucifer looks up at her with a frown. “What?”

“When you told him what you’d do,” she says. “What did he say? Is he angry? Is he going to…?”

Lucifer’s frown deepens. He shakes his head. “No. Actually, he...he said he was proud of me.”

Chloe stares at him. “What?”

A humorless smile curves Lucifer’s lips. “That’s what I said.”

For a minute, they just stare at each other. Chloe struggles to keep her head above the sudden flood of questions and worries and fears, but she can’t. Her brain is short-circuiting, and her ears are ringing, and it should really be a familiar feeling by now, but it’s not. 

She reaches for her glass. She takes a huge swallow, and then another. The drink still tastes good, but it burns all the way down. She takes a breath around the burn, and then downs the rest of the glass and presses the back of her hand to her mouth. 

“Would you like another?” Lucifer asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

She lowers her hand and shakes her head. “No.” She frowns. “Maybe.” She turns to look at him. “He’s proud of you?”

“So he says,” Lucifer replies. “It shouldn’t surprise you to hear that I don’t believe him.”

Chloe thinks about her conversation in the car with John. 

“Maybe you should.”

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”

Chloe turns toward him. “I told him you’re a good man.”

Lucifer looks stunned. “You...what?”

“In the car,” she clarifies. “When I dropped him off at Linda and Amenadiel’s before I came here. I told him you’re a good man. He said that I bring it out of you, but I told him that he’s wrong. I told him that I see you like no one else does, so I know you better than anyone else, and I know that you’re good.” She exhales a shaky breath. “And he said I was right.”

Lucifer stares at her, his mouth open. She assumes he’s stunned by his father’s response, seeing as he’s always believed that his father thinks he’s the opposite of good, but then he says quietly, “You told my dad that I’m good?”

Chloe frowns. “Well yeah. It’s true.”

 Lucifer doesn’t respond. He just stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time, and then he lifts his hand to her face and brushes his thumb over her lips. 

Chloe covers his hand with hers. “He said something was in motion and that he didn’t want to stop it. Do you know what he meant?”

Lucifer shakes his head. “I’ve no idea. And I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?”

“Not in the slightest.”

She drops her hand. “But what if—”

“The only thing I care about,” he cuts her off gently, “is sitting next to me. The rest is merely noise.”

Warmth unfurls in Chloe’s chest. “Did you spend all your time in Hell writing down romantic lines you thought would make me swoon?”

He smiles. “Are you swooning?”

“No. I’m immune to your charms, remember?”

“But you do admit they’re charms.”

She tilts her head. “Did I? I don’t think that’s what I said.”

“You’re a bad liar, Detective.”

“How dare you,” she says in mock offense. “Lying is acting, and I’ll have you know I’m an excellent actress.”

“Oh I’m aware. I’ve seen your body of work several times.”

“Pun intended?”

“Well of course.”

She laughs, and then slides her hand over his knee. “You know what I was thinking?”

He’s staring at her mouth again. “Tell me.”

“We haven’t actually been on a date. Like, officially. As a couple.”

He lifts his gaze to hers with a frown, like that wasn’t what he expected her to say. And then recognition dawns on his face. “You know, you’re right. What a terrible boyfriend I am.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh but it’s true. I need to wine and dine you, Detective. Take you out on the town. Show you off.”

“Well Dan has Trixie for the next few nights,” she says. “And I’ve got a few days off work. So maybe tomorrow?”

His face falls. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

Chloe frowns. “So?”

“So Lux is having a bit of a shindig to celebrate our new acclaim. I have to host. And I have to attend my father’s retirement party before that.”

“His what now?”

Lucifer smiles. “It seems my brother and the doctor have planned a retirement party for him. Absurd, I know, but you know how those two are. Horribly sentimental. I was hoping we’d have a good murder as an excuse, but if you’re off work then I’m afraid I haven’t a choice. My presence has been demanded.” 

“I could go with you,” Chloe offers. “If you want.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “You would do that?”

“Sure,” she says, lifting a shoulder. “What time is the party?”

“One o’clock.”

She opens her mouth to say she’s free, and then she remembers she’s not. “Oh.”

“You have plans?”

“No. Well, sort of. Trixie has a soccer game at four, and I have to take her because Dan has a work thing. So I’d have to bring her with me. But if you don’t mind that she comes, I’ll be there.”

Lucifer frowns. “Won’t she be bored?”

“Are you kidding? She’ll get to meet God.”

His frown deepens. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Well I’m kind of dating the Devil,” she points out with a smile. “So I think we’re past that.”

Lucifer doesn’t smile. He doesn’t make a joke either. He gazes at her, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he says softly, “And you’re okay with dating the Devil?”

For a moment, Chloe isn’t sure how to respond to that. Her first impulse is to be offended—after everything they’ve been through, and how upfront she’s been about her feelings for him, he still thinks she’s harboring some type of hesitation? But then she thinks about everything he’s been through, and how often people have abandoned him or manipulated him or tried to make him be something he’s not, and her offense fades. 

She doesn’t know how to explain it to him. She could tell him she loves him, but she already has. She could show him she loves him, but she’s already done that too. She stares down at the piano and wracks her brain for an idea, and then she remembers something. 

She lifts her hands and sets them on the piano keys. The ivory is cold and smooth beneath her fingertips. “Do you remember when we played piano together?”

If he’s confused by her change in topic, he doesn’t show it. “I do,” he says. “Heart and Soul, if memory serves.”

She looks up at him. “Have you ever looked up the lyrics?”

His eyes flicker down to her mouth, and then up to her eyes. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Well I have.”

She licks her lips and looks back down at the keys. She hesitates for a brief second—she really, really hates singing in front of people—but she’s done it in front of him a dozen times in the past few days, so what’s once more?

“Heart and soul,” she sings softly, her fingers pressing the keys down in slow unison with her voice. “I fell in love with you, heart and soul, the way a fool would do, madly, because you held me tight and stole a kiss in the night.”

She glances up at him. He’s wearing that look on his face, the water-in-the-desert look, and she swallows around the sudden tightness in her throat. She was going to sing the next part, but the tune dies on her lips.

“Heart and soul, Lucifer,” she whispers.

He lifts his hand to her face and strokes his thumb over the jut of her jaw. “Detective,” he breathes. 

And then he’s kissing her, and she’s kissing him, and nothing else matters.

“So? What do you say?”

The Dreamer doesn’t answer. 

Michael doesn’t push him. He sips his gin and waits. He’s waited millenia. He can wait five more minutes. 

The man sitting across the table from him is still. He has the hood of his black cape up, and with his face turned out toward the ocean, Michael can only see the profile of his face: His bone-white skin, his pointed nose and strongly angled chin, and the jet black hair falling in straight strands over his forehead. 

Finally, he turns his head. In place of his eyes there are stars, silver with a flickering of blue, and if Michael was human he might find them unsettling. 

“How does this benefit you?” the Dreamer asks in a low voice.

Michael grins. “Does it matter? I’m offering you what you want and a chance to punish my brother. Two for one special. You won’t get another chance like this.”

The Dreamer is silent for another long moment. He looks out at the ocean again. “You only wish for it to impact those who know her?”

Michael nods. “Yes.”

“Why not all of mankind?”

“Because that will provoke her into doing the opposite of what I want. It would be them against the world.”

The Dreamer lifts an eyebrow. “Won’t that be the case if you turn her world against her?”

“No. She needs to see that the stakes are different for her than for him. He could walk away from this unscathed, but she can’t. She thinks that she’ll never lose faith in him. And he thinks he can’t be manipulated into sacrificing her.” Michael grins. “I’m looking forward to seeing who breaks first.” 

The Dreamer considers the words, and then shakes his head. “I think you underestimate him. And perhaps her, if she was extraordinary enough to catch his eye.”

Michael sighs. “I know what I’m doing, old friend. All I need is for you to do your part, and I’ll do the rest. You do what I’m asking, and you get what you want. Simple as that. Now do we have a deal, or not?”

There’s another long silence. And then the Dreamer nods.

“We have a deal.”