Work Text:
Chloe stares at the chat history on her phone screen, biting her lip with indecision. The last message was an eyeroll emoji more than two weeks ago; before that, some ridiculous meme that made her snort coffee up her nose. She isn’t entirely sure how it happened, but she hasn’t seen or spoken to Lucifer in that long. Lately, all her time has been spent either with Trixie or with Marcus when she isn’t at work, and it’s left little time for much of anything else. She and Lucifer haven’t worked a case together in so long she struggles to remember which case it was; Marcus has been jumping in, volunteering to partner with her on every new case she’s assigned before she even gets a chance to let her actual partner know there’s a case to be worked.
The last time she saw Lucifer was shortly following the case where Maze was suspected to be the murderer, and most of that was listening to him degrade the Lieutenant in one way or another. Chloe knows he’s jealous, even if he would never admit it, and she doesn’t know how to feel about that. Part of her is thrilled that he cares about her enough to be jealous in the first place; the rest of her wishes he would just...make up his mind. He’s spent more time lately pushing her away in one way or another than he has being a proper partner. And the worst part is, if he showed up out of the blue one day and told her he was ready—for her; for them—she would dump her boyfriend in a heartbeat.
Is Marcus really even her boyfriend? They’ve been on three dates now, have only kissed twice, and they flirt at work. He’s told her he wants to go at her pace, yet at the same time, she feels...pressured by him for more. To push things along to the next level, whether it be sex or meeting Trixie, and Chloe isn’t sure she’s ready for any of it. She’s been trying to shake her residual feelings for Lucifer and it’s just...it’s not working. Like, at all.
Maybe that’s a sign? Though a sign for what, she isn’t sure.
Today, Marcus isn’t in the office and she needs a partner on her current case. She got a lead that her suspect is holing up in a warehouse outside of the city and her gut is telling her not to go alone. Dan isn’t here, either, which leaves Lucifer. All she has to do is send him a text letting him know they have a case. The problem is, she isn’t entirely sure he’ll respond; as much as she internally complains about him pushing her away, she’s done the same to him lately, hasn’t she? She could have told Marcus she wanted to work the cases with her partner, but she didn’t, and again, she doesn’t know why.
And she misses Lucifer. More than she ever thought possible. She misses his smile and his inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times. She misses laughing with him and their banter. She misses knowing without a shadow of a doubt that the person beside her has her back; she doesn’t feel that with Marcus, if she’s being honest. She misses everything about Lucifer, and she wants her partner back.
Shaking her head and steeling her nerves, she sends the message:
She waits a painfully long two minutes, reaching for her lukewarm cup of bitter coffee. Suddenly, she misses those perfect lattes that would be handed to her with a charming little grin and eyes sparkling with something soft. Something deep and meaningful that tugs on her heartstrings, making her want. Finally, her phone vibrates in her free hand with a reply:
Chloe blinks at his response. No innuendo. No emojis. That doesn’t really seem like him, but a knot she hadn’t known had been tightening in her stomach for two weeks is loosening—Lucifer is on his way.
When he arrives an hour later, he’s carrying a tall, Styrofoam cup with a familiar logo on the side. But it isn’t the latte she inherently knows is for her that she’s interested in. The knot loosens even further at the sight of him. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome (yes, she has a boyfriend, but she also has eyes. Sue her), in his customary black suit, white shirt, crimson pocket square. Perfectly coiffed hair, neatly trimmed stubble, long, patrician nose, piercing, dark brown eyes...and as he grows nearer, she gets a whiff of sandalwood, vanilla, and something that is uniquely Lucifer.
The knot loosens even more.
His eyes are roving the bullpen as he approaches, a little smirk on his lips as always, and a devil-may-care expression on his face. Fitting, she supposes, given who he claims to be. She also notices that he hasn’t looked at her once since stepping down the stairs; usually, he’s laser-focused on her, eyes glittering with some emotion she can’t (or doesn’t want to) name. That isn’t the case today.
Inexplicable guilt stabs her heart and she pushes it away, back into a box where she keeps the other feelings she has for Lucifer locked up tight—not that it helps any; those feelings always escape again. True, she hasn’t called him in for cases, but when has that ever stopped him from just showing up? When they first met, she couldn’t get rid of him no matter how short or annoyed she became with him. He became the best partner she’s ever had...until recently. And she doesn’t really know who to blame. Both of them, maybe.
At long last, he turns his gaze to her. The smirk softens into a smile she’s only ever seen directed at her; a smile she loves seeing on him, because it isn’t part of his public mask—it’s just him. The man behind the walls and defenses he’s put into place. Lucifer. Her best friend. The man she’s in lo—
“Hello, Detective,” he says quietly. None of his usual cheerfulness is present, either, like it’s been drained out of him. He sets the coffee down in front of her. “One tall, nonfat, almond milk latte with sugar-free caramel drizzle for you.” Once both of his hands are free, he begins fidgeting with his cufflinks. One of his nervous tics, she’s learned.
Chloe smiles. “Thank you, Lucifer.” As always, she didn’t even ask him to bring her coffee; he just...does.
Marcus never brings you coffee. Or lemon squares. Hell, he probably doesn’t even know lemon squares are your favorite.
Shaking herself, she wraps her fingers around the cup so she doesn’t start fidgeting, too. He must have gone to the Beelzebean nearest the precinct, which is kind of a bitch to get to in the direction he would have been coming. Not that it has ever stopped him.
“You’re quite welcome, Detective.” He slides his hands into his pockets, watching her with what she thinks might be apprehension.
For a few moments, anxious tension settles between them. As if neither knows what to say to the other. They’ve never had that problem before; why does that make her eyes sting? Then, Lucifer clears his throat, breaking the silence. “So. You have a new case?” he asks in a bright voice that sounds forced.
Chloe fidgets with a pen. ”Well. It isn’t really new, but I do have a lead and no partner to help me follow it.”
Something that looks suspiciously like hurt flashes through his eyes before he masks it. “I see.” He averts his gaze. “Well, I’m always willing to be of use, Detective. Especially to you.”
The ache in her chest worsens; the knot tightens again. She didn’t mean that the way it sounded... “Lucifer, I didn’t mean to imply—”
He shakes his head, forcing a smile. “No. I understand, Detective. Would you prefer to give me the address and I shall meet you there?”
He wants to drive separately? Chloe’s brow furrows. “I mean, I thought we’d ride together. The way we always do.” Or maybe he doesn’t want to be in the same car as her for some other reason. “Unless you...?”
Hope flickers across his expression; it’s echoed in Chloe’s heart. “I suppose I could endure your elderly turtle driving and sweet 90s jams for one case.”
One case? Chloe kind of assumed this would be the icebreaker they needed to get him coming back to work. Is he saying he doesn’t want to be partners anymore? “O...kay,” she says slowly. “Then, um, in that case, I’ll bring you up to speed in the car?”
He holds out his arm, gesturing for her to lead the way out of the department. “After you, Detective.”
Grabbing her jacket and coffee, she does, expecting a large, warm hand to find the small of her back—but it never comes. She feels oddly bereft. Lucifer walks in his customary spot: her left side, just slightly behind her, but keeps distance between them. It feels like a metaphor for the current state of their partnership and she doesn’t like it.
Great. Because what we need is more metaphors where Lucifer is concerned...
The car ride is painfully awkward. Usually being around Lucifer is easy. Comforting, even. Today, they feel like strangers; they’ve never felt like strangers. He doesn’t even complain about her music. After a few minutes of silence, during which Lucifer stares out the passenger side window with a wistful expression on his face, Chloe brings him up on the current case. When she mentions a piece of evidence Marcus found, Lucifer stiffens.
”You’ve...been working cases with the Lieutenant?” he asks in an inscrutable tone. His voice is low and even, and she thinks she detects more hurt.
Chloe blinks, her brow furrowed. She feels that guilt again and the knot in her stomach is painfully tight. “I mean, yeah. He’s offered to work with me. Is that a problem?”
Lucifer sighs under his breath, twisting the onyx stone ring around his middle finger. “Apparently not,” he mutters almost too quietly for her to hear.
“I just figured you wouldn’t want to work the cases; they’ve been pretty boring, actually.” And Lucifer hates boring. She sometimes wonders why he bothers with her at all; she’s the personification of boring.
”And why would you assume that, Detective?” he asks a touch waspishly, turning his head towards her slightly. There’s a hardened edge in his gaze. “Are we not partners?” Uncertainty creeps into his voice, as if he thinks that’s changed in the last two weeks. Or that it soon will.
Her shoulders droop. “Lucifer, of course we’re partners. It’s just...”
”Just...what, Detective?”
”Well, you haven’t been around. And yeah, I could’ve called you in, but you seemed...I don’t know. Uninterested lately.”
His body seems to melt back into the seat, like he doesn’t have the strength to hold his posture, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. ”I see.”
The tension thickens between them. It’s never been like this before and Chloe doesn’t know how to break through it. She wants to ask what he’s been up to, just to get the conversation moving between them, but she’s afraid he’ll give her an excruciatingly detailed account of all the wild, uninhibited sex he’s been having; she doesn’t think she’s up to hearing about it again. It triggers her jealousy—an emotion that is always stronger when it comes to Lucifer—and she has no right to feel it. It isn’t as if she and Lucifer are together; they’re partners. And friends. Nothing more. Jealousy over what he does in his spare time is irrational. And yet...
Chloe’s eyes drift towards him. He’s staring out the window again, turned away from her, but she can clearly see his reflection in the glass. He looks crushed. To the point she wonders if she’s missed something; has something happened to him in the last couple weeks? Or does this somehow involve her? Is it something she’s done or said?
No matter what, no matter who she works cases with, Lucifer Morningstar is her partner. She doesn’t want that to change. Not ever. But the ache in her heart says their days might be numbered; that one day soon, he won’t turn up when she calls. That she’ll forever be partnered with a big armed, blue-eyed lieutenant. Her stomach curdles at the thought.
Lucifer is sitting right beside her. And he’s never felt further away.
When they pull up outside the abandoned warehouse, she looks around for any indication that somebody is actually here. There are no tire treads or vehicles that she can see; no signs of life anywhere. Is this a dead end?
”How cliché,” Lucifer mutters derisively, looking around with a curled lip. “You’d think bad guys would be a bit more creative rather than leaning into what every stereotypical movie villain in history has done.”
Chloe snorts a laugh. His eyes brighten slightly. “I guess they figure the classics are classic for a reason.”
Lucifer hums. “Perhaps. Shall we?” His expression shifts to what she calls his punishing mask—darkened eyes glittering dangerously; a sharp, shark-like grin on his face. Like he’s the predator in a sea full of prey. Chloe shivers slightly; she doesn’t think it’s fear.
She double-checks her sidearm—full clip, safety on. She’s ready. Turning, she gives Lucifer her own shark-like grin. “Let’s go catch some bad guys, partner.”
The mask slips for about half a second; not enough time for her to catch the emotion beneath it, but his shoulders straighten and he sits a little taller at her words. “Absolutely, Detective.”
Inside the warehouse that’s filled with crates and shipping containers, they do an initial search for hidden areas, doors, or areas where someone could ambush them. Chloe mentally notes each one; beside her, Lucifer is twisting his cufflinks again, his sharp eyes not missing a thing. There are two possible paths their bad guy could have taken and, according to the blueprints Chloe looked at while waiting for Lucifer, no back exit. Only the one where they’re standing.
She looks at her partner’s expectant raised eyebrow; he’s awaiting her signal or orders. The so-called Devil who follows direction (sometimes, when he wants to) from a human. Yet another reason she can’t believe him when he tries to tell her he’s the Devil. Using hand gestures, she indicates for him to go left and she’ll go right. He hesitates briefly, studying her intently, uneasily, then his jaw tenses in determination. Nodding once, he takes off without looking back at her.
Chloe watches him for a moment until he turns a corner behind a shipping container, then goes right. Although she should absolutely be paying attention to her surroundings, her thoughts drift again—to Lucifer and Marcus.
The two men are polar opposites. Where Marcus is steady and reliable, Lucifer is all over the place and impulsive. Where Marcus is safe, Lucifer...well, isn’t. At least not when it comes to Chloe’s heart. He’s hurt her so many times in the past, and she’s told herself on many occasions that she’s done with any romantic notions when it comes to him. Her heart and her subconscious clearly haven’t gotten the message, though. Anytime she thinks about Lucifer, or even just his name, her heart does a funny little flip and she feels a jolt run through her.
As for her subconscious... Just last night, she had another dream about him. Much like the one she had after their first kiss—and that wasn’t even the first (or last) one she’s had. She dreams about feeling him above and below her; his hands on her; his lips trailing down her body as his stubble scratches her skin. She dreamed about feeling him inside her. And she woke up so aroused that she couldn’t get back to sleep.
Shouldn’t she be dreaming about Marcus? She hasn’t; not once. It’s always Lucifer, from shortly after they first met. The dreams increased in intensity and frequency after they kissed, then came to an, albeit temporary, halt when he left after her poisoning and came back married to a pink-haired, big boobed, low IQ stripper. Steadily, though, as things between them settled, the dreams returned. Lately, interspersed with the arousing dreams, have been a different sort of dream; mundane, ordinary things. Laughing with him on a stakeout. Game nights with Trixie. Dancing with him at Lux. Her, curled up against him on his couch, not doing anything, just...holding each other. They’re dreams of a domestic life she knows he would never want; he’s made his views on that abundantly clear to her.
But she can’t help wanting those dreams to be real. For her and Lucifer to find themselves on the same page for once—hell, she would settle for the same book. She wants a real, committed relationship with him; she’s wanted that for longer than she is willing to admit. It's a pipe dream; she knows that. Wishful thinking. Lucifer Morningstar, monogamous? Not a chance.
So why does it hurt so much when reality shifts back in and she isn’t with him?
Chloe shakes herself. She needs to focus. She needs to—
Movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head in time to see a gun being aimed at her from about twenty yards and reaches for her own weapon. A loud bang echoes off the shipping containers as her finger squeezes the trigger.
She grunts and belatedly realizes she’s on the ground. Why is she on the ground? Isn’t she supposed to be chasing a suspect? Blinding, agonizing pain erupts in her side, stealing her breath.
Oh. She knows that feeling. She’s been shot. Her hand goes to the wound. Flinching at the increased pain, she looks at her palm—it’s covered in blood. That isn’t good.
Chloe tries to pull in a breath, enough air to call for—
Lucifer is looming over her, his eyes wide and panicked. “Detective,” he says urgently, placing his warm hand over her side. His other arm gently lifts her so she’s leaning against his chest. She bites back a cry of pain at the movement. Her head lolls onto his shoulder. It’s actually really comfortable, maybe she’ll stay here awhile. “Come on, Detective, keep your eyes open.”
Why does Lucifer sound so scared? He’s the bravest man she knows, not scared of anything. Well, unless something happens to her and she gets hurt. Oh, that’s right, she’s been shot; that’s why it feels like her body is on fire and being electrocuted at once.
At long last, she manages to get enough air into her lungs. “Luc...fer...”
If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he’s shaking right now as he carefully lifts her shirt to look at her wound. He abruptly goes pale and drops it, putting more pressure on the wound. “Everything’s all right, Detective,” he murmurs shakily, another one of those forced smiles on his face. She misses the real smiles. Misses him. Her Lucifer. “You’re going to be fine. I promise.”
Lucifer always keeps his word. He never breaks a promise. So if he says she’s going to be fine, then she trusts it, because she trusts him. With everything. Her life, her heart (sometimes), and with Trixie.
Trixie.
Even in her weakened, disoriented state, Chloe knows what’s happening. She can feel how much blood she’s already lost and what comes next. They’re in the middle of nowhere; even if Lucifer calls an ambulance right this second, chances are, it will be too late for her. Chloe’s going to die. She knows it. She’s never going to get to see her daughter grow up into the beautiful woman Chloe knows she will be. Trixie will suffer the pain of losing a parent far too soon, something Chloe never wanted her to feel.
There’s so much more Chloe wanted to do with her life before this happened. Her eyes turn to the man above her, holding her like she’s precious. His eyes are bright and wet, his lips pressed together tightly. He looks beyond devastated. He looks broken.
“Scared...” she mumbles.
His smile is tremulous. “Don’t be scared, love,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. You know I’d never let anything happen to you.”
”I don’ wanna die, Luc’fer,” she whimpers.
He lets out a heavy forced breath like he’s been holding it for minutes. “I won’t let you, Chloe,” he promises brokenly.
Chloe’s brow furrowed when a tear slips down his cheek. He’s crying; she’s never seen him cry before. Though her arm feels like lead, it’s really important right now that she wipes away that tear. Lucifer shouldn’t ever hurt so much that he cries; she hates it when he’s hurt. The first attempt to wipe it away misses, but she gets it on the second, then presses her bloodied palm to his cheek. He leans into it.
Why’s her hand all bloody? Is Lucifer hurt?
”No, Detective, I’m unharmed,” he promises. Oh, she must have said that out loud. “You just focus on yourself, yes? Stay with me, Chloe.” It sounds like he’s begging her. Then, he adds, “Please, stay with me.”
She wants to stay with him. She wants to be with him, always. So she agrees, “‘Kay...” Her voice sounds really far away now, like someone else is speaking from the other end of a long tunnel.
“Detective!”
Chloe snaps her eyes open at the fearful sound of Lucifer’s voice. Why’s he afraid? Oh, yeah, the gunshot wound. Her gunshot wound. She’s dying; he’s holding her. He leans down enough to press their foreheads together, the same way they did that day on the college lab stairs. “Don’ be scared, Luc’fer,” she tries to say. It comes out garbled.
Her chest is tight and painful, something is bubbling up in her throat. She coughs and something comes out. It tastes like blood.
“No,” Lucifer breathes, staring down at her in horror. “No, come on, Detective! I’m going to get help, but I need you to stay awake.” He frantically looks around them. “Fuck!”
She tries to smile; she doesn’t think she’s ever heard him curse. It’s kind of adorable. He’s kind of adorable. And she loves him so much. Oh. She loves him, and she thinks she always has. Maybe she should tell him that before it’s too late.
Opening her mouth again, she tries to get the words out, but warm liquid comes out instead. She can’t breathe or get enough air to speak anymore, so she grips his jacket, hoping he can see it in her eyes.
Lucifer opens his mouth to speak, then his brow furrows and his lips part in what she thinks is shock. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something important, then an idea seems to flash in his eyes and he straightens suddenly, shrugging his shoulders—
Chloe feels her mouth fall open involuntarily this time. The area around them is filled with a bright, pure white light. It’s so bright she can barely stand to keep her eyes open. But she does and she clearly sees the huge wings appear out of nowhere, from Lucifer’s back.
Angel is the only word that comes to mind. Followed swiftly by the realization that Lucifer was telling her the truth all along. He’s the Devil. God is real—and a neglectful, probably abusive bastard of a father. Heaven and Hell exist. Maze is a demon.
Okay, that last one...that makes sense, actually...
But the rest of it? Her only thought is, Oh. He was telling me the truth all along. Interesting.
Chloe watches with as much intrigue as she can manage in her current state as Lucifer reaches over his shoulder with a visibly trembling hand, and plucks a tiny feather from the arch of his wings. He doesn’t look at her as he lifts her shirt quickly and presses the unbelievably soft feather to her wound—
Chloe gasps. Warmth like nothing she’s ever felt rushes through her body, igniting her. It surrounds her heart; it finds her soul. It feels like comfort and home and love. And Lucifer. It feels like Lucifer.
His eyes dart to her face briefly just as her vision starts to fade. Faintly, she registers him calling for her. Not her title, her real name again. He’s begging desperately for something; his voice is breaking; she can feel his body wracked with what might be sobs.
All she sees is blackness for several seconds. Then something is tugging insistently on her. Wrapping around her soul and grounding her. Pulling her back into her body.
Her eyes snap open and she takes a deep, gasping breath that wracks her entire body, much like Lucifer’s sobs. Shit. Lucifer. Lucifer who had fucking wings. That was real, wasn’t it? Because when she looks now, the light she saw before is gone, leaving them in a dim, dingy warehouse. And so are the wings.
But she knows she didn’t imagine it. She can still feel that incredible warmth flowing through her veins. When she looks down, her eyes widen: She’s watching as her gunshot wound heals. Like there’s an invisible surgeon stitching her up. It doesn’t hurt; there’s a slight ache and pulling sensation as the muscles mend. But it’s real.
All of it is real.
She looks up at Lucifer. He’s staring intently at her gunshot wound—or where the wound had been. Why won’t he look at her? Why does he look so...agonized? Resigned? Like he’s going to cry again.
Chloe wants to ask him, but her lungs are still aching and gasping for air. The grip Lucifer has on her still is tight, almost to the point of pain, and yet, somehow, still incredibly gentle. Her brain isn’t ready to process what she’s just seen and felt, but she knows it will need to be addressed.
Several minutes pass when the only sound in the warehouse is Chloe’s rough, raspy breathing. At one point, it occurs to her that the suspect they were chasing is long gone. Which is...that’s just great. There’s no telling how long he’s been gone, either. The bastard probably saw a chance for an escape after he shot her. She’ll have to deal with that, too. But she thinks she needs to address Lucifer’s current state of desolation first; he looks like his best friend died.
Wait. Did she die? Did he...somehow bring her back to life? The Devil is supposed to be incredibly powerful, isn’t he? So that could be in his repertoire.
Finally, her muscles begin to respond when she tries to move them. She sits up, with Lucifer’s assistance, one hand on her back. She’s stiff and sore, but she’s alive. Thanks to Lucifer.
Thanks to the Devil. Holy fuck...
When she looks at him again, all hint of emotion is hidden behind an inscrutable mask. His eyes are still a little wet, but a second after she notices, he blinks, and that’s gone, too. Is the Devil part-chameleon?
“I think I can stand up,” she says, wincing at how croaky her voice is.
Lucifer nods silently and helps her to her feet, keeping his hands on her elbow and the small of her back when she begins to weave in place. Still, he doesn’t meet her gaze; not directly, anyway. It doesn’t matter how she tries to catch his eyes, he averts them every time.
And it hits her suddenly why he’s acting this way: For two years, he’s hidden the truth from her. He’s told her that he’s the Devil, but she never believed it. And he’s not exactly gone out of his way to prove it. In fact, didn’t he say that he didn’t have a way to prove it? Chloe tries to remember that conversation, but her mind is still fuzzy. The point is, there’s a reason he hasn’t shown her. Right now, his mask is cracking a little and she sees fear in his eyes, which confirms her theory: He’s afraid of what will happen now, with her knowing the truth.
Chloe doesn’t even know what’s going to happen. As a distraction, she takes inventory on herself and how she feels, physically; mentally, she feels like she’s in the middle of a whirlpool. Her body is less achy now. In fact, she hasn’t felt this good in years; like she’s had the best sleep of her life. She’s rested and rejuvenated. And she has so many questions for Lucifer.
She turns towards him, to tell him everything is okay. “Hey, Lucif...er...” He’s not there. Chloe looks everywhere for him. Calling his name. Calling his phone, texting. There’s no response.
Half an hour later, she has to admit defeat. “Probably should have seen that coming...” she mutters irritably to herself. Anytime something big happens between them, anytime he gets scared, he runs.
Sighing, she tries to prioritize and compartmentalize. She doesn’t think going back to work is an option today; she can just tell them she isn’t feeling well. No one is going to question the detective who’s practically dating the boss, after all. Her suspect will have a day’s head start, but it can’t be helped. Then she needs to go home, sit down, and think about what her next move is. With Lucifer. With Marcus. With all of it.
No matter what happens next, everything is about to change.