Work Text:
“I see you pretending to be something that you’re not. You don't have to. You're already perfect.”
Eve’s words keep playing in circles in his head. And now, sitting inside the Detective’s car, watching the ship and waiting for something to happen, he finds he can’t ignore them. Can’t stop mulling over them.
“Do you think I’m pretending to be something I’m not?”
“Don’t you?”
He has no idea. If he is, does it make him a liar?
“You awake?” the Detective says wryly, startling him out of his thoughts.
Lucifer chuckles. “Very funny, Detective.” She isn’t normally the joke-y type, but he likes her dry and quick wit.
“You know, we wouldn't have gotten this far without you. You did good, Lucifer,” she says, turning her head towards him. This unprompted praise makes him feel warm inside, but also like a fraud. He didn’t really do anything, it took the usual spectacle and someone else brave enough to slip a note into his jacket pocket.
He did stay and fall asleep at the precinct, but finding the nudist retreat had also been a team effort.
But this slip aside, he still trusts her. “Do you think I'm different when I'm at work to when I'm not at work?”
“Mmm,” she hums, thinking about it. “I think we're all a little different at work. You know, trying to put our best foot forward.”
It’s not exactly what he wants to hear. “But do you think the person that I'm trying to be at work is... I don't know, dishonest?” He stares ahead. A liar?
“Do you like work?”
He doesn’t even need to think about it. “I do,” he replies. He doesn’t feel like a liar admitting it out loud. He does like it. He likes working with Chloe Decker and everything that it entails. “I like work very much.” She looks at him with that unreadable expression on her face. He tells himself he only imagines the longing in her eyes. “Work makes me want to be a better man, but if I've never been that man before, then… is it even real?”
Lucifer doesn’t know who that man is. But Eve thinks he’s playing pretend. Their earlier conversation is the very reason he’s even talking with the Detective about this.
His girlfriend, the woman who accepts him for who he is, would know better, wouldn’t she? Eve isn’t a selfish person, she wants what’s best for him, and he wants to give her what she desires, he wants to please her. But where does that leave the little part of him that just confessed his other desire in a quiet conversation in the Detective’s cruiser?
Who is the better man Lucifer wants to be, in relation to Eve’s idea of who he is?
“Well, I mean, I think people are growing and changing all the time,” the Detective says, unaware of the ongoing battle inside his head. She’s wrong, though, in his millions, no, billions of years of existence, he’s barely changed. Until… No, he ruthlessly shoves this thought down, focusing on her words again. “I mean, look at me. Fifteen years ago, I was naked in a hot tub.”
There’s so much badly suppressed exasperation in her voice, that Lucifer can’t help teasing her. “Still one of my favorite films.” Which is true. It’s silly, and full of cheese, and the lines are so bad they’re good, and there’s something about it that makes him smile. It doesn’t even have anything to do with that particular scene. Though perhaps everything to do with that particular person.
The Detective laughs. “Well, the point is, I never would've pictured myself as a detective, or a mom, or a person with so many sensible brown shoes.”
“So many.” He chuckles, and for a split second tries to imagine meeting her then. A young actress. A daughter who’d just lost her father. Not a mom, not an ex wife, not an outcast. What would’ve happened? Would they have become something? He shakes his head; there’s no point in thinking about what ifs. Besides, they’re not anything now.
Friends? A tiny voice whispers. An almost?
“Yeah. It just... it just feels right. So, I think, uh, if what you're doing and who you are at work feels right, then I think you know it's real,” she says as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He wonders if it is.
He nods, thinking it over. Nothing has felt right to him for a long time; longer than he’s willing to admit, even to himself.
The Detective’s fear. Eve’s acceptance. His work. His life. It reminds him of Hell, with better booze and slightly less suffering. And Lucifer supposes it’s fitting. You can take the Devil out of Hell, but you can’t take Hell out of the Devil.
How sad.
The Detective turns to watch the ship when he says nothing, letting a comfortable silence settle over them. Somehow, with all the things they lost, they kept this one.
Minutes trickle by, and with nothing else to do, his thoughts turn darker. Shaking his head, he considers asking her what bulk food bargains she scoured on her last grocery run, and what she’s making for dinner tonight, and how’s the little urchin doing in school. They don’t need to fill the silence, but he needs her to talk to quiet the warring voices inside his head.
He doesn’t get the chance to do it.
Lucifer hears the screech of the tires just a moment before a car slams into the Detective’s cruiser. It pushes them across the dock and towards the water.
Neither him nor the Detective are wearing seatbelts, so they’re thrown sideways by the impact. He glances at the Detective as she tries to hold onto the seat and the steering wheel. Lucifer tries to do the same, but the passenger door is mangled, his lap is full of broken glass, and his right side is screaming in agony. He’s as fragile as a fine china in the Detective’s presence.
And then they go over.
The car topples and falls. In the three agonizing seconds it takes to hit the water, he manages to hold onto the fortunately rather smooth part of the now glassless window to anchor himself in the passenger seat. Immediately, the water begins to fill the small space inside. Lucifer makes a mental note to complain about poorly designed cars later, clearly they need to be waterproof.
Groaning, he realizes the bent door somehow cut into the skin of his leg, and the salt water is making the wound sting. He pushes it to the back of his mind, he needs to assist the Detective; fortunately the belts won’t be a problem, but even if they were, he’s vulnerable, not weak.
The blood from his leg paints the water red, but Lucifer ignores it. The Detective is already submerged completely, and he dives his head in, suddenly noticing with a growing panic that she’s not moving.
None too gently, he cups her face, but her eyes are closed. There’s a cut on her left temple. She must have been knocked unconscious when they went in. But it also means she’s been inhaling water into her lungs. By his accounts it can’t have been more than ten seconds, but she’s human, and she is fragile, and he needs to get her out right fucking now.
The car keeps sinking, the cabin is now completely submerged. The passenger door is in no state to be opened, and with him floating, he can’t get a foothold to rip it off its hinges either. But they should be able to squeeze through the window.
The internal clock is ticking in his head as he wraps one arm around the Detective, and pulls them up, parallel to the windshield, making sure her head doesn’t hit anything. But they can’t both fit through the window at the same time. He curses his oversight aloud. Carefully, Lucifer maneuvers himself in the small space so that he can swim feet first through the broken window, all the while maintaining his grip on the Detective as best he can to keep her upright. Once outside of the car, he pulls her through after him.
With one arm around her chest, Lucifer swims them upwards, gulping in the air once they break the surface. He doesn’t technically need it, but it sure is rather uncomfortable without it filling his lungs.
The ledge is tall enough for him to barely reach it. He pulls himself up as far as he can with one hand. The panic is setting in for real, they’re above but the Detective isn’t breathing, and unlike him, she needs air to stay alive, so every damned second counts. But then he hits another snag, he needs both hands and she’s still clutched securely to his chest. With a frustrated shout, he manages to place the Detective behind him, so that both of her arms are around his neck and he can keep her on his back with one hand. Using his other hand, Lucifer pulls himself up again, but this time he can also use his leg to gain a purchase, heaving them both up onto the solid ground of the dock. Being strong is great, but as it turns out, it doesn’t actually solve the logistical problems.
Immediately, he kneels next to the Detective, turning her onto her back. What now? She's not breathing, and there's no one around, the bad guys responsible are gone as well, fortunately. He's already wasted so much time, and what if it's too late?
What if he's too late?
"No, no, no, please, Detective, you have to breathe now," he pleads, his voice shaking, as the sinking feeling rocks his body like a shiver.
She remains still and silent on the ground.
Glancing at his hands, he has to do something or he’ll never forgive himself, Lucifer puts them on her chest, over her heart, and presses them down. He's never actually performed chest compressions before, and he played on someone else's phone during the mandatory first aid briefing when he joined the police. But there is something stirring in his memory, picked up from the briefing, or the movies, or Dad knows where else.
"One, two, three, four," he counts out loud, worrying about applying too much pressure, and not enough. He gets to thirty and tilts the Detective's head slightly, pinches her nose shut with two fingers, and blows air directly into her lungs. Her chest moves.
Lucifer begins again. "Come on, Detective, come on," he whispers through gritted teeth instead of counting. He breathes for her again; she feels clammy against his lips and hands. “You have to fight, you have to help me. You have to breathe.”
His hands go to her chest again. Shouldn’t this have worked already? Is he doing this wrong? Her chest moves when he exhales the air from his lungs into hers, but she remains unresponsive.
"You can't just leave me. Not like this."
Her ribs make a barely audible cracking sound when he applies pressure again, and Lucifer winces. He's never meant for any of this to happen. He's going to lose her; she'll go to the place he can never follow. He'll never see her again. And it's all his fault for driving her away, for giving her an impossible choice, for wanting more than he could ever hope to have. For not cherishing what he did have.
It hits him like a freight train; he doesn’t care that she’s scared of him, she only needs to be alive. He just needs to know she’s okay. All his hurt and anguish and self pity pale in the light of the looming possibility that she won’t be.
He only cares about her. Chloe Decker. His entire Dad damned universe.
And now she’s going to die.
She can’t die.
What will he tell Trixie?
Biting back a gasp of pain, he leans down to breathe for her again. "Please," he begs. "Please, don't go."
Frantic with grief threatening to overwhelm him, he goes through the motions again. Count. Breathe. Count. Breathe. "This is wrong," he whispers. "It's not her time. The world still needs her." I need her. "Please, please, don't take her away from me." But hope slips through his fingers like water. He must have taken too long to get her to safety. He must have done something wrong.
She's really gone now.
The pain doubles him and he presses his forehead to her shoulder. “Please, Chloe.” The sobs break free of his chest, and then a cough breaks free of hers.
With a gasp Lucifer lifts his head, watching the water spill from her lips, as she coughs some more. Gently, he helps her turn onto her side.
With shaking hands, his heart beating wildly inside his chest, he rubs soothing circles on her back. More for his own benefit than hers. Reassuring himself that she's still here with every tiny movement that the Detective makes as she comes back to herself.
Finally, she quiets, having caught her breath somewhat, and one of her hands comes to rest upon his on her shoulder. She struggles to sit up, and he sinks down next to her, helping her lean against his side. With a still shaking hand, he pushes wet hair away from her face. "Cold," she manages, her teeth clattering.
"I'd offer you my jacket, but it's all wet," he says, an awful attempt at a joke. But a tiny smile ghosts across her blue tinted lips for a second.
"Hurts." She groans, gently touching her ribs. Her heart.
The guilt almost consumes him. "I'm so sorry, Detective. Your ribs are cracked or broken, I’m not sure. I'm sorry, it’s all my fault," he repeats again. "I should've gotten you out of the water much sooner."
She stares at the water for a long moment, then turns her head to look at him. "I must've been knocked unconscious," she says, shivering like a leaf, and Lucifer carefully wraps his arms around her, sharing as much body heat with her as he can through wet clothing.
"I thought I lost you," he blurts out. It sounds accusing and he clamps his mouth shut. It's not her fault. It's his.
Reaching out with one hand, she winces as it must hurt her ribs, but doesn't stop until she touches his face. Her thumb brushes his cheek and only then does he realize he's crying.
"You saved me." Her eyes meet his and hold.
There's a wave of something rising inside his chest. It feels like drowning, but there's no water. It's hard to breathe, there are black spots dancing across his vision, and his heart is beating loudly in his ears. Is he dying? He feels like he might be dying.
Slipping her hand behind his neck, the Detective gently pushes until his forehead rests on hers. "Just breathe with me," she murmurs.
Lucifer tries to do as he's told, doing his best to focus on her deep breaths, on her fingers moving across the back of his neck. His fingertips find the pulse points on her neck, gently pressing in. Her heart is beating out the same word over and over, a-live, a-live, a-live.
A minute or two passes as his breathing slowly evens out, and this terrible feeling releases its hold on him. Shakily, he lifts his head. The Detective is the one who almost died, and she’s the one who has to comfort him. This is embarrassing.
He clears his throat. “I apologize. I do not know what came over me,” he says, trying to sound normal.
The Detective shakes her head. “It’s okay. We’re both okay. You saved me. Again. Thank you, Lucifer.”
Did he really do it? Could it have been his Father? He has no idea.
Her hand slides down to rest over his chest, she’s so close that despite the insufficient lighting, he can so clearly see the blue in her eyes. Blue enough to get lost in. He curses himself for getting distracted; she’s cold and she needs medical attention.
“Yes, well, you really need to stop getting yourself in these situations. I don’t want to go gray before my time,” he complains.
She gives him a faint smile. “I think it’d look really good on you.”
There’s a part of him that, at this point, is pretty much hardwired to respond to flirting without conscious thought. “Oh yeah?” He leans closer, giving her a slight leer.
“Yeah, a real silver fox.” Their eyes lock and he swallows hard before remembering himself.
“Uh, well, try not to get yourself into another life-threatening bind anytime soon at least.”
“If I do, I’ll just have to make sure you’re there to help me.”
He stares at her, she seems startled by her words, so he decides to ignore them. “Let’s get you to a hospital, shall we?“
But as he tries to pull away and get to his feet, the Detective fists her hand in his wet shirt, stopping him. “I’m sorry,” she says. His eyes widen in surprise.
What the hell is she talking about? This is in no way her fault.
“What?”
“I remember the impact,” she says, eyes boring into his. “I barely remember hitting my head, but it hurts, and so do my ribs, and honestly, I feel like eating a bunch of painkillers and sleeping for a week. And,” she gentles her tone, “well, I gather that it was a pretty close call. But if this was my time, if I died tonight, I never would’ve gotten to tell you-”
“Detective, you don’t have to say anything,” Lucifer interrupts, afraid of what she might say.
“No, I need to say it, so shut up.”
A chuckle rips from his throat at her command, and she smiles.
Despite her clattering teeth, she looks determined, and Lucifer knows better than to argue. “Alright,” he says.
She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. For how I acted after I learned the truth. It was stupid.” She releases his shirt, drawing a little into herself, but this small movement makes her wince. “I know it doesn’t change anything, nor do I expect it to, it’s not why I’m saying this. I know you’re happy now. I’m saying this because I should’ve said it a long time ago. And because I think you deserve to know that I’m not just cherry picking the parts of you to keep and the parts of you to discard in order to keep working with you. I do accept you, Lucifer. And I’m glad that I still get to have what we have. I’m glad to have you in my life as my partner and my friend.”
He’s speechless. He’s utterly flabbergasted. He couldn’t even imagine that she would say anything close to this.
Perhaps you weren’t the only one experiencing a sudden reevaluation of things that matter to you, the same tiny voice whispers. Hope rekindles in Lucifer’s chest, weak, but stubborn.
But another thought crosses his mind, unwelcome, what if she just wants to make peace with her guilt? Lucifer shakes his head, dismissing it. No, that is not like her. And it doesn’t matter either way. When she dies of old age surrounded by her family and friends, she will go to Heaven, where she belongs, no questions asked, and she will be greeted by the family and friends who have gone before her.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Detective,” he says. “I realize I wasn’t entirely fair that night on the balcony.”
She shakes her head. “Do you forgive me?”
Oh, he forgave her a long time ago.
“Yes.”
They gaze at each other unblinking until a violent shiver runs through her body again, and Lucifer shoves every thought aside but this one. “You need to see a doctor.”
Gently disentangling himself, he gets to his feet, and reaches out to help her get up as smoothly as possible. His leg aches, and he’s not fast enough to hide the wince.
“Oh, no,” the Detective says, worry lacing her voice. “You’re hurt.”
“That’s nothing. It’ll heal in no time once I leave you in a doctor’s capable hands,” he brushes off her concern.
She stares hard at him, before deciding to let it go. One of her arms wraps around his waist as she wobbles slightly on her feet.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. What about Julian?” She glances up at him, as he wraps his arm around her shoulders to steady her. “The ship is still here, but, and this is just a wild guess, it was his people who ran us off the dock?”
“They will pay,” he says, grimly. Whatever shady thing they’re really doing that cost poor Gary his life, it warrants punishment already. But their actions nearly cost the Detective her life, and Lucifer will not let it go. Perhaps tomorrow the Devil will pay a visit to Julian’s daddy.
He startles out of his dark thoughts when she places a hand on his chest. “They will.” There’s gentleness and steel in her voice, and for a moment all he can do is stare at her. And then she shivers again.
With his other hand he pulls out his phone. “Useless. Yours must be too.” Slowly, he begins to guide her away. In a moment he spots a car parked nearby, and he moves towards it.
“Lucifer, wait, we’re not going to hotwire-”
It takes all but a blink for the engine to roar to life, and the Detective stops. With trepidation, he looks down at her. But a smile appears on her face.
“Right, of course.. You can turn on anyone and anything.”
Relief blooms in his chest. “It’s a talent of mine.” He grins. “But don’t worry, Detective,” he says, opening the passenger door for her and rounding the car. “I’ll make sure whoever owns this car is well compensated. Besides, we’re the police, the owner will come to us.”
“Uh.”
“Regardless, we’re only borrowing it. And for a good reason.” He slams the door shut, watching as she grimaces when she fastens the seatbelt. “You don’t want your toes to get frostbitten, do you?”
She glares. It’s such a familiar expression. “It’s like sixty degrees. I’m cold, but I’m not that cold.”
“And you’re also wet. You really need to get out of these clothes and dry as soon as possible.” Watching the road, he tries to decide on the best route to the nearest hospital, but a chuckle from her makes him turn his head. “What?”
“Nothing.” The Detective huffs out a laugh, groaning when this also proves to be a rather painful endeavor. “Ow. I mean, I just never expected to hear you say those words in that exact order.”
He frowns, replaying what he said in his head. “Ah, yes, well. I can be a responsible Devil when the situation calls for it.”
“I think you can be whatever you want,” she says quietly, and the words unexpectedly steal his breath, reminding him of their conversation before his world turned upside down. He turns his head to glance at her for just a second. She looks at him, an unreadable expression on her face, and he looks away.
They don’t say anything the rest of the way.
Lucifer leaves the hospital as soon as he’s satisfied that the Detective will get all the necessary attention. And when he returns in a fresh and blissfully dry suit a little over an hour later, he's immediately whisked away for questioning by Daniel.
He replays the events as fast as possible, but doesn't mention his injury; it's all healed up anyway. He doesn't exactly expect a thank you for saving my ex wife's/friend's life, but something about the way Daniel looks at him rubs Lucifer the wrong way. As if he was doubting the Detective’s version of events and there was no way Lucifer would do everything he could to make sure she was safe.
If Daniel thinks so little of him, it’s his problem, not Lucifer’s. Although he wonders for a moment if their, uh, friendship is ruined forever now. But the thought doesn't linger, he needs to see the Detective, so he brushes Daniel off and refuses to feel bad for it.
When he walks into her room, she's lying on a hospital bed with her eyes closed. She’s dressed in sweat pants and a zipped hoodie, and her still damp hair is tied away from her face. Dan must have got her the change of clothes from the giftshop. Lucifer feels a little bummed for not thinking of this himself.
"Hey," she says, opening her eyes as he comes to a stop next to the bed.
"What did the doctor say?" Lucifer asks, gesturing to her ribs.
"Two are cracked, and there’s some bruising, so I'm gonna be on painkillers and light duty for a couple of weeks.” Her nose scrunches up in displeasure, and Lucifer smiles, even as the guilt flares up inside him. Unintentional it may be, but he still hurt her. “Other than that I'm okay. Shaken up a little, but apparently that’s to be expected. So I’m just waiting for the go ahead to leave. There's no need to keep me overnight if someone's staying with me at home and making sure I don’t overexert myself."
He nods. The urchin would want to be with her mother, and that also likely means Daniel. "Dan?" he asks anyway, as casually as he can manage.
The Detective makes a non-committal sound. "How's your leg?"
"Good as new. All it needed was a little space," he jokes, and she smiles.
"Right."
They stare at each other, at a loss for words. "I broke up with Eve," he blurts out without his mind’s approval.
Surprise appears on her face, but she schools it fast. "Oh. Uh, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
Lucifer thinks back to their conversation. To Eve's confusion and hurt, her anger and pleas, her arguments. He hated hurting her, but it had to be done. And not because there may be a possibility of something more with the Detective. Breaking up with Eve was the right thing to do because what happened tonight shed a light on the parts of his soul he kept locked away. Because the high of being accepted by her wore off fast. Because in the breaks between endless pleasures, and parties, and drugs, being with her never felt right. It was never real, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise.
Eve was right about him trying to be someone he wasn’t. Just wrong about who with.
But they both have to shoulder the blame. Deep down he knew it was never going to work. He doesn't lie, except apparently to himself. So this needed to be done for both their sakes. In time, when emotions aren’t running so high, Lucifer knows she'll understand. He knows she'll see just how not good for each other they were.
She was never the woman he loved. And he was no longer the man she wanted.
He shrugs, not really wanting to say all this out loud, but the Detective deserves an answer. "It was the best thing for both of us. I... don't think we had each other's best interests at heart."
"I'm sorry," she says again, sincerity and compassion in her voice. He nods, accepting it, but he isn’t sorry he did it. Carefully sitting up, she reaches for a glass of water on a bedside table, taking a sip. “Lucifer, what I told you at the dock,” she begins.
His heart sinks. He’d thought… What if she changed her mind after getting a chance to think clearly about it? He’s still the Devil, that hasn’t changed. But he also wants her to just be alive and safe, that hasn’t changed either.
Looking at her linked hands in her lap, she continues, “I didn’t say it because I wanted you to break up with Eve. That was not my intention.”
Lucifer frowns, taking a step closer. “Once again, you have nothing to apologize for, Detective.”
Tentatively, she nods, before lifting her head to look at him. “But a part of me hoped,” she whispers. He sees her throat move as she swallows hard.
Hardly daring to hope, Lucifer takes another step until all he needs to do is lift his hand and he can touch her. “It did?“ he asks, like an idiot.
Her eyes meet his and hold. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I meant it when I said that I am glad to simply keep working with you, but…”
He wants it. He wants it so badly it steals his breath. “But?” Lucifer prompts, needing her to say it. Because he only needs one word from her and she can have him. She can have his life. His heart and soul. The good and the bad. Everything that he is or will one day become, because she inspires him to be a better man every single day.
“But if there was a chance you wanted to try again.” She bites her lower lip, and her eyes are so huge, he gets lost in them. “I’d very much like that too.”
Still half convinced this isn’t happening, he swallows. “I would.”
“Okay.”
The sounds of the hospital disappear as he stares at her. Carefully, with a wince and keeping their eye contact, the Detective gets to her feet, and takes a step towards him, until they’re standing close enough to touch. “May I kiss you?” she asks, uncertain and shy, and something snaps inside him.
Cupping her cheeks in both hands, he crushes his lips to hers, swallowing her surprised squeak. Mindful of her ribs, he carefully steps into her. His body buzzes with relief and amazement and longing when she opens her mouth, tangling their tongues together, deepening their kiss. Her hands come to rest on his wrists, and her touch is electric.
Gasping slightly for air, Lucifer pulls back, resting his forehead on hers.
“This is real, right?” she asks, breathlessly.
Another day from what feels like another lifetime shines bright in his memory. “It is.”
“Just checking.” She chuckles. “Today’s been a long day.”
“It has,” he agrees as his hands gently grip her upper arms. He woke up in the interrogation room and now he’s here? With the Detective in his arms? He can scarcely believe it himself.
“Will you take me home?” she smiles at him, brilliant, and he can’t help but smile back.
“Of course.”
“I do have Trixie tonight, but we can have an impromptu game night. And what is less taxing than a round of Monopoly?”
His smile turns into a smirk. “That’s very funny.” The Detective tilts her head a bit, looking pleased with her pun, and tenderness floods his heart. “I’d love that.”
“Good,” she says. “We also need to talk, we need to figure out what to do about Julian. And whether or not his father is involved in whatever he’s doing, so maybe we- What?”
“You’re injured.”
“Yes, my ribs, not my brain.”
Incredulous, Lucifer stares at her, until her lips twitch. Right, of course, she’s doing this on purpose. Shaking his head, he kisses her in retaliation.
A gentle cough breaks them apart, and he whips around, but it’s only a nurse. “Detective Decker? You need to sign some forms and then you’re free to go.”
“Of course,” the Detective says, and then looks at him. “Let’s go home?”
He smiles and nods, gently placing one hand on her back, as they walk out of the room.
“Hold on, are you not wearing a bra?”