5. Five

Chloe wakes the next morning to an empty bed. 

It takes her a second to find coherency. She blinks at the alarm clock. It’s just before eight. She sighs and curses her internal alarm clock for not letting her sleep later on a Sunday. She rolls over, seeking Lucifer’s warmth, and finds nothing but cold sheets and an empty pillow. 

For a brief, terrible moment, she thinks he’s left her again. She closes her eyes and she’s right back on the penthouse balcony, begging him not to leave, and he’s stroking his hand over her cheek and saying goodbye. It hurts like hell. 

And then she remembers last night. She hears the sound of clanging pots and pans, and she opens her eyes. She can smell coffee, and hear the distant sound of…

Is he playing opera in her kitchen right now? 

She rubs her eyes and sighs. Of course he listens to opera in the morning. Of course he does. 

She gets out of bed and pulls on a faded LAPD t-shirt and a pair of shorts from a drawer in her dresser. It feels chilly, so she tugs on a zip-up sweatshirt that was draped over the chair nearby. She heads for the bathroom next. She brushes her teeth, pulls her hair back into a messy bun, and then finally heads for the stairs, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

The music gets louder the closer she gets to the kitchen. It’s definitely opera. She has no idea which one, though. She’s not really an opera person. She doesn’t dislike it. She’s just never really paid attention to it. 

She has a feeling Lucifer is going to try to change that. 

When she gets to the bottom of the stairs, she stops. Lucifer is wearing his suit pants and the shirt she took off him last night, but he’s only got two buttons fastened. She wonders if those are the only two buttons left because she ripped the others off in her haste last night. His hair is mussed, which is also her fault. Although, maybe not. If he wasn’t so damn good with his mouth, then she wouldn’t feel the need to grab fistfuls of his hair. 

He’s grating cheese over a bowl with a look of intense concentration. He’s also singing—in Italian, she thinks—along with the baritone voice wailing from the speaker on his phone. 

She smiles. She can’t help it. The Devil is in her kitchen, grating cheese and singing opera, and it’s just...it’s really adorable.

He looks up, spots her, and freezes like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Detective,” he says. And then he scrambles for his phone, and the operatic wailing ceases. 

“Hi,” she says. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks, setting down the cheese grater. “My apologies, I didn’t realize it was that loud.”

“It wasn’t.”

She’s still grinning. He notices. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, lifting her shoulder. “You’re just...kind of adorable.”

He looks appalled. “I beg your pardon,” he says, straightening to his full height. “I am the Lord of Hell, Detective. I am not adorable.”

“Mhmm,” she says as she wanders past him to the coffee maker. “Sure.” She opens the cupboard to grab the coffee and a mug.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

She casts a look at him over her shoulder. “Making coffee.”

“No, no, no,” he says, striding across the kitchen and grabbing her by the shoulders. He guides her to the peninsula and deposits her on a chair. “You sit.”

“Lucifer—” 

“I have espresso,” he cuts her off, lifting his index finger as he walks away. “I will make you a latte.”

“I don’t have…” She trails off when she realizes there’s an espresso machine sitting on the counter next to her microwave. “Why is there an espresso machine in my kitchen?”

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” he says excitedly, turning around to beam at her from next to the shiny new machine. “I had it delivered earlier.”

Chloe frowns. “But...why?”

“Well so I could make you a latte, obviously,” he says, rolling his eyes as if she’s just asked a ridiculous question. “Your offspring specifically requested breakfast Lucifer-style, and I had to make sure you had all the proper equipment. I’d hate to disappoint the little urchin. I have a reputation to maintain, you know.”

Chloe’s frown deepens. “But I didn’t…” And then she realizes he said equipment. Like, there’s more. “Wait,” she says. “What else did you order?”

“Oh nothing much,” he says, waving his hand dismissively. “Panini press, waffle maker, a cast iron skillet. That last one was on backorder, actually, but I wanted a certain brand. I am very particular about my cast irons.”

“Right, of course,” Chloe says. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Exactly,” he agrees, her sarcasm flying straight over his head. “Oh, and I ordered this delightful little contraption that poaches eggs perfectly. Honestly, I’ve never seen such sorcery. And I’m friends with several sorcerers, mind you.”

Chloe nods. “Sure. Of course you are.”

Lucifer finally seems to realize that she’s not sharing in his enthusiasm. “You’re displeased.”

“No,” she disagrees. “I’m just uh…” She scratches the back of her head. Her brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. Later, she’ll have to talk to him about this new impulse he has to buy her stuff. But for right now…

“I need some coffee.”

He snaps to attention. “Right. Of course. One moment.”

She watches him bustle through her kitchen, grabbing milk from the fridge and a mug from the cupboard. He’s whistling. She thinks it’s the same song he was singing when she came downstairs. 

“What is that you’re whistling?” she asks.

“La Traviata,” he tells her as he fusses with the espresso machine. “I first saw it in London at Her Majesty’s Theater in 1856. Would have been a terribly boring vacation if not for that show. You know the Church tried to order an injunction against it? Quite the scandal. It was morally questionable, or so they said, so naturally I had to see it for myself. And wouldn’t you know, I quite enjoyed it. And not just because of its scandalous nature. It’s a lovely story, albeit tragic. You would have enjoyed it, I think. Ms. Lopez certainly did.”

Chloe frowns. “Ella? When did Ella go to the opera?”

Lucifer freezes. “Oh,” he says. “Um...a few months ago, I believe.” 

“Huh,” Chloe says, folding her arms on the counter. “I wouldn’t have pegged her as an opera girl.”

“I think she came into the tickets unexpectedly,” he murmurs. He spins to face her. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” she says, fiddling with the strings of her sweatshirt. “Did you?”

He grins. “Well how could I not, sleeping next to you?”

She smiles. “So no snoring then?”

“Well I didn’t say that,” he says. “There was an incident around two when I was certain you were going to wake the whole neighborhood. But I’m nothing if not a considerate neighbor, so I took it upon myself to hush you.”

Chloe frowns. “What does that mean?”

“Why I woke you up, darling,” he says. “For round two.” He flicks his gaze over her with a smirk. “Well, round two for me. Round four for you, wasn’t it?”

Chloe can feel her face flushing. “Yeah,” she says. “Something like that.”

He shoots her a wicked grin, and then turns back to the espresso machine. It whirs to life, and she watches as he bends forward and steams the milk with practiced precision. He’s whistling again. She can’t take her eyes off him. She likes the way he looks in her kitchen.

“I didn’t realize you were a morning person,” she says after a while.

“Depends on how much alcohol I enjoyed the previous night,” he says, sending her a roguish wink over his shoulder. “You are though, aren’t you? You’ve always seemed to be.”

“I am,” she confirms. “Having a kid makes you one whether you want to be or not. But I’m usually not really awake until I’ve had some…”

She trails off as he sets a mug in front of her. It’s a latte. And there’s a perfect heart in the middle of the foam. Her heart flutters in her chest. Who knew the Devil was so sweet?

She looks up at him. “Cute.”

“Thank you,” he says, preening.

“I meant the latte heart.”

“Oh.”

She presses her lips together so she won’t laugh at his disappointment. Then she reaches across the counter, grabs a fistful of his shirt, and tugs him toward her so she can kiss him. It’s short, chaste and sweet, and when she pulls back she smiles.

“But you’re cute too,” she murmurs.

He smiles as though she’s just told him he’s won the lottery. “I am rather fetching, aren’t I?”

She rolls her eyes and lets go of his shirt. She lifts the mug to her mouth, sips, and then sighs. It tastes awesome.

“Good?” he asks.

“Very good,” she confirms. “But I’m sure you knew it would be.”

“Of course I did, I made it.” He claps his hands together. “Now then. Breakfast.”

“I can help.”

“You most certainly will not,” he says. “You will sit there and sip your latte and look pretty.” He winks at her. “Shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

She grins at him. He turns away from her and heads back to the island, where he has food strewn across the counter. She’s opening her mouth to ask him what he’s making when she remembers something.

“Shit,” she says, setting her mug down.

He frowns at her. “What is it?”

“I never even asked,” she says, pressing her hand to her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Lucifer. How’d the rest of family dinner go?”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Was it that bad?”

“Well it wasn’t good,” he says, reaching for a knife. “But I suppose it could have been worse. Everyone was rather sheepish after you left. It put a damper on any further arguments. I think my father even felt guilty. It was quite a new emotion for him, I’m sure.”

Chloe blinks. She made God feel guilty?  

Wow.

“So did he make his big announcement?” she asks, lifting her mug to her lips. 

Lucifer pauses with the knife over a bunch of fresh herbs. His hand hovers in the air for a second or two, but he doesn’t reply. 

Chloe frowns. “Lucifer?”

He sets the knife down and looks at her. “He’s retiring.”

Chloe stares at him. He stares back at her patiently, like he recognizes what an absurd thing he’s just said. 

“What?” she says eventually.

Lucifer sighs. “Precisely what I said.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I don’t understand. How can he... why would he…?”

Lucifer nods. “Yes, yes, exactly. It’s not as if he does any work. Retiring from Hell is one thing. I have an actual job to do. Monitor the loops, change things up every once in a while just to make sure the punishments stay fresh. And managing the demons, of course. Which, honestly...I mean, you’ve met Mazikeen. Imagine millions of her. It’s never ending. I’ve really got my hands full.”

“Sure,” Chloe says. Her ears are ringing. She’s never really asked him what he does down there. Now that she’s finding out, she has so many questions.

Lucifer seems oblivious to her confusion. “But Dad? ” he says. “He doesn’t do anything. Just sits up there and treats you lot like his own personal game of The Sims, and it’s not like that’s bloody difficult. You’re all more than capable of feeding yourselves and relieving yourselves without his interference.”

Chloe frowns over the rim of her mug. She’s not sure if she should be offended by the suggestion that she’s a Sim. 

“And even when he wants something done, he doesn’t have to do any of the work himself. He sends one of his little minions to do it.”

“You mean your brothers and sisters?” Chloe asks. “Did you just call your siblings minions? ”

“Well not the fat little yellow ones, obviously,” he says. “Although it’d be an upgrade for some of them,” he mutters as an afterthought. 

Chloe shakes her head to dismiss the stubborn image of Amenadiel and Michael dressed like minions. “I don’t understand,” she says. “If he’s retiring, then who’s going to be...you know, God? ”

“Oh that’s the best part,” Lucifer sneers. “He wants one of us to do it.”

“One of...who?”

“Amenadiel, Michael, and myself. He wants to pass along his infernal creation to one of his sons . As if the world were a bloody auto mechanic shop and we’re his greasy offspring who are eager to assume the family business.”

“That’s...quite a vision,” Chloe says. Suddenly all she can think about is Lucifer in coveralls with black streaks on his face. It’s not the worst thing she’s ever imagined.  

“You should have heard him,” Lucifer rages, his hands still flying. “I’d like to entrust humans to one of my sons who know them best,” he says, dipping his voice into a passable impression of his father. “Someone who understands them for who they are.”

Chloe frowns. “Doesn’t Michael’s rant about how awful humans are kind of disqualify him?”

“You would bloody well think so, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer snaps. “But noooo, Michael deserves mercy because he was speaking from a place of concern. He has everyone’s best interests at heart, apparently. Utter bollocks.”

Lucifer’s breathing has picked up a little, and the hand that’s not holding a knife is curled into a tight fist. He’s clearly trying not to lose his temper, and it’s clearly not working.

“What about you?” Chloe asks, hoping to steer the conversation somewhere else. 

He looks at her. “What about me?”

“Well do you...I mean, do you want to be in charge of earth?”

“Are you joking?” he says. “I would rather make bracelets with Daniel for the rest of eternity. I would rather don one of those ridiculous getups Ms. Lopez loves and follow her into a sea of similarly clad nerd virgins who think the epitome of sexiness is knowing a fake language. I would rather listen to Amenadiel read the dictionary while he—”

“Okay, okay,” Chloe cuts him off. “I get it.”

Lucifer stops, blinks, and then sighs. “My apologies, Detective. I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just…” He sighs again.

“He’s not really retiring though, right?” Chloe says. “I mean this is, like, one of his manipulations? Or a test?”

“Well that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Lucifer says. He flips the knife in his hand casually the way a professional chef might, and then he starts slicing the herbs on the cutting board extremely fast without actually looking down at them. 

“I’m inclined to assume that the whole thing is an utter sham. It’s precisely the kind of—OW! Damn it.”

The knife clatters onto the cutting board, and Lucifer hunches over his hand with a pained hiss. 

“Lucifer?” Chloe says, getting to her feet. “Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer her, but she doesn’t wait for an answer. She rounds the corner of the peninsula and reaches for him. He flinches at her touch. She pulls her hand back.

“Sorry, I…”

She trails off when he turns to face her and she sees that the hand he’s cradling to his chest is bleeding. There’s a brilliant red stain on his white shirt.

“You’re bleeding,” she says in shock. 

He’s staring down at his hand like he’s equally stunned. 

“I thought…?” she says.

“As did I,” he breathes, looking up at her. 

They stare at each other for a moment, speechless. And then Chloe’s cop instincts kick in, and she wraps her fingers around his forearm and tugs him toward the sink. She flips the faucet on cold, and shoves his finger beneath the water. 

“Hold it there,” she orders.

He obeys as she bends down to grab the first aid kit she keeps beneath the sink. She flicks it open and sets it on the counter. She grabs an antiseptic wipe, and then a few band-aids, and then rips a paper towel off the roll nearby. She turns the faucet off, and then bends forward so she can study the index finger of his left hand. 

It’s a long gash, but not deep enough to need stitches. It’ll scar, but he’ll be okay. 

She dabs at the wound with the paper towel, and then rips the antiseptic wipe packet open with her teeth. She cleans the cut carefully, and then wraps his finger with bandages tightly enough to apply some pressure. 

When she glances up at him, she finds him watching her intently. 

“You okay?” she asks.

He nods wordlessly. His gaze is flickering over her face like he’s trying to understand something, but she doesn’t know what.

“Lucifer?” she prompts. 

He swallows. “You’re quite good at that,” he says quietly.

She frowns. “At cleaning cuts? I guess. Trixie’s pretty active. I’ve dealt with my fair share of skinned elbows and knees.”

“Of course,” he says, finally looking away from her. 

“Hey,” she says, reaching out to touch his arm. He looks up at her. She tilts her head. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just...well, I’m not accustomed to being…”

He doesn’t finish, but she thinks she knows what he was going to say. Her heart squeezes in her chest. 

“Taken care of,” she finishes for him softly.

He nods. “Indeed.”

For a second, all she can think about is how lonely he must have been down in Hell for thousands of years. It makes her heart ache. She lifts her hand to his face. His stubble is rough against her skin. 

“Well get used to it,” she murmurs.

He smiles. She’s seen him smile a million times, but there’s so much joy shining in his eyes that this one feels different. It’s contagious. She can feel it in her chest, a warmth that’s starting to feel familiar in the very best way. And while she hates to be the reason he stops smiling, she can’t help but wonder…

“Why are you vulnerable again?” she asks.

As she expected, his smile fades. “Your guess is as good as mine, Detective,” he sighs. “Perhaps it has to do with my father.”

“You mean being emotionally vulnerable with me about what happened at dinner made you physically vulnerable too?”

He looks up at her with a frown. “Actually, I was thinking his presence on earth makes me feel vulnerable.”

“Oh. Right. Of course. That makes way more sense.”

“You were hoping it was because of you?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

He lifts his eyebrows. 

“Maybe,” she amends. Her face is heating up. She feels...needy. She hates feeling needy.

“It’s certainly possible it was you,” he says. “I was choosing to tell you how I felt. I wanted to be vulnerable with you.”

He doesn’t lie, but she can’t help but feel like he’s trying to placate her.

“It’s fine,” she tells him. “What you said before is probably right.”

He searches her eyes. “Perhaps we should finish our discussion from the other day. I don’t wish to make you feel—”

“No,” she cuts him off, shaking her head. “I don’t...I mean, I told you we could wait. And family dinner is over, but the family drama isn’t, so let’s just...wait. I can wait. It’s no big deal.”

He studies her for a minute, and then nods. “All right.” And then his gaze shifts over her shoulder, and he winces. “I’m afraid I’ve bled all over breakfast.”

Chloe turns and sees that there’s blood on the herbs. “Oh,” she says. “Yeah.” She turns back to face him. “Do you really need those?”

“I’m afraid they’re vital, yes.”

“What were you making?”

He looks suddenly uncomfortable. “I thought I’d try my hand at your father’s sandwich.”

She stares at him. 

“It’s your favorite,” he explains, sounding almost defensive. “And I know the child is also very fond of them, and I thought that if I was going to spend my mornings here then it might behoove me to...well, master the craft, so to speak.”

For a second, all Chloe can do is keep staring at him. Just when she thinks she’s got him all figured out, he goes and does something like this. 

“You know,” she finally says, leaning closer to him, “for someone who’s never been in a serious relationship, you’re pretty good at it.”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, unable to stop a grin. “Who knew the Devil was such a romantic?”

He frowns. “I wasn’t aware egg sandwiches were romantic.”

“They’re not,” she laughs. “It’s the thought behind it, Lucifer. You were doing something for me because you knew I would like it. You wanted me to feel special.”

“Well you are special,” he says, his brow furrowed. 

She smiles and drapes her arms around his neck. “I think you’re special too.”

“Well of course you do, Detective. Everyone does. I’m me.”

Chloe sighs. “No one ruins a moment like you, that’s for sure.”

Her phone blares on the counter behind her. She disentangles herself from Lucifer and grabs it to check the caller ID.

“Except maybe Ella,” she amends. She lifts the phone to her ear. “Good morning, Ella.”

“Deckerrrr,” Ella says on the other end of the line. “Girl, I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize how early it was. I just got caught up in the moment and called to tell you the good news, and the phone was already ringing by the time I realized it’s, like, the crack of dawn on the weekend. Seriously, I am so sorry. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chloe assures her, reaching for her latte. “I was already awake. What’s the good news?”

“I found sweat.”

Chloe crinkles her nose. “Um. What?”

“Sorry, sorry, let me back up. I was running tests on the knife. No usable fingerprints on the handle, unfortunately. Smudged mess. I think the killer tried to wipe it clean. But he or she didn’t do a very good job, because I found some sweat.” 

“Can you pull DNA from it?”

“Yep, running the test now. But that’s not even the best part.”

“What’s the best part?

“I found trace amounts of acrylo-nitrile and butadiene.”

“I...have no idea what that means.”

“Gloves, Decker. It’s what they use to make surgical gloves. Well, specifically nitrile gloves. An alternative to latex.”

Chloe frowns. “Wait. How did you find sweat if the killer was wearing gloves?”

“Because the killer wasn’t wearing gloves when he stabbed Dr. Erickson. The glove traces were on his skin from previous contact. When he touched the knife with his bare hand, he left behind sweat and glove residue.”

Chloe purses her lips. “Our victim was a surgeon. He worked with people who regularly wear surgical gloves. So it’s possible his murderer was one of his colleagues.”

“Yep,” Ella says cheerfully.

Chloe turns around to face Lucifer. “Hey,” she calls. He looks up from the cutting board he was cleaning. “I need to go to UCLA Medical Center for the case. You want to come?”

Lucifer looks offended that she’d even ask. “Well of course I do. We’re partners, aren’t we?” He sets the cutting board down and smirks at her. “I’ll have to stop at home first though. It seems I only have two working buttons on my shirt thanks to your eagerness last night.”

Chloe is opening her mouth to point out that she’s not the only one who was eager, but before she can get the words out, Ella cackles in her ear.

“Ooh, get it, Decker. You ride that British cowboy.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Okay, I’m hanging up now.”

“Going to rip off the other two buttons?” Ella asks gleefully. 

“Goodbye, Ella.” 

Chloe hangs up the phone and looks at Lucifer. He’s grinning at her. 

“Shut up,” she tells him.

He leers at her. “That’s not what you said last night.”

He’s right, but Chloe doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. She heads for the stairs. “Keep talking and you won’t be allowed to join me in the shower.”

Lucifer’s grin turns devilish. “I’m sure I can find a way to keep my mouth otherwise occupied.”

As it turns out, Chloe was right: James Erickson was murdered by a colleague. 

It takes them a little more than twenty-fours to prove it. Chloe thinks it’s probably a record for them. Their solve rate is impressive, but she’s detail-oriented enough that she doesn’t rush if she doesn’t have to. She’s more interested in solving cases properly than solving them quickly. This case, though—this is the closest to open-and-shut she’s gotten in years. 

Things don’t look great for them at first. UCLA Medical Center has a lot of staff, and they’re all very protective of the hospital’s reputation. That means she gets a lot of Dr. Erickson was a great guy and an even better surgeon, we want to help however we can followed by Sorry, we can’t tell you that. 

Lucifer, of course, doesn’t put up with being stonewalled. Every time Chloe hits a brick wall, her partner steps in with a smile and a Tell me, what is it you desire? purr that turns everyone except her into a pile of babbling mush. 

By Monday morning, they’ve made a series of very interesting discoveries. First, they find out that their victim’s almost-fiancee, Kendra Harris, is the Director of Media Relations for the entire UCLA Health system. Next, they find out that James and Kendra were something of a power couple. Kendra is known as “the media whisperer” and James was a surgical prodigy. Between the two of them, they catapulted the hospital to the top of the national rankings and fundraised millions of dollars. Hell of a team, one of the hospital administrators tells Chloe.

But it’s the third discovery that’s the real kicker. Apparently Kendra wasn’t single when she first met James. Her ex-boyfriend, Dr. Christopher Cohen, is the second best neurosurgeon at UCLA. And the best? Well that would be the recently deceased James Erickson. 

Lucifer, naturally, finds a way to make the revelation all about himself. Or, rather, them. 

“Detective,” he says, wrapping his fingers around her elbow as they walk away from the nurse who just spilled the beans about the love triangle. “Do you know what this means?”

“That hospitals are more like Grey’s Anatomy than I thought?” she replies.

“No,” he scoffs. “Although, I once had a threesome with two orthopedic residents who were very—”

“Lucifer, I really don’t want to hear about your threesomes.”

“Right,” he says. “Apologies. What I was trying to say was that our dearly departed Dr. Erickson and his pretty media mogul girlfriend are just like us.”

Chloe frowns. “How?”

“Think about it. Ms. Harris is smart and beautiful and good at her job, but her life is missing something. She isn’t quite sure what, though deep down she knows that her mediocre surgeon boyfriend isn’t fulfilling her deepest desires. And then in walks the dashing Dr. Erickson.”

“Are you Dr. Erickson in this analogy?” Chloe asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, of course,” he says impatiently. “He sweeps her off her feet with his unparalleled skill and devastating charm, and she is immediately smitten. Love at first sight. Head over heels. You know, all the bloody cliches. She ditches her douchey ex, and she and James fall madly in love, which drives her pitiful ex to murder the man he views as responsible for his pathetic existence.”

Chloe stops walking and folds her arms. “So you’re saying Dr. Cohen is Dan.”

“Precisely,” Lucifer says with a grin. “Except unfortunately for Daniel, I’m bulletproof. Well, most of the time. Regardless, the analogy doesn’t exactly fit, but it’s very close.”

“Yeah, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t fall in love with you the first time I saw you. In fact, I thought you were—”

“Yes, yes, repulsive on a chemical level,” he says, waving her off. “I remember.” He smirks at her and sidles closer. “But there’s no need to pretend anymore, Detective. We’re together now. You can admit that you were drawn to me, even if you didn’t like it.”

Chloe stares up at him. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

His smirk deepens. “You might be immune to my mojo, darling, but I’ve spent centuries studying women. I know desire when I see it. You wanted me.”

“Riiight,” she says. She pats him on his chest. “You keep telling yourself that.”

She turns on her heel and walks away from him. She can hear him sputtering behind her, and she presses her lips together to stop a smile.

It doesn’t take him long to catch up to her again. He’s fast when he wants to be. 

“Detective.”

“Hm?”

“I think it’s been established that we always tell each other the truth.”

“Yeah.”

“So you should tell me the truth.”

“Pretty sure I just did.”

He makes a strangled huffing noise and she has to press her lips together again. 

“At least admit you found me interesting,” he says with a bit of a whine.

She lifts a shoulder. “Sure. I found you interesting.”

“In a sexy way?”

“In a what-the-hell-is-wrong-with-this-dude way.”

“Detective.”

He sounds genuinely horrified, and Chloe takes pity on him. She stops walking and turns to face him. 

“Lucifer, that was a long time ago. Like you said, we’re together now. So who cares what I thought back then?”

“Well I do. You’re saying you despised me.”

She tilts her head. “Despised seems a little strong.”

“What would you call it then?”

“Annoyed? Exasperated? And anyway, why are you so surprised? I could not have made it clearer that you annoyed the hell out of me back then. I was rude. I rolled my eyes so much I got headaches. I slapped you.”

He adjusts his suit the way he does when he’s offended. “Well I thought it was your version of foreplay.”

“I told you that hell would freeze over before I slept with you. How is that foreplay?”

“Well you slept with me eventually, didn’t you?”

Chloe’s phone rings. She glances at the caller ID, sees Ella’s name, and sends it to voicemail. She’ll call her back. 

“Why is this so important to you?” she asks Lucifer.

He lifts his chin. “It’s not.”

“You just said we tell each other the truth.”

He adjusts his suit again. “I was merely making a comparison.”

“Lucifer.”

“It’s not my fault if—”

“Lucifer.”

“Well you heard them all!” he practically explodes, gesturing in the direction they just came from. “The man with the terrible off-the-rack suit said they were a hell of a team. The custodian said they were adorable. The nurse said they were soulmates. They’re just like us, Detective, and I thought since we’re soulmates as well you might enjoy the comparison and say I was a good boyfriend for noticing.”

Chloe blinks at him, completely taken aback. She’s not sure what she’s more stunned by—Lucifer blurting out that he thinks they’re soulmates, or Lucifer wanting her to tell him that he’s a good boyfriend. 

Lucifer is frowning at her, frustration clear in his eyes. And then all the color drains from his face, like he suddenly realized what he just said, and he looks mortified.

“Nevermind,” he mutters, starting to brush past her. 

“Not so fast,” Chloe says, catching his arm. 

He stops. She looks up at him and waits until he meets her gaze to speak. It takes a few seconds, but eventually he does.

“You think we’re soulmates?” she asks softly. 

“Well obviously,” he huffs. And then he furrows his eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

“Well yeah,” she says, letting go of his arm. “I just...didn’t know you did.”

He looks bewildered. He opens his mouth, but Chloe’s phone rings again. She startles at the sound, and then glances down at the screen. 

“It’s Ella,” she says, looking up at Lucifer. “She only double calls when it’s important.”

Lucifer gestures for her to answer. “By all means.”

Chloe hesitates, but puts the phone to her ear. “What’s up, Ella?”

Ella doesn’t even greet her. “Thanks to a bone marrow drive the hospital did last year, I got you a match on the sweat DNA,” she says breathlessly. “I know who our killer is. Any guesses?”

“Dr. Christopher Cohen.”

“Daaaang, Decker. Look at you go. You don’t even need me.”

Chloe smiles. “We both know that’s not true. You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“All right. We’ll go pull him out of surgery and arrest him then. See you back at the precinct.”

She ends the call, and looks up at Lucifer. “Ella matched the sweat she found on the knife handle to Dr. Cohen.”

“Yes, I heard. Seems you’ll get to use your handcuffs for the only thing you ever use them for.”

She snorts, but doesn’t rise to the bait. Someday, maybe, she’ll handcuff him to his bed just to shut him up. But she won’t tell him that. It’ll be more fun to see the look of surprise on his face when she does it. 

Lucifer turns back toward the stairs they recently descended and slides his hands into his pockets. “Turned out to be a rather boring case, didn’t it?”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Chloe says. “We got to see the medical version of us. Murder aside, that is.”

Lucifer looks up at her in surprise. Chloe smiles but doesn’t look at him. 

He grins. “Indeed.”

Chloe’s interrogated a lot of assholes during her career. 

Dr. Christopher Cohen might be the worst.

He’s arrogant. He’s snide. He’s got a lie and an excuse ready for every question she throws at him. He’s even got an explanation for how his sweat showed up on the knife.

“Jamie invited me over to ask for my blessing,” he says. “He knew he stole Kendra from me, and he wanted to make amends before he asked her to marry him. I told him it was all water under the bridge. I even helped him chop some vegetables for a salad. He was alive when I left.”

It’s an utterly ridiculous lie. But Chloe knows the justice system well enough to know that he’s planting a seed that a skilled defense attorney can exploit. If they don’t get the right prosecutor, or if even one person on the jury finds Cohen’s story somewhat believable, they’re screwed. 

She glances at Lucifer, who is sitting next to her with his legs crossed and a disgusted look on his face. He meets her gaze, and then uncrosses his legs and leans forward. 

“Tell me, Christopher,” he says, folding his hands on the table. “What—”

“It’s Dr. Cohen.”

Lucifer smiles. “Tell me, Christopher,” he repeats pointedly. “What is it you truly desire?”

Cohen sneers, but Lucifer’s staring him down. Chloe waits, glancing between them, and then the doctor’s face goes slack. “Kendra,” he murmurs. “I want her back.”

“Of course you do,” Lucifer purrs. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

“He didn’t deserve her,” Cohen says, leaning toward Lucifer like he’s being drawn forward by magnets. “He wasn’t good enough for her. I was.”

“And if you couldn’t have her, no one could, hm?”

“She was mine,” Cohen hisses. “She was mine, and he took her, so I made sure he paid for it. I—” He stops talking abruptly, and then his eyes widen. “Wait. Did I just say that out loud?”

“Sure did,” Chloe says, shutting the folder in front of her. “Sounded like a confession to me. What do you think, Lucifer?”

But Lucifer doesn’t answer. He gets to his feet, plants his palms on the stainless steel table, and bends toward the doctor. 

“She is her own person,” he snarls, his voice quivering with rage. “She made her choice, and you didn’t honor it.”

“She’s a whore,” Cohen spits.

Lucifer’s eyes flare red, and before Chloe can stop him, he shoots his hand out and wraps his fingers around Cohen’s throat. “You maggot.”

“Lucifer,” Chloe says, jumping to her feet. 

Lucifer ignores her. “She didn’t belong to you,” he growls, hauling Cohen up into the air so that his feet are dangling helplessly. His chair clatters backward onto the floor behind him. “That’s not how it works. She wasn’t yours to claim.”

Cohen’s fingers claw at Lucifer’s hand, and he makes a horrible choking sound.

“Lucifer, stop!” Chloe says, grabbing his arm. “Put him down.”

“As you wish, Detective,” Lucifer says coolly. He opens his hand, and Cohen drops to the floor and ends up in a heap of tangled arms and legs. 

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks Cohen, who is coughing and gasping for air.

“I’m going to sue the shit out of you,” Cohen rasps. He glares at her. “I’ll have your badge.”

Lucifer bends forward. “Oh will you?”

Cohen screams and then scrambles backward. “Get away from me!” he shouts, cowering against the far wall. “Don’t hurt me!”

“So you won’t have the Detective’s badge then,” Lucifer says, straightening.

“No!” Cohen wails. “No, I swear! I won’t do anything! Just don’t hurt me! I did it! I killed him! Take me to jail and get him away from me! Please!”

Lucifer straightens his jacket and turns toward Chloe. “Confession indeed,” he says. 

And then he disappears from the room. 

Chloe finds Lucifer at her desk. 

He’s sitting in her chair, spinning aimlessly as he plays a game on his phone. He hasn’t bothered to turn the sound off. It’s loud, but the cops around her desk don’t seem annoyed. She’s guessing they’re used to his shenanigans by now.

“Hey,” she says, stopping next to her desk.

“Detective,” he greets without looking up. 

She waits, but he doesn’t look at her. 

“We need to talk,” she says when it becomes obvious he’s not going to put his phone down and look at her without being told to.  

“About what?” he asks, his finger flicking over the screen of his phone. “The game I’m currently engaged in? It’s called Among Us. All the rage with the sticky-fingered youth of today, or so your offspring says. I’m playing with her right now.”

“I didn’t mean...wait, you’re playing a game with Trixie right now?”

“Indeed.”

Chloe frowns. “But she’s in school.”

“Well apparently her classes leave something to be desired because at the moment she’s otherwise occupied. She’s rather ruthless, by the way. I’m impressed. Maze must have rubbed off on her during your brief period of cohabitation.”

Chloe snatches the phone out of his hand. “She’s in school, Lucifer.”

Lucifer looks offended. “Well take that up with the child, not me.”

“What I’d like to take up with you is what you just did in there,” Chloe says, gesturing at the interrogation room. “You can’t just manhandle murder suspects.”

“Can’t I?”

“No. You can’t.”

“He won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point then? Is there one? Or can I return to my game?”

Chloe frowns at him. “What is wrong with you? Why are you…” 

And then it hits her. What Cohen said just before Lucifer lost his temper, and what Lucifer said to him in response. 

“Well go on then,” Lucifer says, gesturing at her. “Read me the riot act, Detective. It’s clear that’s what you’d like to do. And I deserve it, obviously.”

Chloe sighs. She sets his phone down, and then sits on the edge of her desk, facing him. 

“You’re not him, Lucifer.”

Lucifer shifts in her chair. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do.”

He blinks at her, and then drops his gaze down to his hands and starts to turn his ring absently around his finger. Chloe watches him for a moment, trying to ignore the urge to lean forward and wrap her arms around him. She’d like to keep at least some semblance of professionalism around their work interactions. When other people are around to see them, anyway. 

She bumps his knee with hers. “Hey.”

He looks up at her.

She smiles. “I know my partner. And that guy in there? You’re nothing like him.”

Lucifer gazes at her for a moment, and then he gives her that half smile she loves. “If you insist.”

“I do.”

His smile deepens. “Very well.”

They stare at each other. Probably too long, given that she’s trying to maintain some professionalism. But just as Lucifer leans forward—most likely to say something inappropriate, if the glint in his eye is any indication—the lieutenant appears and drops a file on Chloe’s desk with a smack.

“Got another one for you, Decker.”

Chloe snaps to attention. “Another murder?”

Lieutenant Keller smirks. “Unless you joined Vice and didn’t tell me.”

“We’ve only just put the last assignment to bed,” Lucifer says, a whine creeping into his voice. “The Detective hasn’t even started the paperwork yet.”

“Sorry, Mr. Morningstar,” the lieutenant says. She’s wearing the same fond smile she always wears whenever she talks to Lucifer. “Murderers don’t care about paperwork.”

“Well they would if they had to do it,” Lucifer grumbles. 

“You don’t do it,” Chloe points out.

Lucifer straightens in her chair. “Well that doesn’t stop me from empathizing with you, Detective.”

“Very kind of you.”

“I thought so.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. 

“Uh, Detective Decker?” an unfamiliar voice says. “There’s someone here for you.”

Chloe turns around. “Who—”

She stops abruptly when she sees who’s standing next to the uniformed officer behind her. 

Lucifer wheels her chair out from behind her desk. “Who is it? You have my word that I didn’t send another strip—” He stops abruptly too. 

For a moment that seems to last forever, neither of them say a word. And then Lucifer gets slowly out of the chair, steps up next to Chloe, and says, “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

John smiles. “Hello son.”

Lucifer makes a strangled noise in reply. 

“Who’s this?” Lieutenant Keller asks. 

“Um,” Chloe starts. 

“No one,” Lucifer snaps. 

“I’m Lucifer’s father,” John says, extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Keller frowns for a split second, glances at Lucifer, and then reaches out and shakes John’s offered hand. “Lieutenant Keller,” she says. And then Chloe watches as her boss’s pupils dilate, and her smile deepens, and her whole body seems to relax. “But you can call me Amanda.”

Chloe glances between them. She thinks she knows what’s happening. Keller is feeling the same warmth Chloe felt when she shook John’s hand at family dinner. Except apparently, given the adoring smile on Keller’s face, she’s feeling a little warmer than Chloe did. 

A lot warmer. 

“Does your dad have mojo?” she whispers to Lucifer. 

Lucifer curls his lip. “He has glory.”

Chloe frowns up at him. “Glory?”

“Glory,” Lucifer repeats darkly.

“As I said, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” John is saying to Keller. “And thank you so much for all you do to uphold justice and peace.”

Keller grins. “Well someone has to do it. Might as well be me. And believe me, the pleasure is all mine. It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Morningstar.”

Lucifer goes rigid. 

“It’s Smith,” Chloe blurts out, hoping to avoid an outburst. “They uh...they have different last names.”

“Oh, my apologies then, Mr. Smith,” Keller says. She’s still grinning broadly and she’s still holding John’s hand. “Are you from out of town?”

“Yes. I live quite far from here.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I’m not sure yet,” John says, finally releasing Keller’s hand. “There are some factors outside my control that will determine when I return home.”

Lucifer snorts derisively. John flicks his gaze in Lucifer’s direction, but the lieutenant doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, she seems oblivious to everything and everyone except John. Chloe can’t believe it. Keller isn’t the toughest boss she’s ever had, but she’s up there. She doesn't mess around. And she sure as hell doesn’t fawn all over men she’s just met. Yet here she is, gazing at John like he’s the greatest thing she’s ever seen, and Chloe has a bad feeling about this. 

“Does the glory thing not turn off?” she mutters to Lucifer.

Lucifer clenches his jaw. “Only when he wants it to.”

“It’s so nice of you to come all this way to visit,” Keller says to John, almost on a sigh. 

“It’s been a while since I had the privilege of spending time with my son,” John replies. He folds his hands behind his back and studies his surroundings. “I was eager to see where he spends so much of his time.”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like,” Keller says. “If there’s anything I can do to make your visit enjoyable, please let me know.”

John smiles. “I’m so glad you asked. There is one thing.”

Warning bells start to blare in the back of Chloe’s mind. “Um, Lieutenant? Can you give me some details on that case you just assigned to me?”

“In a minute, Decker,” Keller says, waving her off. “What can I do for you, Mr. Smith?”

“I was hoping you’d permit me to spend some time with my son and his partner. I’d be interested to see firsthand what it is they do every day and how they work together.”

“No,” Lucifer breathes in horror.

“You mean like a ride along?” Keller says.

“Ma’am,” Chloe says, stepping forward. “I’m already responsible for one civilian consultant. I don’t think—”

“Not now, Decker,” Keller says, waving her off again. 

Lucifer makes another noise that sounds like a horrified squeak. 

“I’m not sure what a ride along is,” John admits.

“It’s like shadowing,” Keller explains. “You’d go with Detective Decker and Mr. Morningstar to their next crime scene and shadow them throughout the duration of the case. In fact, I—”

“Absolutely not,” Lucifer cuts her off, stepping forward. “You heard the Detective. She’s already responsible for me. She can’t possibly be expected to manage a second civilian.”

Keller lifts her eyebrows. “Well if you’re worried Detective Decker isn’t capable—”

“How dare you,” Lucifer cuts her off. “She is the most capable detective in this precinct. Likely the entire force, given what I’ve seen. I’m merely pointing out that it’s...well, it’s against protocol.”

He glances at Chloe for help, but she just winces at him and lifts a shoulder. As far as she knows, it’s not against the rules if her supervisor approves it. 

Keller smirks. “I had no idea you were such a stickler for the rules, Mr. Morningstar.”

Lucifer sputters. “How dare you,” he says for the second time in as many minutes. 

“Lieutenant,” Chloe says. “Are you sure that—”

“You’re not questioning my decision making, are you, Decker?”

Chloe swallows. “No ma’am. Not at all.”

“Wonderful,” Keller says brightly. “You two can take Mr. Smith to the crime scene of the case I just assigned you.”

Chloe and Lucifer share a look.

Keller smiles at John. “Welcome to the LAPD, Mr. Smith.”