Chapter Text
The sound of a phone doesn’t even register in Chloe's mind until the third ring. She reaches for it out of habit, barely aware of pressing the receiver to her ear with a calmness that doesn’t match the flutter she’s felt in her chest for...what, a week now? Longer?
“Hollywood station, Officer Decker speaking,” she says in a professional tone. “How may I direct your call?”
A man on the other end launches into some rant about a noise complaint that involves his neighbor and a haunted drum set. Raising an eyebrow to herself, she takes down the necessary information, gives the man reassurances, and then transfers the call before gently hanging up.
Then the silence returns, broken only by the tapping of a pencil she’s using to fill out a report. Followed by her reading the same line for the fifth time. Or maybe the dozenth. She’s lost track.
Normally, she isn’t the type to daydream. She remains focused on her job, performs it efficiently and correctly, and doesn’t allow her thoughts to wander much. In fact, she can’t remember the last time she daydreamed while on shift. Today, though, her mind will not settle into the usual routine. It keeps circling back to two nights ago. The luxury and wealth that surrounded her. The music she can still feel thumping in her bones. Him.
Somehow, it always comes back to him. She isn’t sure why that surprises her anymore.
Lucifer Morningstar.
Chloe doesn't even entirely know what the hell she walked into that night. It was only supposed to be a party. The grand opening of a brand-new nightclub. She expected the extravagance, and the famous faces, and overindulgence. She hadn’t expected him. Or that the memory would linger with her for this long.
The way he looked at her when she arrived, as if she’d walked in wearing some fancy designer dress instead of jeans and a leather jacket. He looked like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. As though he’d been waiting all night for her arrival like she was the only person on the guest list.
Or the way he smiled at her—repeatedly. It wasn’t an arrogant smirk or charming, flirty grin. There was something almost reverent in his smile, soft and sweet. She’d call it shy from anyone else, but she doesn’t think Lucifer knows the meaning of the word.
Then there was the dance. How she stumbled like Bambi on ice at first, and he only chuckled as if she hadn’t stepped on his expensive shoes. The way his eyes softened and didn’t drift once. It wasn’t a dance that expected to be more than it was. It was just...them. No one else existed for those minutes. And for a brief second she actually looked at his lips and considered—
Stop it, she tells herself for the...thousandth time? It’s over, for crying out loud. Just one night out of a whole year. A party. A dance. And he’s just another guy. Nothing more.
And yet.
She knows she’s lying to herself, but it’s out of necessity. Because Lucifer isn’t just some other guy. He’s...well, Lucifer. The man breaks the mold in damn near every category there is.
Since when do you get all dewy-eyed over a man? So what if he’s all tall, dark, and mysterious? So what if he looks at you like he really sees you? Like he thinks you’re just as different? It was just a party.
Maybe if she thinks it enough it will become true.
The scuffed surface of the precinct front desk looks no different than it did a week before. But Chloe feels different. She feels—
Laughter snaps her out of her daze. She glances over to see Dan leaning against the break room counter with a coffee cup in one hand. He’s surrounded by a group of detectives, joking around over donuts. The hem of his shirt is tucked only enough to clearly display the shiny gold badge on his hip. Dan throws an arm around one of the other guy’s shoulders and leans in to say something. The group laughs, and he beams like the golden boy he’s always been.
Chloe’s jaw tightens as her gaze lingers on the badge. That should have been mine, she thinks resentfully, maybe a little childishly.
As if sensing her stare, Dan glances her way and smiles. Just a brief flash, like he’s trying to be polite. The supposed ‘guilt’ he felt when he was promoted over her has faded entirely. Now one of the detective inner circle, he couldn't look more smug if he tried. Chloe nods back, polite but distant, then returns to her paperwork.
A few minutes later, the elevator dings across the hall, and before she can even look up again, a blur of energy with a dark ponytail lands in front of her. Ella Lopez, in one of her trademark graphic tees—this one with a periodic table that says I Make Bad Science Puns Periodically—leans over the desk like it’s a crime scene she can’t wait to analyze.
“Someone’s in La-La Land today,” she sing-songs with a grin.
“Hey, Ella,” Chloe says. She’s still getting used to the bundle of optimism wrapped in sunshine who only transferred in from Detroit a couple months ago.
Ella blinks, then tilts her head as if Chloe is a specimen she’s studying. “Okay. Who is he?”
Chloe blinks back. “What?”
The grin returns. “Oh, don’t even try playing innocent, chica. I am well-versed in The Look.”
“The...Look?” Chloe repeats slowly with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, you know. The one where you’re technically here, but your soul is somewhere else entirely, dancing with a dude who smells like sin and cinnamon.”
Chloe can’t help her smile. “Just so I know where we stand in the future, do you always psychoanalyze people first thing in the morning, or is that reserved just for me?” she asks.
“Only when they’re clearly lovestruck,” Ella says, her grin widening. “So...come on, spill. I haven’t had any decent girl gossip since I moved to L.A. Mama Ella needs her tea.”
“I’m not lovestruck.” Chloe’s traitorous heart gives a disagreeing thud against her ribs.
Ella hums consideringly. “Hmm. Okay, but you’re definitely something-struck. I heard that little dreamy sigh when I stepped out of the elevator. That thing was audible, Decker. From, like, three blocks away.”
Chloe gives her a long-suffering look. “Look, it’s nothing, okay? It was just some party,” she says before she can filter herself.
The other woman’s eyes light up. “Wait, a party? And you didn’t invite me?” She blinks. “Hang on. A party or the party? Oh my god! Is this about that grand opening for the new club I’ve been hearing so much about? I was dying to go to that, but apparently, it was invite-only.”
Unfortunately for Chloe, she isn’t quick enough to respond, mostly surprised Ella got there so quickly, eliciting a gasp from the tiny scientist. “It is! You got invited to the hottest party of the year!”
Chloe tries to suppress her smile. “I definitely didn’t say that,” she says, trying to sound casual.
Ella just scoffs. “You didn’t have to,” she says, leaning in. “And don’t think I don’t recognize that afterglow. It’s all over you. Like a woman who’s either been kissed by a god in human form or danced with the devil.”
The irony alone nearly makes Chloe choke on air. Before she can respond with anything sarcastic, or at least noncommittal, a stern voice cuts across the bullpen.
“Officer Decker!”
Chloe snaps to attention and glances over. The lieutenant of Homicide, Olivia Monroe, is standing in the doorway of her office wearing a perfectly tailored suit as sharp as her tone. Nothing in her expression gives away the reason for her laser focus on Chloe, except the usual weight of command.
“My office. Now,” Lieutenant Monroe says.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chloe calls, already moving in that direction. She ignores the way every eye in the bullpen snaps to her, waiting for gossip like lions before feeding time.
Ella sucks air in through her teeth, wincing. “Oof. Good luck, Chloe. That sounded like the ‘you’re about to get rotated to night shift for the next six months’ voice.”
Chloe offers a weak smile and smooths her uniform shirt on reflex. The lieutenant has already disappeared back into the office, obedience of her command a given. Meanwhile, Chloe is trying not to imagine how many more weekends she’s about to spend policing bar brawls in Echo Park.
Off to the side, Dan is watching her with an almost-sympathetic expression on his face. But then one of the other guys says something and his attention wavers.
Stepping into the office, Chloe closes the door behind her, the click sounding like a judge’s gavel. Lieutenant Monroe gestures at the chair across from her desk. “Sit down, Decker,” she says evenly.
Chloe obeys, keeping her posture perfect and her hands folded in her lap.
For too long a moment, Monroe doesn’t say a word, studying Chloe with something near calculating in her eyes. “You’ve been on the force nearly nine years now,” she says calmly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Three of that behind a desk.”
“Yes.”
“And in that time, you’ve earned...what? Five commendations?”
Chloe clears her throat. “Six, actually,” she says quietly, trying not to sound too proud. Her pulse is picking up as she wonders where this is headed.
“You last took your detective exam three months ago.”
She hesitates. “Well, yes, but my interview—”
“—didn’t go your way. I know,” Monroe finishes for her. “But from what I’m seeing, that wasn’t your fault.”
That surprises her.
The lieutenant leans back in her chair. “You have taken every crap shift, every late night, weekend, holiday, every beat assignment we’ve thrown at you. Not once have you complained. Never slacked off. Always shown up—no sick days, vacation days, or mental health days. You were even instrumental in solving the mugger murders case. Though from what I saw, it wouldn't have been solved at all if not for you.”
Chloe doesn’t respond. She still can’t tell where this is going, but it feels like a performance review. Except those aren’t due for another few months.
“Why do you want to be a detective, Decker?”
Chloe blinks. “Um...”
“It’s not a trick question.”
“Right. Well, I...want to make a difference in people’s lives. Whether it’s in Vice or Narcotics or Homicide, I want to get justice for the people who deserve it,” Chloe answers. It sounds like a bottled answer, but it’s the truth. That’s the whole reason she wanted to be a cop in the first place.
Monroe nods thoughtfully. “I knew your father, you know.”
Chloe blinks again. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“John was a good man,” Monroe goes on. “Always hard-working and fair. And god, was he funny.” Her lips twitch into a fond, sad smile. “He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“No,” Chloe says again, her voice quieter as her gaze drops to her hands briefly. “He didn’t.”
Another long moment of silence fills the office, this time almost a remembrance before Monroe snaps out of it. “You think he’d want to see you as a cop?”
Chloe doesn’t bristle, but it’s a near thing. “I think...he would want me to follow my dreams,” she says as neutrally as possible. “Whatever they might be.”
“Hmm. I think you might be right, Decker.” Monroe watches her for another second, then opens a desk drawer. “I’ve been watching you, you know,” she says quietly. “And so has the department.” Then she reaches in, entirely without ceremony and places something on the desk between them.
For a few seconds, it feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. Chloe stares at the square of leather and gold between them, her heart thudding to a complete stop.
A badge.
A detective’s badge.
Chloe’s mouth falls open part way. She doesn’t know if it’s a gasp or to ask something, but nothing comes out.
“It took a while, but the budget finally opened a new spot in homicide,” Monroe says simply. “And that spot is yours. Assuming you still want it.”
Chloe doesn’t move. She just stares at the badge like it might disappear if she so much as blinks. Her eyes sting, but she keeps her eyes open. “I—” She swallows. Once. Twice. A lump forms in her throat she has to clear away. “I don’t— I mean...yes, but...” She drags her gaze to Monroe. “Are you...sure?”
Monroe’s lips twitch just a fraction. “I don’t give promotions because I feel sentimental, Decker. Or because of legacy. I only give them to the people who have earned them.”
Letting out a stuttering breath, Chloe glances down at the badge again. “I mean, I thought I’d have to wait until someone retired. Or, you know, got hit by a bus.”
“Don’t get any ideas.”
A surprised laugh falls from Chloe’s lips. Then another. As subtly as possible—Monroe catches it anyway—she pinches the inside of her arm, hard. She winces just as hard.
Not a dream.
The badge is still there, staring her in the face.
“We don’t have a partner lined up for you just yet,” Monroe continues. “But your desk is already waiting. We moved the files this morning. For now, you’ll partner with one of the senior detectives until you learn the ropes. I don’t expect that to take long.”
Chloe blinks rapidly as her eyes well up. “Thank you,” she whispers breathlessly. “Thank you, Lieutenant, so much. I promise, I won’t let you down.”
“Oh, I know you won’t.”
Chloe rises to her feet and takes the badge in hand reverently, like she’s afraid it’ll break if she holds it too tightly. It’s heavier than she expected. Shinier. But damn, does it feel good. More than that, it feels right.
With a final smile to the lieutenant, who actually gives her a rare smile in return, Chloe starts out of the office.
“Oh, and Detective? One more thing.”
She nearly startles at the title as she turns back.
The smile on Monroe’s face softens a touch. “Your father would be damn proud of you today,” she says quietly.
That right there nearly makes Chloe burst into tears. Instead, she holds it back, nods respectfully, and leaves, still feeling like she’s walking through a dream.
When she steps back into the bullpen, it’s the exact same chatter, laughter, phones ringing noise as it was before. But Chloe feels like an entirely different person. She doesn’t even care that heads turn towards her like they all know exactly what just happened.
Dan glances up from his paperwork and does a double take. His eyes drop to the badge in her hand, then drift up to her face. She can’t read his exact expression, his mouth twists slightly before he looks away.
Chloe isn’t given time to dwell, or care, about her ex’s reaction before she hears someone squeal that gets louder. And then she’s being wrapped in a vice-tight hug.
“OH EM GEEE! Is that what I think it is?” Ella squeals, looking at the badge in Chloe’s hand. “You got a promotion? That is so much better than graveyard shift!”
Huffing a laugh, Chloe stares down at her new badge, still unable to believe it’s really real. “I—yes?” She nods a bit too rapidly. “Apparently, yes.”
“Yes!” Ella says, looking as excited as Chloe will feel once the shock wears off. “Finally! Detective Decker!” She whoops and wraps her arms around Chloe again. “This is, like, the best news all week. No, all month! Probably all year.”
This time, Chloe hugs her back. “I just—this is real, right? I’m not just...dreaming this or something?”
“I mean, unless we’re both dreaming and you’re about to wake up to discover you’re late for a shift and I’m back in Detroit freezing my forensic butt off? Nope. All real, chica!” Ella beams, then gasps, grasping Chloe’s arm. “Oh, we should totally go out for drinks to celebrate!”
“Yeah, um, maybe this weekend,” Chloe says. “I’d actually like that.” She would. She doesn’t have any friends to drink with. Well, one friend. If that’s what she can even call him. “I’ll get back to you, okay?”
“Totally,” Ella agrees quickly. “Congrats!”
Chloe waves and says thank you as Ella returns to the lab. She continues to the only unoccupied desk, and her heart flutters again. It’s a real desk, with a chair and computer and phone. And a nameplate sitting at the edge—Det. Chloe Decker. She stares at it for a full thirty seconds before it registers.
Holy crap, that’s her. She is Det. Chloe Decker of the LAPD homicide department.
How is this possibly real?
She walks around, fingers trailing the surface of the desk, and sits in the chair. Then she pulls her phone from her pocket and looks at it. The first impulse is to call her mother, to share the good news, but she knows exactly how that will end—Penelope saying something passive-aggressive, Chloe pissed off—and she doesn’t want to ruin this moment. The second impulse, stronger than that one, is to text someone else. Someone who would understand.
Someone who has called her Detective from the moment they met a decade ago. The only person who believed in her and her dreams all this time.
Lucifer.
But the second her fingers are hovering above the keyboard, she hesitates. Not yet. Maybe later.
For now, she—Detective Chloe Decker—has work to do.
The only person outside of the department to find out about her promotion is John Decker’s old partner. And only because Chloe went to Paul Anderson’s diner around the corner for lunch. She walked in, badge on her hip, a huge smile on her face. He took one look at her and swept her into a bear hug so fierce her ribs are still aching.
Over burgers, fries, and milkshakes, they talked for the rest of the hour. Which resulted in Chloe finally succumbing to emotion when Paul looked at her with pride in his eyes and said, “You did good, kid. Your dad would be so proud of you.”
Chloe didn’t stop smiling all the way back to the precinct. And only then because she was trying to look professional.
A few hours later, she’s staring at her computer screen where a digital form blinks back at her, waiting for her to finish up her promotion intake paperwork. Her fingers hover above the keyboard, and yet, nothing moves.
She doesn’t get it. She should be...happy. Elated. And...well, she is. Only a few hours have passed since she changed out of her uniform and attached her new shield to her belt. Maybe she’s still in shock. That could be what this is. She simply...isn’t used to it. That’s all.
For the hundredth time, her eyes drift to the nameplate on her desk (Det. Chloe Decker), and sees it’s still real.
Or maybe it’s the other feeling swirling in her gut. The one that isn’t pride. It’s suspicion.
Really, she shouldn’t have reason to worry. Under normal circumstances, that is. But these are anything but ordinary circumstances. And she started to hear the whispers almost the moment she sat down in her chair. At first, she ignored them—cops talk and rumors are exchanged like currency over coffee and donuts. Chloe has been the subject of the rumor mill from the second she entered the police academy, and never in a good way.
This, though...this is worse.
Tearing her gaze away from the computer, she glances towards the break room where she can just hear the murmured conversation. Not that anyone is bothering to keep their voices down, anyway. And not for the first time, she hears her name, and every nerve in her body goes on high alert as she holds her breath.
“Didn’t know the budget could open that damn fast,” one officer says. His voice is casual, but it’s edged with something like resentment.
“Right?” another answers. “First she somehow flies her way through the academy—and come on, no chick who looks like that got through on merit alone. Now, she’s getting a shiny gold badge? Guys bust their asses their entire careers and never manage to pull that off. She’s been around...what? Less than ten years?”
“Apparently, someone pretty high up made the call,” says the first one. “Either that, or someone wrote a damn big check. Probably after she crawled out from under their desk, if you know what I mean.”
The second officer scoffs a laugh. “Well, whatever it was, little Miss Hot Tub Tits has a shiny new badge and a desk of her own to go with it.”
Chloe remains motionless at her desk, eyes snapping back to the screen. She doesn’t see anything through the corners of her vision darkening. She can’t hear anything else the officers say thanks to the buzzing growing louder in her ears. Her breathing slows. Her fingers curl into fists in her lap. But she keeps her expression blank.
It’s fine. Rumors are all it is. And she’s been dealing with those all her life. She can deal with these and the name-calling too.
And yet.
For years, she has waited for this day. Dreamed about it. Clawed her way from the police academy through beat duty, admin hell, and god-awful hours at the front desk. Every test, every eval, every time she was told not yet. Told she wasn’t ready. That she was still too green. Or her mother was finding all new ways to destroy her dream by calling in connections with captains.
Not once did she have anyone fully in her corner.
Well. Okay, that isn’t true, she remembers. There’s Lucifer.
Every time she thinks about his voice calling her Detective like it’s always been her title, she smiles. He told her so many times that she would achieve her dreams. That he absolutely knew she would.
Lucifer is obscenely wealthy and more well-connected than anyone she’s ever met. He’s charismatic, and rumor (ironic, she knows) has it, he has all the most powerful people in the city in his back pocket already. They all owe him favors—from the mayor to the police commissioner to mob bosses and gang leaders to movie stars and pop sensations.
What if—
She stops, closing her eyes to breathe. To be rational for one damn second. It doesn’t work. The question continues to form in her mind along with the suspicion.
What if...Lucifer called in a few favors on her behalf. What if he wrote a check large enough to ‘open the budget’ enough to get her this badge.
What if this badge isn’t hers at all...but his?
The guy walks around like he owns the entire city, even though he’s only officially lived here a couple weeks at most. People look at him like he can open whatever door they desire to have opened. And from what Chloe understands, he’s absolutely capable of doing that.
Somehow.
What if he opened this door for her?
The question becomes, what’s in it for him? Would he expect something from her in return? Some favor for a favor crap? Or maybe his motivation was noble, if entirely misguided.
Whatever the answer, this badge no longer feels like an accomplishment she’s earned. It feels like a lead weight with a dozen strings attached to it.
Rationally, she knows she shouldn’t put too much stock in rumors. Because that is all these are right now. Rationally, she knows, as a brand-new detective, she should look at all the facts before jumping to conclusions.
Right now, though, rational has fled her completely.
Chloe checks the clock. Twenty minutes left of her shift. And she still has to finish this damn form before she can go home. She doesn’t let anything show in her expression—when someone drops by to congratulate her, she manages to smile and say thank you with genuine gratitude. When Ella stops to remind her about drinks this weekend, Chloe nods and promises to check her calendar. She finishes the forms and files them with all the calm collection this badge demands. Like someone who actually earned her spot through sheer determination and will, and not through backroom favor from a nightclub prince with a piano and penchant for dramatics.
But on the inside, she rages.
If Lucifer Morningstar had a hand in her promotion, she will wring his ridiculously handsome, smooth neck.
When it’s time to leave, she walks to the locker room with calm, even steps. She slips on her jacket, says good night to a few people, and then she leaves.
She isn’t going home, though.
Less than an hour later, the doors to Lux burst open with a shove. Chloe doesn’t pause on the threshold or stop at the mezzanine to appreciate the hard work Lucifer put into this place. Her boots echo sharply against marble and she strides towards the elevator, ignoring the music playing in the club and the cluster of early evening patrons drinking at the bar.
She isn’t here in any official capacity. Her new badge isn’t on display; instead, it’s nestled deeply in her pocket where it burns and feels heavier than it should. Not once in her life has she been this furious at a single person, except maybe Joe Fields, her father’s killer. Not even her mother, all those times they fought over Chloe’s career.
Somewhere deep beneath the rage is something that feels damn near close to heartbreak. Because she sat in front of the lieutenant this morning, feeling nothing but shock and pride and elation over a dream she thought might never be realized. Monroe probably thinks she’s a naive little idiot to ever believe she could earn this badge on her own merit. The other cops sure as hell do. Probably the detectives, too.
Maze is walking up the stairs as Chloe approaches the elevator. The woman stops and raises a split, amused eyebrow as she watches Chloe stalk across the floor. “Well, well,” she drawls, her voice some mix like molasses and mischief. “Look who’s back—the Queen herself. I honestly can’t tell if you’re on your way to stab him or fu—”
“Don’t talk to me,” Chloe snaps, not slowing down, not looking over.
Her fury only seems to amuse Maze even further. Her grin widens. “He’s upstairs. About time he finally got laid. Hasn’t happened since we’ve been here.”
Chloe ignores her, jamming her finger harder into the elevator button than necessary. Her vision is red as she waits for the car to descend from wherever-the-hell-it-is. When it does, the doors slide open with a cheerful chime that only serves to piss her off further. She practically punches the penthouse button, and it lights up immediately.
Crossing her arms tightly, she glares at her reflection in the doors as they close. And then she paces.
The entire drive here, she had more time to think about it, and it makes more and more sense. Yes, Lucifer has been her biggest supporter, and maybe he does genuinely want to see her succeed. But the cops at the precinct were right—there are officers who spend their entire careers trying to make detective...and retire angry and jaded because they don’t.
Never mind most of those officers don’t work half as hard as Chloe does. And she wouldn’t even be the first to get the badge so early in her career. Dan has only been a cop a year or so longer than Chloe, and he made it before she did.
But Dan doesn’t have all the things against him that Chloe does. And he doesn’t have someone like the so-called Devil in his corner.
In the silence, though, the rational side of her mind tries one last time to talk some sense into her.
What is she even doing here?
She should have waited. Asked around for the actual truth. Calmly inquired like a normal person—like a detective. But that isn’t what she did. The second she heard those whispers in the break room, she knew exactly where she would end up.
Her vision turns red again and rational thought is shoved to a corner of her mind.
If Lucifer thinks he can buy her career, he has no idea who he is dealing with.
And that might hurt even more. She thought he saw her. Really saw her, better than anyone else in her life. She thought he understood, even if she never said it, that she wanted to achieve her dreams on her own. The way he talks about his family, with them choosing his career path and how he lives his life, she thought he, of all people, got it.
Apparently, she was wrong.
Finally, after what feels like way too long, the elevator slows and comes to a stop. The doors open with a ding. And Chloe steps into the Devil’s domain for the first time.
For a few seconds, she’s stunned to a stop as she looks around. She hasn’t been up here before, much less after the construction was completed. The place is...beautiful. It’s like stepping off the elevator directly into the pages of some cursed design magazine. Every inch of the place gleams from the polished floors and ceiling to the wooden bookshelves. A caramel-colored L-shaped couch sits near floor-to-ceiling windows, a door standing open that leads to the balcony. To the left is a split-level library with a reading nook in the corner. To the right is a bar filled with expensive aged liquors and dark marble counters. An oddly hypnotizing tree root chandelier hangs from the ceiling, blue light shines from behind the bar, and a fireplace burns brightly, warming the place.
Everything about this place is perfect. Obnoxiously, infuriatingly perfect.
And at the center of it all—Lucifer freaking Morningstar.
He’s sitting at a highly polished black piano, his fingers dancing over the keys in a slow, aching melody. Something classical and beautiful. His appearance is only slightly less put together than usual—no suit jacket today, his hair is unstyled in a pile of dark, wild curls on his head, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows. His eyes are closed as he plays, his mind clearly a million miles away.
As if he senses his impending doom, he stops mid-chord change and opens his eyes, which light up the second they spot her. Typically, that look is endearing. Tonight, it’s infuriating.
“Detective!” he says, getting to his feet. “Well, to what do I owe this—”
“Did you do it?” she snaps, stomping forward. If her eyes could shoot lasers, he would already be ash.
Lucifer pauses, blinking at her. “Do...what, exactly?” he asks slowly.
Chloe stalks closer, stopping a few feet in front of him. Just out of arm’s reach. Mostly so she doesn’t commit murder her first day as a homicide detective. “Don’t give me that innocent, puppy dog confusion. Did you buy me a badge, Lucifer?”
His eyebrows furrow with what looks to be genuine confusion. “Buy you—what?”
All the fear and hurt and anger explodes. “Oh, come on!” she says, her voice rising as she starts to pace across the stupidly high-gloss marble floor. “You might as well admit it. Actually—no, let me guess. You saw me struggling with my career, felt sorry for me, and decided to throw a few million at the LAPD and tell them I’m competent. Bought me a shiny gold promotion to stroke your already overinflated ego.”
Lucifer’s mouth opens, but Chloe doesn’t give him the chance to respond.
“Or you know what? No, this is better. Maybe it wasn’t money at all. Maybe you cashed in one of your famous favors. So what was it, huh? Did you blackmail the captain? Seduce the mayor? Pull some diabolical string and whisper in exactly the right ear?”
She stops on her next pacing circuit directly in front of him, stabbing a finger at his chest without actually stabbing. “You know, I was so happy today, when I thought I earned this. I thought, for once, that someone actually saw me for what I’m capable of. But no, of course that isn’t it. It never is. Because all they see is the face and the acting history and the girl with a dead daddy. Of course, it’s just the Devil playing dress-up with his new pet project!”
To his credit, Lucifer doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t flinch. He simply clasps his hands behind his back and watches her with an inscrutable expression.
But Chloe is only getting started. “And I thought—” She pauses for half a second when her voice breaks. “I thought you got it, you know? I thought you understood how important this was to me. That I do something on my own—especially this. I thought someone saw me in a way nobody else did, and I can’t tell you how much that meant to me. Now, though?”
She scoffs, shaking her head. “Was I supposed to be grateful?” she barks. “Offer you a private lap dance or drop to my knees in gratitude in your stupid balcony hot tub? Or was I supposed to maybe just throw away my dignity entirely and say ‘thank you, sir, for giving me my career?”
Her voice breaks a second time, just a little bit. “I thought we were friends, Lucifer. But we’re not, are we? You’re just a narcissistic, high-handed, tuxedo-wearing jackass!”
Lucifer blinks once.
Apart from Chloe’s heavy breathing, silence falls across the penthouse as she glares and he stares back, eerily calm. She almost wants to keep provoking him into a reaction. She wants a fight—and he isn’t giving her one. And that only pisses her off more.
Then, without a word, he turns and walks towards the bar, to an under-the-counter fridge. He removes a bottle of champagne, uncorks it, and pours it into two flutes with that same unnerving calm. Next, he picks up both flutes and walks back towards her, still with that calmness, holding one out to her.
The whole thing is so weird that there’s just a fraction of uncertainty in her mind.
Lucifer meets her gaze steadily and lifts his glass between them. “Detective,” he says—calmly. “I had absolutely nothing to do with your promotion.”
Chloe stares at him, unblinking, and holds her breath.
“Not a single cent,” he continues. “Not a word, whispered or otherwise. No seduction or so much as a wink. Whatever strings may or may not have been pulled, I assure you with utter certainty, they were not mine.”
He raises the glass in his hand a little higher.
“There is no doubt in my mind that you did this entirely on your own. Through your own stubborn willpower and hard work. I only know about this at all because you quite literally just told me.” He pauses for a moment, a shadow of a smirk on his lips. “Well. Shouted it at me, anyway.”
When Chloe’s mouth opens, nothing comes out of it. Not a single sound. Her fingers tighten around the flute she doesn’t remember taking. “You...what?” she says dumbly.
He gives her a close-lipped, soft smile. “Congratulations, Detective,” he says, his voice as soft as his eyes and smile. “No one deserves this more than you do.”
She stands completely frozen, the whirlwind of rage behind her grinding suddenly to a halt—she can almost hear the needle scratching on the record in her mind. The champagne glass in her hand feels heavier. “So you didn’t...” she whispers.
“No,” he assures her. “I would never meddle in your career. Well,” he adds, “not unless you asked me to, but I suspect, particularly after this entrance, that would never happen.”
Her mouth opens. Again, no sound. She closes it again.
Lucifer waits patiently for her to work through it.
All the wind vanishes from her sails. “Oh,” she says, her voice small and sheepish. Her face floods with heat. Then she takes a deep drink of champagne. And another—for good measure. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she glances around before meeting Lucifer’s gaze again. “...I might be an idiot.”
The breath he huff sounds faintly like a laugh. “You are no such thing,” he says gently, sipping his champagne. “Angry? Without a doubt. Understandably. Passionately. And rather creatively. Might I say, darling, that line about lap dances and dropping to one’s knees? Quite cutting. And that pet project bit...well, that was particularly inspired.”
Chloe groans and drops into the nearest barstool, covering her face with one hand. “Oh, God,” she mutters.
Lucifer makes a disgusted noise that sounds more like a laugh in disguise. “That might just be the worst insult yet.”
Peeking out from between her fingers, she tries to glare at him. “I hate you so much.”
“Oh, but you don’t, do you?” he says, grinning openly now. “But by all means, darling, if it makes you feel better, feel free to hold onto that illusion. I’m told it helps with processing.”
Desperately needing a distraction—since it doesn’t seem the floor is willing to open up and swallow her whole—she glances around the penthouse. Actually taking in the full picture now. “You finished the place,” she says softly, sipping her champagne.
“I did. Yesterday evening,” he confirms.
“It’s, um, a lot.”
He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Well, I do like drama. And so, it would seem, do you. Apparently.”
She does her best to give him a withering look, but her smile tugs at the corners anyway. “Shut up.”
Lucifer throws his head back and laughs. For so long, Chloe isn’t sure he’s going to stop. When he sobers, he looks at her, not with mischief in his eyes, but pride. He raises his glass again, stepping towards her.
“To the newly minted Detective Decker,” he murmurs, his eyes soft. “Whose promotion was won not through scandal, seduction, or supernatural intervention, but on pure, infuriating merit. Cheers, darling.”
Though she rolls her eyes, Chloe clinks her glass against his. Still smiling. “Cheers.”
They move out to the balcony to sip their drinks. Lucifer brings the bottle, of course.
“This is really good,” she says, eyeing the bubbles. “Do I want to know how much it cost?”
“Probably not,” he says without missing a beat. “But rest assured, I didn’t pay a dime for it. It was a gift, ages ago. I’ve been saving it all this time for a particularly special occasion.”
Chloe blinks. “And you think now is that special occasion?”
“Don’t you?” he counters. “Whilst I had nothing to do with your promotion, I did know it would happen one day. I’ve had this chilling in the fridge since I returned to Los Angeles.”
She stares at him. “You—really?”
“Indeed.”
And now she feels even worse for her entrance. She laughs through her groan. “I can’t believe I accused you of blackmail and seduction,” she says, staring at the bubbles in her glass. “In the same breath.”
Beside her, Lucifer is lounged with one ankle over a knee. “Well, in all fairness to you, it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Just not...recent.”
She shoots him a dry, side-eyed look, but she’s smiling again. “I’m really sorry, Lucifer,” she says sincerely.
“Don’t be,” he says easily. “Truly. I rather liked the part where you called me a—what was it now?” He tilts his head and pretends to think. “Ah, yes! A tuxedo-wearing jackass. Very evocative, love. Though to be fair, you've not seen me in a tuxedo yet. I look even more devastatingly handsome in one, if you can imagine.”
Another eyeroll as her shoulders bounce in silent laughter. Then her amusement drains as quickly as it came. “I heard some guys at work talking,” she confesses quietly, staring at the skyline instead of him. “The lieutenant mentioned it too—that the budget suddenly opened up, out of the blue, to open up a detective spot. I’d been rejected twice, and I thought...” She trails off, shaking her head. “Then those officers made a few comments about how someone probably wrote a big, fat check or that I—” She cuts herself off, pressing her lips together.
Lucifer turns towards her. “That you...what?” he asks. His voice isn’t soft anymore; it’s low and dangerous.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Detective—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she repeats. “Really. Wouldn’t be the first time they assumed I’ve only lasted this long by doing things on my back.”
He stares unblinkingly at her, and for half a second, she swears, his eyes flash red. But...no, it has to be a trick of the setting sun.
Right?
“Anyway, that’s...why I thought it was you.”
Lucifer’s jaw tightens, and he throws back his champagne, then refills his glass.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” she continues. “But...I mean, it sounded just like something you might do.”
“I know,” he says quietly. There’s no malice in his tone. Only truth. Then he gives her a small smile. “So? May I see it?”
She blinks. “See what?”
He snorts a laugh. “The entire reason you’re here, of course. After all, if I bought this badge of yours, the least you could do is show me proof of purchase.”
She glares at his teasing, but it’s half-hearted. “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”
“Probably not, no.”
Nevertheless, she reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls the badge free. She looks at it for a second, then passes it to Lucifer.
Setting down his glass, he takes it gently, almost reverently—the same way she had this morning. A fond, proud smile pulls at his lips. “Well done, Detective,” he murmurs, handing it back after a few seconds.
“Thanks.”
“So what now?” he asks after a few quiet moments. “What do you plan to do with yourself now, Detective Decker?”
She can’t help smiling. Even though it’s practically the only thing he’s ever called her, it actually has more weight now than a nickname. “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “Start over, I guess. No shortcuts. No strings attached.”
“Good,” he says softly. “Because I don’t play puppeteer.” He pauses, smirking. “Well, not outside the bedroom, of course.”
She groans, tossing the champagne cork at his head. He snatches it out of the air, laughing. “But seriously,” he says. “It’s quite the achievement.” His eyebrows furrow slightly. “Have you told your mother yet?”
Chloe scoffs into her glass. “No,” she says shortly. “And I’ll probably put it off as long as possible. The last time we spoke, not only did she give me crap about my career, she also threw shade about my...friendship with you.”
He blinks, raising an eyebrow.
“Not by name or anything. But she somehow worked out that I had someone in my corner. And I ended up kicking her out.”
“Parents, am I right?” he mutters.
For a while, they sit in their usual companionable silence. When her glass gets low, he refills it again, even though she should tell him she can’t, since she’s driving. But like he said...special occasion.
“Did you mean it?”
Chloe blinks, looking at him again. “Mean what?”
He glances at her briefly, then back to the sunset. “You said...you thought we were friends. Did you mean it, or was that part of your furious tirade?”
She hesitates for a long moment, only because she isn’t sure ‘friends’ is the right word for...whatever they are. “Of course I meant it,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “Honestly, for the longest time, you’ve been...my only friend.”
“Even though we barely know each other?”
Shrugging, she finds her drink fascinating all of a sudden. “Well, we might not know everything about each other,” she says slowly, “but you’ve seen me at some of my most notable moments.”
He gives her that soft smile again. “And you arrested me wearing nothing but a silk robe.”
She laughs. “Good times, right?”
“Hmm.” His furrowed eyebrow returns and he looks thoughtful. “Do you know, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a friend before. Not a real one, anyhow.”
Chloe frowns. “Wait, what? What about Maze?”
He scoffs. “Maze and I are...quite a few things, Detective,” he says quietly, “but I’m not sure ‘friends’ truly qualifies. Certainly not as of late.”
“But...I mean, you must have a ton of friends. Right?”
The smile he gives her is some mix of sadness, bitterness, and resignation. “Darling, I have acquaintances, and lovers, and people who come to me for favors. There are people I party with. I have subjects and siblings. But nobody I have...this—” He gestures vaguely between them. “—with. Not even close.”
Her heart squeezes for him. And while she doesn’t know everything about him, she instinctively knows how he would feel to be pitied. She would feel the same way. So instead, she says, “Well. Now you have me.”
He blinks at her again, lips parting. Then his eyes turn impossibly soft. “Likewise, Detective,” he murmurs.
Clinking her glass against his again, she drinks, and turns back to the sunset again.
Lucifer doesn’t take his eyes from her for a long time.