Chapter Text
Leaning against the penthouse balcony railing, Lucifer sighs and looks unseeingly towards the Los Angeles skyline. The sun is beginning to set and the nightlife to emerge, but for once, he feels no urge to join them. Not after today. Shaking his head to clear the thoughts that have been replaying in his mind since this morning, which seems to be an impossibility at this point, he downs another glass of whiskey, hissing as the liquid burns his throat.
Today was one of the worst days he has experienced in quite some time, and while he knows there are probably healthier ways to deal with it...well. Drinking is what he knows. His thoughts drift towards his stash of narcotics, even though he knows there isn't a substance strong enough to wipe this day's events from his mind.
It started out well enough. For the first time in close to two weeks, the Detective called him for a case. She has been distancing herself from him ever since the fake Sinnerman case, and it only got worse when she attended the Axara concert with Pierce. Since then, she has kept Lucifer at arm's length, as though she can't possibly have both her partner and the Lieutenant in her life at the same time.
Lucifer knows the strain on their partnership is at least partly (if not mostly) his fault; he has been pushing the Detective away for far longer. Ever since learning she is a Miracle placed in his path by God, in the hopes of giving back her free will, while also selfishly hoping to keep her in his life. He also knows the Detective wouldn't be so thrilled about dating Pierce if she knew the truth about him—that he is not only Cain, the world's first murderer, but also the real Sinnerman. But she would never believe Lucifer if he tried to tell her, just as Cain predicted all those months ago. She doesn't even believe that Lucifer is the Devil, and the only way to prove he is being fully honest would be to show her.
With his Devil face gone, though, his only option would be the wings slapped on his back again in its place, and Lucifer has been hesitant to do that. Showing her the angel he no longer is would be a lie; to truly know who he is, Lucifer would have to show her the Devil, and that is not yet possible. He has found himself at an impossible crossroads.
Well, until today.
Flashes of the warehouse in the middle of nowhere, where they chased their murder suspect, pass before his eyes. How Chloe suggested they split up to cover more ground. The gunshot that echoed through the building and the feeling of dread that slammed into Lucifer like a brick wall. Finding Chloe on the floor, breathing erratically as blood poured through her fingers from the wound in her belly. The suffocating fear and panic as Lucifer rushed to her side and pulled her into his lap. Tears slipped from her eyes as they met his, and he tried so hard to mask his own emotions in order to keep her calm while trying to work out what to do next. Calling an ambulance would have taken too long; driving would have been even worse, even with the way he drives.
It took him far too long to remember that he had wings in between assuring her that she would see her daughter again, that she would be fine. Assurances that he was becoming increasingly uncertain that he could keep.
In the present, he lifts his hand to his face, fingers brushing his cheek where she'd done the same earlier today.
At some point, he began crying without realizing it, and even as she was dying, she comforted him. He knew he had to do something; losing her was not an option, no matter how much distance had grown between them recently. It hit him with the force of a meteor in that moment that he loved her and her death would utterly destroy him.
Almost too late, he remembered his wings. Flying her to a hospital occurred to him first, but he didn't know if there was enough time—she was losing entirely too much blood; growing paler; breathing too shallowly—or if it would make things worse on her. So he did the only thing he could think of that might have a chance: He manifested his wings, knowing she would see them and not caring, and plucked a feather to heal her. If it worked, he would have ripped out every last feather on his back to save her.
Ignoring her gasp at the sight of his wings, he lifted her shirt and pressed the glowing white feather to her wound, hoping like hell it worked. For a moment, he wasn't sure it had; whether she lost consciousness from blood loss or the shock of divine healing, he didn't know. Once it was over, he realized she wasn't breathing and felt his own heart stop—he was too late...
Until she took a gasping breath and returned to him.
He stayed until she calmed enough to get to her feet, unable to meet her knowing gaze. There was no way she could write off what just happened—even if she hadn't seen his wings, she must have felt the divinity flowing through her body. Must have seen that she was completely healed, as though she had never been shot in the first place. She tried to get his attention, but all he could think was that she was about to tell him to leave; that now she knew the truth, she never wanted to see him again. All the worst fears he ever had when it came to revealing the truth of his identity to the Detective were about to come true, he was sure of it.
So he left first. Which he is sure that Dr. Linda would tell him was the absolute wrong thing to do at that moment. Quite apart from leaving Chloe to deal with the celestial reveal on her own, she had just been divinely healed; what if there were side effects of some sort? After all, he had never healed a human before, so he didn't know what the results might be.
Since then, he’s drowned himself in whiskey to erase the memory of the Detective's broken, bleeding body in his arms. He keeps trying to remind himself that she’s alive, and healed, good as new. That even if this is the end of their partnership, Chloe Decker is still in the world, and that is what matters most—it is all that matters. Still, if it is the end...he doesn't know what he will do next. The thought of losing her entirely is painful enough; living in the same city but being unable to see her again...that just sounds like torture. And he would know.
Worse comes to worse, he’ll return to Hell. She would probably feel safer if he did. Knowing the Devil walks the Earth is bad enough; he wouldn't put her through the stress of constantly looking over her shoulder, fearing he would harm her or her loved ones, something he would never, ever do. Mazikeen has been nagging him about going back home; perhaps they should.
He wants to give Chloe time to process, though, just in case she does come around, and returning to Hell immediately would be an overreaction on his part, even he knows that. What he ought to do is call Dr. Linda and give the Detective some support in case she has questions, which she will because...well. She is the Detective, after all.
At least she didn't have the same celestial introduction as Linda; surely, seeing his wings, being healed with them, is gentler than seeing his Devil face. And he supposes he should be grateful for the wings; without them, he would have lost Chloe altogether. Who he loves.
It doesn't matter. She didn't want me before knowing the truth; the chances of her choosing me now... He drowns the thought with what’s left in his glass.
Before he can decide whether it’s worth going back inside for a refill, though, a familiar warmth washes over him. A warmth he only feels when—
“Hi, Lucifer.”
Exhaling sharply, Lucifer nearly drops his glass as he turns, wondering if it was a hallucination. Because she can’t be here, not so soon. Right?
He's wrong. Standing just behind him is Chloe Decker. She watches him with a hesitant smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, her fingers braiding around each other, which she only does when she is anxious. And of course she's anxious; she is in the presence of the Devil himself, knowing full well he has been telling the truth all along. She doesn't look the slightest bit fearful, but Lucifer knows she is quite skilled at hiding her true feelings when she desires. At least she didn't bring her gun; that can only be a good sign.
“Detective.” The title he has turned into an endearing nickname falls from his lips in a whisper.
Her clever eyes are studying him like she would a suspect, sizing him up and trying to work him out. “Is this a bad time?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not, Detective. The door is always open for you, you know that.” He tries to keep his voice light, as though nothing has changed despite both of them knowing everything has changed completely. At least for her. “Apologies, I didn't hear you arrive. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
The look she gives him is so familiar that he nearly relaxes in relief. “I think we both know exactly why I'm here, Lucifer,” she says evenly. “If you'd stayed this morning, we could have talked then.”
Guilt rolls over him and he doesn't know what to say.
“Why did you leave, Lucifer?”
Dropping all pretense, Lucifer leans back against the balcony railing. They may as well get this over with now; no use drawing it all out. “Because I didn't think you would want me near after...what happened,” he admits with a sigh.
Her eyes narrow. “And what exactly did happen?” she asks slowly.
Lucifer gestures for her to take a seat on the outdoor lounge chair. If they are going to have this conversation, they may as well be comfortable. The only thing he could hope for is more whiskey. He has never needed a drink more.
“What do you remember, Detective?” he asks gently.
A faraway glaze falls over her eyes as she recalls: “I remember being in the warehouse,” she murmurs evenly. “Splitting up to look for the suspect.” She shakes her head ruefully. “He came out of nowhere, and before I could even lift my gun, he fired and I went down. Then, just...pain. Suddenly you were there.” Her brow furrows. “The rest is kinda fuzzy, but there was a bright, white light...and I felt warm and safe...” The words are whispered, more to herself than to him, he thinks. “I opened my eyes and I could have sworn I saw wings behind you. I must have passed out; everything went white again... Then I was fine. Which is insane... And then you left.”
Lucifer swallows hard at the look she gives him. The annoyance, disappointment, and resignation in her expression are far too familiar, but it’s the hurt in her eyes that nearly breaks him. Hurting her is the last thing he ever wants to do, but the only thing he seems to be capable of these days. He shouldn't be surprised; he breaks everything he touches. Just as his namesake suggests, he is poison—
Stopping himself before he can fall too much farther down that particular rabbit hole, Lucifer forces himself to focus on the Detective. Her issues are what matter right now; not his.
“I didn't imagine it, did I?” she whispers, studying him intently. “You had wings.”
With a shaky breath, Lucifer nods. “I did, yes,” he murmurs.
Something flashes in her eyes that he can't quite identify. “So, it's all true. Everything you've been saying for the last two years—God; Heaven; Hell; angels and demons.” She swallows. “And you're the Devil.”
Ever since his Fall, the grandest fall of all-time, Lucifer has embraced his identity. What else was he to do, after all? His father had banished him from the only home he had ever known and he ceased being Samael, changing his name to Lucifer Morningstar. After recovering from his severe, agonizing injuries, the sight of his newly-acquired Devil face made him realize he was indeed the monster his family believed him to be, and he rose to become the King of Hell. He has never been ashamed of being the Devil, even if it isn't a title he particularly wanted, and was quite proud of it—anything to flip the bird to his father and the Silver City. He tells everybody who he is, knowing full well they won’t believe him, regardless of whether they asked or not.
Right here, right now, however... He wishes he could be anybody else. Someone who doesn't inspire fear in anybody who knows the truth of who he is; somebody whom a person like Chloe Decker, the brightest soul he has ever encountered in his entire existence, could love.
But he isn't. And he never will be.
“I am,” he whispers, unable to meet her gaze. The words come out almost apologetically.
Chloe takes a deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer sees her nod slowly, processing, although she must have already come to this conclusion. He supposes having confirmation is something else altogether...
“How did you heal me?” she asks in a shaky whisper.
Briefly, he looks at her. She has that expression on her face that she wears when she’s examining evidence and forming a theory. “My wings contain healing properties,” he answers evenly, again wishing he had that drink. He doesn't dare go for a refill now, though. “I have never used them to heal a human, but you were dying, Detective.” He can't quite mask the way his voice breaks. “I had to do something, and flying you to a hospital would have either taken too long or done more damage. So, I took a chance.” He sucks in a breath, eyes stinging, and suddenly, needs some space. “Can I get you a drink, Detective?”
Chloe opens her mouth to reply, but he doesn't wait to hear what she will say; instead, he makes a beeline inside towards the bar. He feels anxious. He needs a drink and a moment to breathe, and to figure out exactly what is happening here. The last thing he expected today was for the Detective to come see him when she can no longer deny the truth about him. But perhaps that was foolish of him; when was the last time Chloe Decker shied away or backed down from anything...even the Devil himself?
Then again, she hasn't quite met the Devil himself yet, has she? She saw his wings, felt his divinity as it healed her body. The angel, not the Devil. The good, not the monster.
The bottle Lucifer picked up drops to the bar with a thunk and he sighs. Of course. That is why she feels safe enough to confront him; if she had been introduced to his Devil face she wouldn't be here. She would probably be on the other side of the world by now.
Still, she came to the conclusion that he is, in fact, the Devil; she didn't call him an angel. And she doesn't seem afraid, so perhaps this is a good thing. Even if he can't show her that side of himself, she knows the truth now—well, part of it, anyway. There is still so much she will need to know, and knowing her, she won't rest until he has come clean about all of it. Uriel. The whole Miracle thing. Cain. How does he even broach those subjects in a way that won't have her running away and never looking back?
“Lucifer?”
He startles at her soft voice and turns to find her at the edge of the bar with a small, apologetic smile on her face. How long had he been standing here panicking about everything that is to come? Perhaps he should call Dr. Linda to help...
“My apologies, Detective, didn't mean to leave you waiting on me,” he says with a lightness he doesn't feel.
“Are you okay?” she asks, concerned, her brow furrowed.
He scoffs. “Me? You're the one who was shot today, Detective. You nearly...” He swallows back the word and the bile that rises along with it at the thought of just how close he came to losing her today. If he hadn't had his wings... Nope. No, no point thinking about that. He saved her; she is here; that is what matters. “And you've learned your partner is the literal, actual Devil.” Are they even still partners? Will she still want him in her life, now that she knows? “Are you okay?” He should have asked her sooner.
Sliding onto a stool, Chloe takes a deep, shaky breath without taking her eyes off him—keeping him in sight at all times. “I...don't know?” She huffs a soft laugh and runs her hand through her hair. Lucifer continues pouring their drinks, sliding one in front of her. Her lip twitches in the approximation of a grateful smile and her fingers wrap around the crystal glass, though she doesn't drink from it yet.
“Physically, yeah, I'm completely healed. As for the rest...I mean, don't get me wrong, it's a lot to process, and I don't even quite know where to start. But let's be honest here: I've seen some really strange things when it comes to you over the last two years, things I can't rationally explain, so I think some part of me has always known you were telling the truth. I just wasn't ready to face it, but I guess that's on me. It's going to take me some time to come to terms with everything, Lucifer, and I can't promise I won't freak out sometimes, but...” She bites her lip and looks up at him. “Now that we're over this hurdle, I want to know everything. I want to know you. Not that I don't think I know you, but clearly there's a lot you've kept hidden, and...” She shakes her head ruefully. “And I'm rambling. Sorry.”
Lucifer just stares at her in stunned silence, lips parted, because this cannot be real. She can't really be saying what he thinks she's saying. Can she? He has spent their entire partnership believing that the moment she realized who she has had at her side, who she has allowed into her life, her home, her daughter's life, that would be the end of it all. And selfishly, he wanted to put off that moment for as long as possible, because, well. As he realized today, his feelings for her far surpass anything he has ever believed himself capable of, and without her, everything is so far less...well, everything.
And, yet, here she is, telling him he won't lose her once all is said and done. That she wants to know. She wants to know him.
He swallows a gulp of whiskey. “Everything is really quite a lot, Detective,” he warns her. “And most of it isn't...good.” Biggest understatement in the universe.
She gives him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I kinda figured that much. Maybe we can start with our partnership, then? Because I'm trying to make sense of things, and I think I'm starting to, but maybe you could fill in the blanks?”
Fighting a flinch, Lucifer refills his glass and grabs a fresh bottle randomly from the shelves. “I suppose that's as good a place to start as any.”
The smile she gives him manages to settle his nerves in a way not even all the booze and narcotics in the world could, and for the first time all day, he thinks things might actually be all right.