4. Four

Chloe takes an Uber to the crime scene.

“Whoa,” her driver says when they get close to the scene and he spots flashing blue and red lights. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“You can stop here,” Chloe tells him. 

He doesn’t seem to hear her. “Dude, this is a murder scene,” he breathes in wonder. “That’s the coroner! Look at the van! Do you think there’s a dead body in there?”

“Please stop the car.”

He turns in his seat to look at her. He still hasn’t stopped, though he’s at least slowed down enough that he’s inching forward and probably won’t hit anything. Probably. 

“Why did you have me bring you to a murder scene?” he asks. And then his eyes widen. “Oh my god, are you one of those nightcrawler people?”

Chloe rips her badge off her belt and shoves it in his face. “LAPD. Stop the damn car and let me out.”

The car slams to a stop, and Chloe has to put her arm up to keep herself from smashing into the back of the passenger seat. The driver puts his hands in the air. “I’m stopped. Please don’t shoot me.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and gets out of the car. She’s only taken a few steps when the driver calls out after her, “Hey police lady?”

She turns around.

He grins at her. “I can wait here for you if you want. I’ll take you wherever you have to go next. To notify next of kin, right? Or maybe to the crime lab? I watch all the shows so I know stuff.”

“No,” Chloe says flatly.

“No you’re not going to the crime lab?” he says in confusion.

Chloe strides toward him and bends forward so that she’s eye level. “No, I don’t want you to wait. If I find you out here when I come back out, I’ll arrest you. Okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. Okay. Got it.”

Chloe turns on her heel and strides away from him and toward the townhouse with the same address Dispatch sent her. 

“Who peed in your coffee, Decker?” one of the uniformed officers standing by the yellow tape asks her. “You need a hug?”

“Shut up, Nixon,” she says. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.”

She can feel his eyes on her ass as she walks. She knows he wouldn’t look at her like that if Lucifer were here. And somehow, that makes her angrier. 

By the time she gets inside the townhouse, she’s ready to punch someone. She knows better than to enter a scene in this kind of mood. It’ll color her observations and impact her assessments, and whatever victim she’s about to meet doesn’t deserve that. They deserve her best. That’s what she wanted from the cops at her dad’s murder scene, and it’s the least she can do for this victim. 

She stops just inside the door and takes a deep breath as she stares down at her boots. Nothing but this matters now, she tells herself. Do your job and worry about everything else later. She exhales slowly, and then looks up to take in her surroundings. 

It’s a really nice place. High ceilings, freshly painted walls, floors that are obviously brand new. Some kind of luxury laminate if she had to guess. The front door opens into a large living room that holds a leather sectional facing a massive TV and sound system. The walls are covered in expensive art and framed black and white photos. Beyond the living space is an eating area with a table that seats six, but there are only two plates and two wine glasses set out. No food. Glasses are still empty.  

There’s a kitchen in the distance. Judging by the flashing camera lights, that’s where she’s going to find the body. She heads in that direction but pauses at the island. There’s an unopened bottle of expensive wine sitting next to a beautiful bouquet of flowers. The flowers make her think of Lucifer.

She wishes he was here.

She grits her teeth and pushes him from her mind. S he glances around the kitchen and spots a few pots and pans on the stove next to an opened box of pasta. Vegetables for a salad are spread across the island. She makes her way around the edge of the island and finally finds the dead body sprawled on the floor in front of the sink. Ella is crouched next to the victim, snapping pictures. 

“Ella?” Chloe says in surprise.

Ella whips her head up. “Decker?” She gets to her feet. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you get kidnapped, like, yesterday?”

“Me?” Chloe says. “What are you doing here? Your boyfriend—” 

Ella winces, and Chloe stops talking abruptly. An awkward silence expands between them.

“Sorry,” Chloe says when she finds her voice.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ella says, waving her hand. “It’s totally fine. So my boyfriend was a creepy serial killer who had a secret room full of murder flowers and only asked me out because he wanted me to be his next victim. So what? Happens to the best of us, right?”

Chloe tilts her head. “Um?”

“It’s fine,” Ella says cheerfully. “Everything is fine. All good in the hood. Let’s talk about you.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Lucifer been giving you the old Florence Nightingale treatment? Helping you heal up real good?”

Chloe ignores the pang in her chest at the mention of her boyfriend. “Not really.”

Ella frowns. “Really? I would’ve thought...I mean, he was distraught, Decker. Like, level ten, DEFCON 1 distraught. I kept waiting for him to lose it and Hulk smash his car. Or cry. I kind of thought he might cry. I didn’t even know he could cry.”

The pang in Chloe’s chest returns with a vengeance.

Ella is oblivious. She cranes her neck as she looks around the crime scene. “Wait, where is he? You guys didn’t come together?”

“He’s not coming,” Chloe says, still trying to breathe around the pang. “He’s got a family thing.”

“Oh. Like with Amenadiel?”

“Yeah, he’s there too.”

Ella looks confused. “I didn’t think they had family in L.A.”

“They don’t. They’re just…in town visiting.”

“Nice! From where?”

Chloe has no idea how to answer that so she doesn’t. “It’s complicated. Ella, listen, are you sure you’re okay? I mean what you went through—”

“Nope,” Ella interrupts. “No talking about feelings unless they’re yours. This,” she sweeps her arms around her body in a big circle, “is a no feelings zone. I have no feelings. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada.”

“You have feelings, Ella,” Chloe insists gently. “And that’s okay. It’s good, even. And you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to be.”

“I do.”

“Ella—”

“I have to be here, Chloe,” Ella cuts her off. There’s an edge of desperation in her voice. “I need to be here. I need to do my job and make sure that guys like…” She trails off and swallows. Her eyes are glassy. “I need to make sure the bad guys aren’t on the street.” 

A wave of sympathy crashes over Chloe. “Okay,” she says with a nod. “Look, if anyone understands using work as an escape, it’s me. Just...don’t escape too long, okay? It’s better to deal with stuff than to let it fester. And when you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here. Anytime.”

Ella looks like she’s about to burst into tears. She sucks in a breath and nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

Chloe smiles. “Sure. Now what’ve we got?”

Ella looks visibly relieved at the change in topic. “Dead guy, meet Decker,” she says, gesturing at the corpse on the floor. “Decker, meet Dead Guy.”

Chloe studies the body and pretends she doesn’t notice Ella using her sleeve to wipe her eyes. “I’m guessing the cause of death is stabbing?”

“What tipped you off?” Ella asks with a snort. “The giant knife sticking out of his back?”

“Just call me Sherlock,” Chloe quips. “Dead Guy got a name?”

“James Erickson. 36. Neurosurgeon at UCLA Medical Center.”

“Explains the fancy digs,” Chloe says. She crouches next to the body. “No defensive wounds?”

“Nope. I’m guessing he was standing over the sink, trying to fill a pot with water for the pasta that’s sitting over there when someone stabbed him in the back. Knife is from the knife block.” 

Chloe glances up at the counter, and sure enough, there’s a knife missing from the block. “Crime of passion then.”

“Faucet was still on when he was found,” Ella continues. “So that’s why I’m thinking he was using it. Would’ve been nice if the killer could’ve turned it off. Don’t they know we’re in a drought?”

“Apparently not.” Chloe gets to her feet. “Who found him?”

“Kendra Harris. Girlfriend.” Ella nods over Chloe’s shoulder. “She’s over there.”

Chloe glances over her shoulder and sees a beautiful blonde woman standing at the foot of the stairs next to a uniformed officer. Her face is streaked with tears. 

“Anything I should know before I talk to her?”

“Nope,” Ella says.

“Okay. Holler at me if you notice anything else I should see.”

“Will do.”

Chloe heads toward Kendra, dodging crime scene techs on the way. 

“Ms. Harris?” she says when she stops in front of the woman. “I’m Detective Decker. I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s all right.”

Kendra sniffs. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Kendra swipes at her cheeks. Her mascara must be some kind of supercharged waterproof edition, because it isn’t coming off despite all her tears. 

“Jamie and I had plans,” she says in a wavering voice. “He asked me to meet him here at eight. He’d just gotten off a double shift at the hospital, and I told him we could reschedule, but he was dead set on me coming over.”

She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I was late. I stopped at the liquor store on the corner to pick up his favorite whiskey because I knew he’d…” A sob escapes. She sucks in a breath and forges on. “He’d had a rough few days. He lost a patient. He always took it hard when he lost patients.”

“He was a surgeon?” Chloe asks.

Kendra nods. “Yeah. He was...he was really good. Kind of a prodigy, but he didn’t like to be called that. It embarrassed him. He just wanted to help people.”

Kendra sobs again. Chloe’s chest feels tight. She’s never gotten used to this. The dead bodies, maybe, and the cruelty that people harbor inside, but the grief...she’s never gotten used to that. It reminds her of being nineteen and finding out that she’d never see her dad again.

“I got here at, like, fifteen after,” Kendra continues when she’s gotten ahold of herself. “And he was...I found him like that. Just...laying there.”

“He was dead when you found him?”

Fresh tears spill from Kendra’s cheeks. “Yeah. He wasn’t uh...he wasn’t breathing.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

“Did you notice anything out of place? Anything suspicious?”

“The um...the faucet was still on? And the back door was open. But I didn’t see anyone back there. I called 911. And then I just...I just waited until the cops got here.”

Chloe reaches out and presses her hand against Kendra’s arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Harris.”

Kendra nods. The tears are coming fast and hard now.

“Is there anyone we can call for you? Anyone who can come get you?”

“My sister is on the way.”

“Good.” Chloe pulls a business card from her pocket. “I’m the detective in charge of this case. Here’s my card. If you need anything, or if you think of anything—anything at all, even if you think it’s small—give me a call. But I’ll be in touch either way.”

Kendra takes the card. “Thank you.”

“Decker,” Ella calls.

Chloe smiles at Kendra. “Excuse me.”

Kendra nods and then buries her face in her hands as her body shudders with another sob. Chloe feels another stab of empathy and grief, but she steels herself against it and heads back into the kitchen.

“What’s up?” she asks.

Ella looks pained. She holds out her hand. “This fell out of his pocket when the coroner’s guys tried to move him.”

Chloe frowns. She snags a glove from Ella’s kit sitting nearby, pulls it on, and holds out her hand. Ella sets a small velvet box in her palm.

Chloe’s heart drops. “No.”

“Yeah,” Ella sighs.

Chloe opens the box gently. Inside is a gorgeous engagement ring. She glances over her shoulder at Kendra, who is still crying, and then back at the ring. 

“Sometimes the world really sucks, you know?” Ella says softly.

“Yeah,” Chloe says around a sudden lump in her throat. “It sure does.”

Chloe has always found comfort in patterns.

Thunk. 

They’re easy to understand. First there’s one thing, and then another, and then it goes back to the first thing. It’s simple.

Thunk thunk.

They’re easy to predict, too. There are no surprises. No sudden shifts in the wind, no unexpected developments. Nothing that can pop up out of nowhere and sucker punch her right in the gut.

Thunk.

Life isn’t full of patterns, though. It’s messy. It’s unpredictable. And sometimes, it hurts like fucking hell. 

Thunk thunk.

Dull pain shoots through her hand. She grits her teeth, flicks a few fallen strands of hair out of her eyes, and then refocuses on the punching bag. Better the punching bag and the pleasantly familiar ache in her knuckles than the sharp pain in her chest that’s making it hard to breathe. She doesn’t know if it’s the mental image of Kendra Harris crying, or the discovery of the engagement ring, or everything that happened before with Lucifer and his family. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except this punching bag and the pattern of her fists.  

Thunk. 

Thunk thunk.  

“Decker?”

Chloe jumps at the sound of her name. She turns, heart racing and fists still up in a boxer’s stance, to find Jimmy Karpowski from Vice standing a few feet away with a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

He must realize that he startled her, because he offers her a disarming smile. “Sorry,” he says, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Chloe blinks at him for a second, taken aback. It’s past eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. The bullpen is practically deserted except for the night shift. She didn’t expect anyone to be working out this late. That’s why she came up here. 

Karpowski tilts his head at her. “You okay?”

Chloe forces a smile to smooth over her lips and lowers her hands. “Yeah. Just working out some frustration.”

“Rough case?” he asks sympathetically.

“Yeah. The roughest.”

“Want a fresh pair of eyes?”

This time, Chloe’s smile is genuine. Karpowski is a good man and a good cop, and she’s good enough at reading people to know that his offer is genuine. She likes that. She likes the simplicity of it. No hidden agendas, no manipulations, no master plan she’s a pawn in. Just a regular mortal man offering to help a colleague with a tough case because she seems like she needs it. It’s kind of him, and she’s always appreciated kindness. 

A sudden, unexpected wave of grief washes over her. Her life used to be filled with moments like this. Normal stuff. Normal people. There was plenty of dysfunction, of course, because she’s not perfect and neither are the people she loves. She’s had her fair share of pain, and she’s met plenty of people with ulterior motives. She’s been played before. 

But it’s different to be the plaything of gods and angels. It’s…

She doesn’t have the words to describe it. That’s why she’s here. It’s why, when Ella left for the night, Chloe lied and said she was leaving too and then came up here. It’s why her phone is locked in a locker where she can’t hear it ring, because she doesn’t want to know if Lucifer calls her. She just...she can’t deal with all the celestial bullshit right now. The human shit is more than enough to make her feel hollowed out. 

“Decker?” Karpowski says with a frown.

Chloe snaps to attention. “No,” she blurts out. She pushes away the memory of Lucifer looking heartbroken in front of Linda’s house and smiles at Karpowski. “I appreciate the offer, Karpowski, but I’m sure you’ve got cases of your own.”

Karpowski smiles. “Well, the offer stands if you change your mind. Sometimes it helps to have someone outside your circle look at things. And I haven’t forgotten the favor you did for us a few years back. Well, more like favors, plural.”

A memory of a very tight red dress and a very handsy politician surfaces in her mind. She wonders what Lucifer would think if he found out she went undercover as a hooker a few times for Vice. 

“You don’t owe me for that,” she tells Karpowski with a smile. “I was happy to help.” 

“Agree to disagree,” he says. He winks at her. “Night, Decker.”

“Night.”

She watches him go. It isn’t until the door shuts behind him that Chloe realizes she should have asked him why he was here so late, and if he had a case that he needed help with. It was selfish of her to only think of herself and her problems. 

Oh please, Detective, Lucifer’s voice purrs in her mind. You’re selfless to a nauseating degree.  

“Shut up, Lucifer,” she mutters under her breath. 

And then she starts punching again. 

She gets into a steady rhythm, and her thoughts turn to white noise. She’s got training gloves on—the fingerless kind because she didn’t have the patience to get in and out of boxing gloves on her own—but her knuckles are starting to ache. She keeps punching anyway.

Until Lucifer materializes behind the bag and her heart shoots straight out of her chest. 

“Shit,” she gasps, stumbling backward with her hand over her heart. “What the hell, Lucifer.”

 He looks amused, and then quickly repentant. “My apologies, Detective. I had no intention of frightening you.”

Chloe glances behind her at the entrance to the gym, and then back to Lucifer. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I was sitting at your desk,” he replies, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Detective Karpowski saw me, and I must have looked rather forlorn without you, because he told me where I could find you.”

Chloe frowns. “You were at my desk?”

“Well you weren’t at home so I came here,” he says. “The desk sergeant saw you come in but you never left. Your keys were in your desk drawer and there was half a cup of still-warm coffee on your desk. I knew you were in the precinct somewhere, I just wasn’t sure where. So I thought it best to stay in one place and wait for your inevitable appearance.”

“Oh,” Chloe says. 

Lucifer glances around the room with his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “What on earth is this place?”

“The gym.”

“Of course,” he says, crinkling his nose slightly. “I should have guessed from the smell of dirty socks and human sadness.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and steps toward the punching bag. “If you don’t like it, you can go.”

“But you’re here.”

He says it as if that’s reason enough for him to be anywhere, let alone a place he doesn’t want to be, and that makes her pause, but only for a moment. She presses her lips together and then starts punching the bag again.

Lucifer watches her for a minute or two, his head tilted like a puppy who’s hearing a noise for the first time. A few years ago it might have annoyed her to be studied so closely, but she’s used to it now. And honestly, even if she isn’t ready to talk about the celestial tug of war his family had over her at dinner, she’s glad he’s here. She likes when he’s close.

“What, exactly, are you doing?” he asks eventually.

She casts a brief glance at him and then turns her attention back to the punching bag. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Taking out your frustrations on this poor bag.” 

She doesn’t contradict him.

“I didn’t realize you were into boxing,” he says, apparently unwilling to let silence linger too long.

“I’m a cop, Lucifer. I have to know how to hit stuff.”

“Yes, of course. I just...didn’t realize you enjoyed hitting things in your spare time.”

“Just because you’ve never seen me do something doesn’t mean I don’t do it.”

He grins. “And what else do you do when I’m not watching, Detective?”

Chloe grits her teeth and gives the bag a one-two punch with a little extra oomph instead of answering. Lucifer hums quietly under his breath. Chloe glances at him, and then double takes. He’s looking at her like he does when he’s thinking about her naked.

“Seriously?” she says, dropping her hands. “There is nothing sexy about this. I’m drenched in sweat.”

Lucifer’s grin widens. “I must admit, I’m rather mystified myself. I’ve had hundreds of fantasies about you. This wasn’t one of them.” His eyes flicker over her. “And yet…”

Heat flares in Chloe’s gut. It annoys her. She exhales hard through her nose and lifts her fists again. “Go away, Lucifer.”

He smirks. “Is that really what you desire?”

“Yes.”

The word is out of her mouth before she can stop it, and it sounds far harsher than she intended. 

She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t want him to go. She never wants him to go. But she just said she did, and the word hits the atmosphere between them like a sledgehammer. 

Hurt shivers across Lucifer’s face. “Very well,” he says quietly. He turns on his heel and heads for the door.

For a second, Chloe is frozen as her brain tries to catch up with her mouth. And then it finally sinks in, and she bolts after him. 

She catches him just as he’s swinging the door open. She flattens her hand against it and shoves it closed again, and it slams shut with a bang that echoes through the gym. 

Lucifer lifts his eyebrows and looks down at her. She wonders if this is how he looks at his demons when they displease him. 

“Don’t go,” she says, tilting her head back to look up at him. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I believe they call this mixed messages, Detective.”

Guilt wraps around her throat and squeezes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I…” She sighs and drops her hand from the door. “I’m sorry, Lucifer. I’m sorry I left you alone with your family. I’m sorry I was a jerk just now. And I’m sorry that I...I’m sorry I’m not handling the celestial craziness as well as you probably wish I was.”

His gaze softens. “I’m told it’s a lot to handle.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I should treat you like a punching bag.”

“Well, you didn’t punch me,” he points out with a smile. “Although I’m certain you’ve considered it at some point during our partnership.”

“More than once, if I’m being honest.”

He laughs, and it makes her smile. 

“I appreciate your candor,” he says, his eyes sparkling. 

She shrugs. “Well we don’t lie to each other, right?”

“That is correct.” 

They stare at each other for a while after that. A few months ago, a moment like this would have made her wonder what he was thinking, and if he was feeling the same heat and tension as her. Now she knows he is. Or at least she thinks he is. Maybe her temper tantrum at family dinner has him reconsidering things. Maybe he’s realized she’s just not cut out to be part of his world. 

The thought makes her heart hurt.

Lucifer turns more fully toward her. “If you’ve finished punishing that poor bag, there are a few things I should like to discuss,” he says quietly. “I believe I owe you an apology, and I’d rather not make it surrounded by the scent of decade-old body odor. If noses could weep, mine would be crying like Daniel when someone absconds with his pudding.”

Chloe snorts. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Lucifer smiles but doesn’t disagree. He reaches out to brush a loose strand of hair back from her face. “If you’ve still got some frustrations to vent, though, I’m happy to wait. Benefits of being immortal. Nothing but time. Especially for you, my dear Detective.” 

My dear Detective. Chloe’s heart shoots up into her throat. 

“No, I’m good,” she says. “Just let me shower, okay? Since you’re so offended by body odor.”

“You don’t have an odor,” Lucifer says, shaking his head. He leans toward her. “In fact, I rather like it when you sweat. Though I’d much prefer to be the cause.”

“You never turn it off, do you?”

His eyes drop to her mouth. “Not when it comes to you, darling. I’d have thought that was rather obvious by now.”

Chloe presses her gloved hand into his chest to keep him at arm’s length. He’s getting dangerously close to her. It’s much harder to resist him now that they’ve crossed the line, but she needs to. As much as she’d like to climb him like a tree right now, she can’t. There are cameras in this gym, and if she leads him into the locker room where there aren’t cameras, it’s going to be obvious what they’re doing. People talk, especially cops, and she’d rather not give her colleagues more reasons to talk about her than they already have.

“I’ll meet you down at my desk in twenty minutes,” she says. “Dan has Trixie for the night so we can go to my place. If you want.” 

He grins at her. “It’s a date.”

Chloe is unlocking her front door when Lucifer steps into her space. 

She can feel his chest pressing against her shoulder blades, and then he buries his face in her hair and inhales. She pauses, her key still in the lock, and smiles.

“What are you doing?”

“You smell lovely,” he murmurs. “Like flowers.”

“It’s shampoo.”

“It’s delightful. What is it?”

Her smile widens into a grin. “The cheap stuff that’s always on sale.” She turns the key and shoves open her front door. “Not all of us can afford to spend hundreds of dollars on shampoo every month.”

“I’d be happy to cover your shampoo purchases,” Lucifer offers, following her inside and closing the door behind him. “And any other expenses you might need covered.”

“Um, no. I’m good.”

She hangs her purse on the hooks by the door, kicks off her shoes, and then tosses her keys on the counter as she wanders into the kitchen. 

“I think I have wine,” she says, walking around the peninsula. “Although I’m sure it’s not the expensive stuff you’d prefer. And no, I don’t need you to buy me wine either.”

She roots around in the upper cupboard where she keeps her alcohol out of Trixie’s reach, and pulls down a bottle of her favorite red. Lucifer hasn’t answered her, so she turns around with the bottle in hand. He’s staring at her with a funny look on his face. 

“What?” she asks.

“It bothers you that I’m wealthy,” he says slowly as if he’s just had a startling revelation.

She frowns. “What? No it doesn’t.”

“You won’t let me buy you things.”

“That doesn’t mean I hate that you’re rich,” she says, setting the wine bottle down on the island with a dull thunk. “It just means I prefer to buy my own stuff.”

“But why?” he presses. “I have plenty of money. More than I could ever spend. And despite the considerable amount of risk you endure for the sake of your job, the city pays you peanuts.”

“How do you know? Did you go through my laptop again?”

He ignores her. “You have a tiny mouth to feed in addition to your own, and I’ve seen how much she eats. Honestly, I’ve no idea where it all goes. Your spawn is a bottomless pit. And she grows like a weed, so I’m certain you’re forced to purchase new clothes and shoes almost constantly.”

“A weed that’s a bottomless pit,” Chloe repeats dryly as she crosses the kitchen and then reaches up to a shelf for glasses. “That’s a new one. I think I prefer urchin.”

Lucifer forges on without acknowledging her. “Maze no longer shares expenses with you. You’re the sole breadwinner of this household, Detective. Does Daniel pay child support, at least, or is he as douchey about that as he is everything else?”

Chloe sighs as she sets two wine glasses on the counter. “Are we really having this conversation right now?”

“Detective,” Lucifer starts, concern clear on his face. “If you need financial assistance—”

“I don’t.”

He rounds the peninsula and closes the distance between them with a purposeful stride. “I know you’re very proud and so you might not request assistance if—”

“First of all,” Chloe cuts him off, “you calling me proud is the most pot-meet-kettle thing I have ever heard. Second of all, I don’t need your money, okay? Trixie and I are fine. I don’t need a sugar daddy.”

Lucifer looks unconvinced. At first, Chloe is exasperated. But there’s something in his expression that makes her swallow the sarcasm sitting on the tip of her tongue. She studies him for a moment, trying to figure out what it is, and then she realizes. 

He’s worried about her. 

It’s cute, but also dangerous. When Lucifer is worried, he tends to go from 0 to 100 in seconds. He does crazy things that he thinks will fix everything, consequences be damned, and the consequences are always absurd. She has visions of him gifting her with a beachfront palace in Malibu, or buying her entire complex and refusing to let her pay rent, and she turns to face him with her hands on her hips.

“You’re not going to let this go unless I tell you, are you?” 

He frowns. “Tell me what?”

She sighs. “Look, my mom was never A-list, okay? She didn’t get paid tens of millions for her films. But she did pretty well, especially when you add in conventions and residuals and all that. She’s not great with money, but my dad was. And when I was born, they created a trust for me.”

Lucifer blinks at her. “You have a trust fund?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t really use it. I mostly treat it like Trixie’s college fund. But I dip into it when I need to.” 

“How much is in there?”

“Enough. Let’s leave it at that.” She brandishes her index finger in his face. “And don’t you dare tell anyone. It’s bad enough I’ve got Hot Tub High School following me everywhere. I don’t need to hear snide remarks about my trust fund too.”

Lucifer nods. “Right. Of course. I won’t tell a soul, you have my word.”

“Good. Now hand me the corkscrew,” she says, nodding over his shoulder.

Lucifer turns away from her obediently, reaches into the correct drawer without any direction from her, and then hands her the corkscrew. 

She opens the wine bottle and pours two glasses. Lucifer gazes at her while she does. She lets him watch her until the air becomes almost suffocating with his unspoken question.

“What?” she finally asks with a sigh, meeting his gaze.

He doesn’t beat around the bush. “You have a trust fund. You could buy shampoo that’s not on sale if you desired it. Or better wine. Or both. But you don’t.”

“Because that money isn’t for shampoo and wine. It’s Trixie’s college money.”

“I have a feeling you’ve enough funds for both.”

He’s right, but she doesn’t say so. “Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should,” she says, holding out a glass for him. “Now do you want to drink my cheap wine or not?”

He takes the glass from her, and then bends forward and kisses her. Despite all the heated looks he gave her at the gym, there’s no lust in it. He seems to be kissing her just because he can, and she likes that. She likes him.

She loves him. 

He hums as he pulls away. It’s almost a purr, the kind of sound a lazy cat would make if it found a patch of sun to lay in, and his contentment makes her feel warm. He smiles down at her, and then he presents her with the second wine glass and leads her into her living room by the hand. 

He settles her on the couch before he heads to the fireplace to switch the gas on. The fire roars to life. He stares at it for a second, his gaze distant, and then he joins her on the couch. He drapes his arm across the cushions between them so that his hand is close to her shoulder and turns toward her, crossing his legs. 

“Setting the mood?” she teases as she tucks her legs up beneath her body. 

“Oh I don’t have to,” he replies airily. “Look at me. I am the mood.”

“Wow,” she snorts as she lifts her glass to her lips. 

He smiles, but it fades quickly. He lifts his hand and traces his fingers over her shoulder. Sparks shiver down her arm at his touch. 

“I owe you an apology, Detective.”

His voice is soft, and so is the expression on his face. Chloe swallows and lowers her glass. He’s really not beating around the bush tonight. She isn’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. 

“Yeah, you said that,” she says noncommittally. 

He shifts a little on the couch. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my brother gets under my skin.”

“Oh, I noticed.”

He smiles humorlessly. “He brings out the worst in me. And tonight, that was my possessive side. Truth be told, I’ve never really been the possessive type. Not when it comes to people, anyway. I never cared enough to want someone all to myself.” 

He lifts his gaze to meet hers. “Never until you.”

Any lingering frustration she had from family dinner evaporates. “Lucifer,” she breathes. 

“But my inexperience with serious relationships doesn’t excuse my ghastly behavior,” he says, lifting his hand like he thought she was going to argue with him. “I can’t begin to imagine what you thought of us all screaming at each other like that. Quite unlike the family dinners you’re accustomed to.”

Chloe tilts her head. “Oh I don’t know. Dan and I had some pretty nasty screaming matches before we got divorced. Some of them were over Trixie. Maybe that’s why…”

Oh. She hadn’t even realized. 

“I don’t think it was all you,” she says, reaching out to put her hand on Lucifer’s knee. “Some of it was my stuff too. Leftover baggage from the divorce, and probably also that whole gift-from-God thing. I’m still trying to come to terms with that one.”

“You are?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing in surprise. 

“Well, yeah,” she says. “I mean, I’ve accepted it. I know what we have is real. But I guess I’m just...I don’t know. Trying to figure out what it all means and what my place is in this big plan your dad seems to have.”

“Which is why you were so fixated on the idea that you would start a war between my brother and I.”

Chloe frowns. “Well I wouldn’t say fixated. But you…” She searches his eyes. “You said you’d burn heaven for me, Lucifer.”

“I would.”

He says it without a trace of hesitation. She pulls her hand back from his knee and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“Because you don’t approve of me embracing my dark side?” 

“Because I don’t want to be the reason anyone gets hurt,” she clarifies. “I’ll be the first to say Michael needs his ass kicked, but a war, Lucifer? I’m not...I can’t be responsible for that.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“Yes I would. If you do it for me, I’m responsible for it.”

“That’s not how it works, Detective.”

“That’s exactly how it works.”

Lucifer studies her for a moment that seems to drag out for an eternity. Eventually, he leans forward and sets his wine glass on the coffee table. He turns toward her and folds his hands in his lap.

“I understand what you’re saying.”

She arches an eyebrow. This is one of those instances when she wants to point out Linda’s influence—the Lucifer she met years ago would not have been this emotionally intelligent about a disagreement—but she refrains. 

“But?” she prompts instead.

“But as I told you that evening you had an axe pressed to my very well-defined chest, I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you. Nothing is more important to me than your health and happiness, Detective. There’s no deal I won’t make for your sake. No price I won’t pay. You have to know that by now.”

“I do. I just...saving my life isn’t the same thing as starting a celestial war for me.”

“I won’t start it,” he tells her, shaking his head. “You have my word that I will instigate nothing. But if someone else were to start something over you, you can rest assured I will finish it.”

“Is that what you did with Uriel?”

The words are out of her mouth before she can think twice about them. Grief shivers over Lucifer’s face, and she immediately feels like an idiot.

“Yes,” he murmurs before she can apologize. “It is.”

Chloe’s chest feels suddenly tight. She grips her wine glass and swallows hard. “What happened?” 

“Are you certain you want to know?”

That catches her off guard. He must be able to read it on her face, because he slides his hand over her knee reassuringly.

“I meant it when I said I would answer any question you have. But I have found that sometimes…” He clears his throat and shifts on the couch. “Sometimes people don’t want the answers they claim to seek.”

Chloe considers her options because that’s who she is, but she knows what she wants.

“Tell me,” she whispers.

And he does. He starts at the beginning. He tells her who Uriel is, and what their relationship was like before his fall. He tells her about Azrael’s blade, and what it does to humans, and what it does to celestials. He tells her what Michael hinted at—the deal he made with his father to save her and Trixie from Malcolm, and how he didn’t want to return his mother to Hell. He tells her about Uriel’s appearance, and about his power over patterns. He tells her about their fight in the church, and Uriel’s promise to kill her, and how he grabbed Azrael’s blade and stabbed his brother so that she’d be safe. 

He doesn’t look at her while he talks. He stares into the fire, and she watches him. He’s beautiful in the firelight. He’s never looked more like an angel to her than he does right now, and it makes her ache. 

At some point, tears start to leak from her eyes. She’s not sure when or why. It’s the grief in his voice, maybe, and the knowledge that he went through so much pain for her and she didn’t even know. 

She didn’t know. 

He’s explaining his hell loop—the one he was only in because he was trying to save her again—when he finally looks over at her. He stops talking abruptly, and a look of horror passes over his face. 

“Detective,” he breathes. 

She shakes her head and wipes her face. “Sorry.”

He takes her glass from her hand and sets it on the coffee table. When he turns back to face her, he brushes her hand away and then wipes his own hands over the trails of tears on her cheeks. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t,” she insists. “I just…”

“You just what?” he presses. He snatches the pocket square from his jacket and offers it to her, but he doesn’t give her a chance to use it because he’s using his thumbs to wipe away her tears with a gentleness that makes her throat tight. 

He’s fussing over her. The Devil is fussing over her. It makes a fresh wave of tears hit her eyes.

“I can’t believe you did all that for me,” she whispers, reaching out to grab a fistful of his jacket.

He goes still. He looks stunned by the awe in her voice, and then almost shy. “Well I couldn’t leave the urchin motherless now, could I?”

“Lucifer,” she murmurs, her voice cracking on the word. 

“I told you,” he says, tilting closer to her. “There’s no price too steep, Detective. I’d do it again. I’d brave that hell loop for all eternity for your sake.”

It’s a huge claim to make, but she believes him. How could she not? How could she feel anything but love for this man who is so infuriating and ridiculous and good? 

He gazes at her, that same I-found-water-in-the-desert look he wore in the evidence room, and she doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve him.

“I’m sorry,” she exhales on a sob.

He looks incredulous. “What on earth for?” 

“You killed him for me. You went to Hell for me and I paid you back by going behind your back with Father Kinley and…”

She can’t even finish. She just trails off with a strangled sob. 

He strokes the tips of his fingers over her cheek and smiles at her. “It’s not as though I haven’t done my fair share of hurting you. Far more than you hurt me, I’d say.”

She shakes her head. “No, this was different. It was…” She squeezes his suit jacket tight in her fist and drops her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“Look at me, darling,” he says, putting his hand beneath her chin and tilting her head back up so she has to look at him. “It’s a wound long healed. I had thousands of years to understand why you did what you did, and I see it now for what it was. I don’t blame you. If you’re looking for punishment, you won’t find it here.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes. She tries to keep the tears at bay, but fails. 

He leans back. She doesn’t open her eyes, but she knows he’s realized she’s still crying because he whispers Detective in a broken voice. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his lap, and she goes willingly. She curls into him, her face buried in his chest, and he holds her tightly the same way she holds Trixie when she’s upset. 

Eventually all the grief and remorse and regret finally bleed out of her. When her breathing slows, and she’s sure she’s not going to lose her shit again, she leans back to look at him. She turns to face him and shifts into a more comfortable position, her knees sliding down to either side of his thighs, and then she smooths her hand over his suit jacket where she left a wet spot and probably some mascara stains. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says with a kind smile. “My shoulder is yours to cry on whenever you please, Detective.”

She traces her fingertips over the buttons on his vest. She wants to say something to him—to reassure him that what happened with Father Kinley will never happen again—but she’s not sure how. After a minute or two of searching fruitlessly for the right words, she settles on the truth in the plainest terms possible.

“I don’t want to hurt you again, Lucifer.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

He tilts his head and seems to consider the question. “Well, I suppose I have faith.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “The Devil has faith?”

She expects him to grin and say something obnoxious or suggestive or both. But he doesn’t. 

“Only in you.”

All the breath rushes out of Chloe’s lungs. He’s got that look on his face again and she can barely stand it. She loves him so much she thinks she might drown in it.

“Lucifer,” she whispers.

He sits up straight, bringing them face to face and eye level, and lifts his hand to her cheek. “You’re the only thing I believe in, Chloe,” he whispers, his thumb stroking over the jut of her jaw. “You made the Devil a believer.”

It’s not an I love you, but it sure as hell feels like one.

She leans forward and kisses him. She kisses him like she wanted to kiss him every day he was gone, and like she wants to kiss him every day for the rest of her life. He kisses her back with abandon. Desire roars to life inside her. It feels like the blood in her veins has turned to liquid fire. 

She starts on the buttons of his vest, but gives up after two and just rips it open. She gives his shirt the same treatment. 

“I like this shirt,” he complains. But he’s smiling, and his hands are all over her, and she knows him well enough to know that he couldn’t care less that she just ruined his shirt.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” she says anyway, shoving his shirt open to reveal his chest.

“With your trust fund?”

“Shut up.”

He laughs, and she kisses it from his lips. With his shirt open there’s new skin for her to touch, to lean forward and kiss, and when he sucks in a breath and his chest lifts beneath her mouth, she feels a flash of pride because she can make the Devil gasp. 

He finds the hem of her t-shirt and lifts it up and over her head. When he tosses it aside and buries his face in her throat to suck on the skin over her pulsepoint, she realizes she’s not the only one who can incite a gasp.

His hand slides to the clasp of her bra, but he doesn’t flick it open. “Here?” he whispers.

“Upstairs,” she whispers back, because she can’t handle the idea of Trixie watching the Disney Channel on a couch where her mother screwed the Devil. 

She doesn’t have to tell him twice. He stands up, folds her legs snugly around his waist, and carries her upstairs. He kisses the hell out of her while he walks, and by the time they collapse onto her bed, she feels drunk on him.

He flicks his fingers over her back, and she feels the tension in her bra finally release. He’s got it off of her in record time, and his mouth on her a moment later. She chokes on her breath and swallows a moan.

“House is empty,” he whispers against her skin. His hands find her belt. “No need to be quiet, Detective.”

She’s not.