Happenstance

by WordRunner

Summary:

After a chance meeting in a bar, over the course of years, Chloe Decker keeps crossing paths with Lucifer Morningstar. And those meetings will change both their lives drastically.

Story fully written. Updates on Mondays.

Notes:

So this one started out as a one-shot, and then kept growing. It was intended to be light and fluffy to counteract when I was writing angst, and then the angst (that eventually shows up here) bled into it. Now it's a whole story.

Hope you like it.

Chapter 1: Not A Chance

Summary:

After a fight with her mother, 20-year-old Chloe Decker goes to a bar...and meets the so-called Devil.

Notes:

So I'm posting this first chapter as part of Lucitober (the prompt is "fight"). I'll start posting the rest of the story once October is over.

Enjoy!

Standing across from her mother in the lavish Malibu beach house, Chloe is at her wits’ end. This is the same argument—the same fight—they’ve been having since she was fourteen with slightly different context.

Okay, way different context, but the fact of the matter is, her mother just doesn’t seem to be hearing her. Which is nothing new. Anytime Chloe attempted to protest about being forced into acting, her mother would tell her she didn’t know what she wanted. She was too young. Or acting was the best thing for her. Or ‘well, what else would you do with your life, Chloe?’ She may not have known the answer to that question when she was fourteen, not for sure, but she definitely knows now. Her mind is made up. Preparations are already being made, and all that’s left is making her mother see things from her perspective for a change.

She has about a snowball’s chance in Hell on that point.

“You cannot be serious!” Penelope’s expression is furious, her whole body practically trembling with it as she glares at her only child. “You aren’t seeing sense, Chloe!” she shouts, her voice rising in pitch—a sure sign that she’s having an infamous Penelope Decker meltdown. Though it says a lot that only her family has ever seen this side of her. “You can’t just...walk away from everything that we’ve worked for!”

Chloe swallows a scoff. Everything is about ‘we’ with her mother—we have an audition for a movie; we just met the most amazing person; everything we have worked for. It’s never about Chloe or what she might want; the only thing that matters to her mom is the Decker family acting dynasty.

“How can you just walk away from the life that I have so painstakingly given you? This isn’t some teenage rebellion where you dye your hair and get a belly button ring; you are ruining your entire life!”

Feeling her heart pounding harder in her chest, Chloe refuses to back down this time. “I am not ruining my life, Mom! I’m finally following my own dreams, my own path. I have been suffocating in this...fake bubble you’ve forced me into when I was too young to even decide for myself. Well, I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Her mom scoffs. “Well, you’re certainly acting like one.”

Gritting her teeth, Chloe crosses her arms. “I’m done pretending. I don’t want to be an actress, and I never did, that was your vision—not mine.”

“So, what, then? You think you’re just going to...waltz right into the LAPD, submit a job application, and start solving crimes like some...some detective? Do you really think they’ll just hand you a gun and a badge because your daddy was a cop? This isn’t some movie script, Chloe!”

She tries not to flinch at the harsh words, but it only cements how right she is to make this decision. For herself. “No, Mom, it isn’t a movie script! This is life—real life outside the Hollywood flashbulbs and the red carpet premieres and the droves of fans. And if you would just stop for one second and listen to me—”

Penelope cuts her off with a derisive laugh. “Oh, I’m supposed to listen to you now? Well, I am listening, Chloe, and what I’m hearing is that after everything we have been through, everything I have sacrificed for you, you’re throwing away every golden opportunity that has been handed to you for a life of—of crime and danger, and having your life cut short far too soon! I have raised you to be fabulous, and now?” She shakes her head, pretending to dab away tears from beneath her eyes. Chloe tries not to roll her own. “Do you really think that is going to bring your father back?”

This time, Chloe can’t hold back her flinch, feeling like she’s been slapped in the face. “This has nothing to do with Dad,” she snaps, feeling fuel added to her fire. “I’m not doing this for him, and I’m not doing it for you! For once, I’m doing something for myself. Can’t you see that? Mom, I need to find something that’s real for a change. Something that’s mine, that makes an actual difference to the world!”

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Chloe!” Penelope’s voice actually breaks, though Chloe can’t tell if it was real or forced. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into! That world out there—it’s dangerous and it’s messy. Your father... He gave everything, including his life, to that world. I know what it’s like to lose someone. I watched him walk out of this house every night not knowing if he would ever come home. And now, you want to do the same to me? Put me through that pain all over again?”

Chloe wants to growl and pull her own hair out. Her mom acts like she was the only one who worried about whether her dad would ever come home. From too young an age, Chloe sat up in her bedroom window, waiting for Daddy to pull back into the driveway. So many of the following mornings, she was awoken by her dad carrying her back to bed.

Until one night, he didn’t come back. She knows exactly what that feeling is like. She’s been living it for the last year since John Decker’s murder.

But just because there’s a risk, that doesn’t mean she should back down. Her dad taught her that. “Mom. I don’t need you to protect me anymore. I’m twenty years old—a legal adult in the state of California—and it’s time that I find my own way. And I need you to let me do it.”

Her mother’s lip trembles. “I spent years giving you everything. Doing everything I could to shield you from the horrors of the real world. And now you’re just...going to walk away, like I don’t even matter to you?”

The words hit like another slap to the face. Chloe keeps standing tall, though, because this is important to her. More important than anything she’s ever felt or done in her entire life. “Mom, I’m not trying to hurt you, okay? But I am done living my life for you. I gave up my entire childhood for you—for acting—for your dreams. And now I am going to live mine. I need you to accept that.”

Her face twisting in a mixture of hurt, and disappointment, and anger, Penelope waves her hand at the door. “Then go. You go and live your life. But do not come back to me when it all falls apart around you. Don’t come crying to me when you realize being a cop isn’t as easy or some fantasy you’ve had all your life. It isn’t a dream, Chloe. It’s a nightmare.”

Chloe feels tears prick at her eyes as she nods. After all, this is about the level of acceptance and support she expected her mother to give. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she says quietly. “I really am. But this is something I feel I have to do for myself. I hope you can someday understand that.”

Without another word, she turns and leaves the house, grabbing her purse and jacket along the way. Though she would really like to slam the door behind her, it would just add to her mother’s upset and make her think Chloe is still a child having a tantrum over wanting to play instead of going to an audition.

She doesn’t look back as she walks down the front path, unsure of where she’s going, but knowing she has to be anywhere that isn’t here.

---

Sitting alone in a corner of the bar with a half-empty glass of beer in front of her, Chloe ignores the party around her. Technically, she’s too young to be in here, especially with alcohol, but with that fake ID Jed made to get her into clubs, she walked right in, no questions asked. And if ever there was a night she needs booze, it’s this night. On the other side of the bar, there seems to be someone famous here—or so she assumes. Why else would there be a crowd of women surrounding one person? She didn’t actually get a look at who it was, and really doesn’t care.

The argument with her mom replays over and over in her mind, every word echoing in her ears. You don’t know what you’re asking for, Chloe! You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into! Do you really think that is going to bring your father back? Undoubtedly, it was the worst blowout they’ve ever had—and they’ve had some doozies over the years. But for once, Chloe has finally found something she’s passionate about. Something that could make a real difference to the world, to society, and she won’t back down.

For years, she watched her father work as a beat cop. Watched how much he loved protecting and serving. Sure, it was difficult at times, and he’s been in more than his fair share of sticky situations—like the time when Chloe was eleven, and he was stabbed by a robbery suspect. But he wouldn’t have given up the job for anything. Chloe always looked up to him, admired him, and when she would be sitting on sets of yet another commercial or TV show pilot, she’d daydream about being like him.

Now that her dad is gone, the feeling that Chloe is wasting her life with something she hates doing will not leave her. Everyone she’s told so far about her plans—quitting Hollywood to join the police academy—has told her she’s being ridiculous in one way or another. Jed just scoffed and told her acting is the way to go, but then, Chloe is starting to suspect he would rather have a beautiful, ditzy Hollywood starlet on his arm than someone strong and wearing a cop’s uniform. Her ‘friends’, what few she has, all reminded her of the fame and the fortune and the hot guys she could land herself.

And her mom. Well. Penelope was never going to support Chloe doing anything that didn’t follow her own dreams. From a young age, Chloe was paraded from one audition to another—one makeup chair to another—in order to further the Penelope Decker name. Because “the Queen of Sci-Fi needs a princess, pumpkin!” Her mom hasn’t sacrificed a single thing; it was always Chloe making the sacrifices. Friends. A social life. Going to a real school instead of having private tutors. A childhood.

After Hot Tub High School, Penelope started talking about other big roles for Chloe. She even booked several auditions for her daughter without permission, expecting Chloe to fall over her own feet in gratitude. The latest was for some action movie series, and Chloe was meant to try out for the lead role.

Chloe skipped that audition, and that set off the chain of events that led to tonight’s fight.

She is so tired of living her life for everybody else. Her parents, her friends, agents and directors, so-called fans of her acting... They all want a piece of her without ever really knowing the real her. And none of them seem to care.

Picking up her beer, she takes a slow sip and exhales, dropping her forehead into her hand. Of course she’s uncertain about the future—she’s terrified—but she’s also never felt this level of determination to continue with something. And with or without the approval and acceptance of her family and friends, she’s going to follow her dreams.

In her purse, her phone rings—again. She steadfastly ignores it, knowing it’s her mom to either continue their fight or ask Chloe to come home so they can ‘talk’. Which will turn into another fight. Her entire world has felt upside down since her father’s death, but when she finally made her decision to quit acting, it began tilting a little towards right side up again. There’s still a long way to go, but—

“And what is such a pretty young thing such as yourself doing sitting all by her lonesome when she could be doing literally anything else—including me—in this bar, hmm?”

Chloe doesn’t lift her head, even as she raises her eyebrow and curls her lip at the smooth British voice speaking above her. “Enjoying the solitude. Which you’re currently ruining,” she says flatly.

“Oh, come on,” the man purrs. His voice is closer, as if he’s leaning over the table towards her. “Surely you don’t actually desire being alone?’’

“Yeah, well, that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Mind if I join you?” 

“Yes.”

The chair across from her scrapes across the floor and she hears someone sit with a sigh. She rolls her eyes and finally looks up to tell the guy off. “Look, I’m not—” She pauses briefly when she actually sees him. Perfect dark hair with what is probably a ton of hair product. Five o’clock shadow along a strong jaw. Deep brown eyes that glitter even in the dark bar. And wearing a three-piece suit that is probably some big name designer like Prada or Burberry and tailored to fit him amazingly well.

Still, he’s just another handsome face in a city full of handsome faces. And he doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of ‘go away’ vibes. Chloe has met plenty of assholes in her life. She suspects this guy is much the same. Even with his fancy British accent.

And he’s smirking at her like he knows exactly how attractive he is. Irritation sparks. “Does the word ‘no’ mean something different where you’re from?” she asks.

He raises a sculpted eyebrow at her. “Certainly not, but I do know the look of someone who is clearly having a rough night. Perhaps I can do something to...improve things.”

Chloe snorts into her beer. “I highly doubt that,” she says dryly.

“Oh, I think you’d be surprised,” he purrs, holding a hand out across the table. “Lucifer Morningstar. Pleasure.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Lucifer Morningstar. Like...the Devil?” she says skeptically.

His smirk widens. “The very same. I see my reputation precedes me.” The smug tone of voice only heightens her irritation.

She rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t know what planet you’re from—London?” He huffs a laugh and sips from the tumbler she didn’t see him set down. “But I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling. So move along.” Her eyes drift towards the bar where there’s a crowd of women all glaring towards her table. “I’m sure your prospects would be better over there.”

He doesn’t even look towards the bar as he tilts his head at her. “Oh, I highly disagree, Miss...?”

“Not a chance.”

Dark eyes dance with amusement. “Well, Miss Not-A-Chance, tell me—” He leans towards her and she gets a whiff of some undoubtedly expensive cologne. The look in his eyes grows more intense. “—what is it you desire if not me?”

Chloe leans away from him. “What the hell kind of pickup line is that?” she asks. “Does that...does that actually work for you?”

‘Lucifer’ blinks in confusion. “Why is that not working?” he mutters to himself. Then he looks back at Chloe. “You’re one of the complicated ones, aren’t you? Well, no matter. Really, darling, what is it you dream about wanting from life, hmm? What do you desire that you don’t currently have?”

Her eyes flick around the bar, wondering if they’re on Candid Camera or something, because there is no way this guy is for real. “Peace and quiet.”

He jerks back in his chair like he’s been struck. “What on Earth...” he breathes, staring at her. “That’s odd. That never fails.”

“You’re kidding. You actually use that line on women and they, what? Fall over themselves to rip off your clothes? Try it on someone else, pal.”

Except now, he looks even more intrigued by her. “It’s not a line, Miss Not-A-Chance. It’s power—my power, to be exact. You see, I ask humans what their deepest desires are, and they tell me without fail. Until now. How odd.” He cocks his head to the side. “Were you dropped on your head as a child?”

Chloe glares. “No. I wasn’t. Now, if you don’t mind—”

“Oh no, I don’t mind at all,” he says cheerfully. “But seriously, you seem to be having a difficult night. Something on your mind? I’m quite the good listener if you wish to chat.”

“No thanks. Really not in the mood for small talk.”

Rather than taking the massive hints she’s been dropping like meteors, the man—Lucifer, and what kind of parent names their kid after the Devil?—gets comfortable. “I can tell,” he says, sipping from his drink. “But something must have happened. You don’t seem the type to sit all alone in a dark bar without good reason.”

Chloe bristles. “You don’t know anything about me,” she snaps.

“True,” he agrees, not the least bit fazed by her irritation. “But I do know the look. You’re someone who has just had a fight they can’t seem to shake off. Something with family, perhaps? They are the absolute worst.”

While her defenses shoot up in an instant, there’s something about this guy that gives her pause. And it isn’t just his weird name. He’s cocky and arrogant, and probably accustomed to getting everything he wants without even trying. Yet, there’s something else about him she can’t exactly put her finger on. Something that draws her in. The way he’s looking at her—it’s as if he can see right through here. Though that should make her feel uncomfortable...weirdly, it doesn’t.

Nevertheless, he is just a strange guy in the middle of a bar, clearly looking to hook-up, and she isn’t interested. “And what makes you think I’m just going to spill my guts to someone I met five seconds ago? You could be a serial killer for all I know.”

“Ah, but I’m not. And I don’t lie, Miss Not-A-Chance.”

She raises an eyebrow again. “Everyone lies. People lie about lying. This is Los Angeles where lying is literally a career.”

“Very true. But I assure you, I am not like other people. I saw your face when you first arrived. You certainly looked like you could use a friend, and whilst I may not qualify—” He pretends to look around the bar. “—I’m better than letting your troubles fester and mold, no? Believe me, you couldn’t imagine the people I’ve seen in my line of work who could have gotten out of their fate if they’d only had someone to chat to.”

“What, are you a therapist?”

“A warden, actually. Not by choice. My father forced me into the job, and...well, let’s just say I wish I could have gone a different career path.”

The fight with her mom flashes before her eyes. Along with all the years Chloe spent wanting to do quite literally anything that wasn’t acting. “Yeah... I know that feeling,” she mutters, drinking her sip.

He looks at her curiously. “Do you now?”

“Yeah. I got into a fight with my mom about that just now. About...wanting to change careers and her...not wanting me to.” An understatement, but she doesn’t even know this guy, so...

“And what is it you want to do, Miss Not-A-Chance?” he asks quietly.

Drawing a frowny face in the condensation of her beer glass, she shrugs, trying to decide if she even wants to tell him anything more than that. But despite only meeting him five minutes ago, and how much of an asshole he came off as at first, she feels...comfortable with him. In a way she doesn’t feel with strangers, ever. Or anyone in her life. It makes absolutely no sense, but she also probably won’t ever see him again after tonight, and...well, she could use someone to talk to.

“I...want to follow in my father’s footsteps,” she says softly. “He was a cop.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Was?”

Chloe nods. “Yeah, he died last year in a robbery.”

A look of remorse and sympathy flickers across his expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s... But I always looked up to him, you know? And now that he’s gone, my current career has long since lost its appeal, and I want to do something that matters. Like he did.” She tries to swallow back the lump in her throat and takes a sip of beer. “What I’m doing now... It was never my choice. It was my mom’s, and no matter how many times I told her I wanted out, she just...wrote me off. Told me I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

His jaw tightens in anger. She instinctively knows it’s anger for her rather than at her. “Yes, I am intimately familiar with parental disapproval. Not to mention wanting to rebel from the chosen path. They never get it, do they? Once they’ve decided they know what’s best for you, that’s it. All choice, all free will—it’s stripped away, and never mattered in the slightest.”

Chloe looks at him. Really looks at him. And from the look on his face right now, he does understand what she’s going through. Probably from having lived it himself. “I take it your parents never listened to you, either?”

Lucifer scoffs bitterly. “That, my dear, would be the grandest and grossest understatement in the history of the universe. I have been screaming to the heavens for eons, and have yet to get anywhere. Except, of course, a throne I never wanted, darkness, despair, and abject misery.”

Sympathy wells up in her. In the back of her mind, she thinks it should be strange that she feels so connected to someone she just met. But as she was thinking before he interrupted, nobody ever saw her. He seems to.

“She told me I was throwing my life away,” she says hollowly. “Made it all about her, like always—her desires, and her dreams, and what about her her her? All because I don’t want to be an actress anymore. Not that I ever did.”

“An actress, you say?” he asks, intrigued. “Been in anything I might have seen?”

The cheeky tone raises her defenses again a little. Most guys recognize her from taking her top off on her way out of a hot tub in a cheesy teen movie, then want their own reenactment. Or they stare at her boobs. She doesn’t get that feeling from him, but if he doesn’t know who she is, she isn’t about to share. Actually, she’s sort of enjoying the conversation, and she doesn’t want it to turn into the normal conversations.

“Probably not,” she mutters.

His smirk fades, and he doesn’t push her on the topic. “Well, look, your mother may not understand what it is you want from life, but it’s clear to me that you do. It’s your life, Miss Not-A-Chance, not hers.” Her lips quirk at the nickname. “And if you wish to trade in the glitz and glamour for a gun and a badge, then you should follow your desires. Even if it means disappointing your mother.”

“The thing is,” she says, staring into her glass, “I’m not even sure I’m making the right choice anymore. Everyone—not just my mom—is telling me how massively huge a mistake I’m making. I mean, what if they’re right? What if I give everything up to join the police academy, and realize that I can’t do it? That I’m just not cut out for that life, and I’m better suited for acting? Or something else entirely?”

Lucifer hums consideringly, studying her. “What do you think? Ignoring what all the others in your life are telling you, do you believe that you’re cut out to be a cop?”

Chloe thinks for several minutes, and he doesn’t try to rush her or sigh impatiently. He just looks around the bar, waiting. Ignoring what everyone else has been telling her, she thinks she could do it. Go through the police academy, be part of the LAPD, deal with all the drama that goes along with that, and actually enjoy serving the public. Her heart says that this is the only career she’s ever truly desired. She wants to move up through the ranks and become a detective. Maybe even more than that.

Hollywood and acting has never been for her. It isn’t just that her mother forced her into it as a kid and she had no choice in the matter. She hated the attention from paparazzi and being on the red carpet. Hated the fakeness of practically everybody she came into contact with; everyone wanted to be her friend when they thought she was going somewhere. Those people aren’t the ones here now, helping her work through her issues; Lucifer is—a complete stranger she met in a bar.

Who thinks he’s the Devil, but that’s beside the point.

The only part of that world she actually enjoyed was when she was acting. And despite what Hot Tub High School critics thought, she was pretty damn good at it. But everything else that goes along with that... She wants nothing to do with it anymore.

Slowly, she looks up from where she’s been braiding her fingers together to find Lucifer already looking back. He smiles, and she has to admit, it’s a really nice smile. “You’ve come to a conclusion, haven’t you?” he asks.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I think I have,” she says softly.

“And?”

“I want to be a cop. Like my dad, but not because of him. I want to do it for myself. I want to help people, and work through the ranks to become a detective.”

“Ooh, detective, is it? I quite like that a lot more than Miss Not-A-Chance,” Lucifer says with a grin. “So tell me, Detective, do you intend to follow your desires despite what anyone else might say about it?”

Chloe nods again, this time with more determination. “Yes. I do.”

He looks proud of her, and it sends an odd warmth through her blood. “Well done, then, Detective.”

She blushes at the look he’s giving her. “I mean, I won’t be a detective right out of the academy. It’ll probably take years, assuming I ever make it.”

“You will,” he says with a certainty that takes her aback. “I happen to believe you will take the LAPD by storm, and achieve every desire you’ve stated to me and more.”

“You barely know me,” she reminds him.

He shrugs almost regally, as if that makes absolutely no difference. “But I know people, Detective, and I absolutely know desire. Some people have their dreams that they talk about, yet never follow through on. They’re all bluster and no commitment. You, however, seem the type to take life with both hands and put your all into whatever it is you’re doing, whether you enjoy the job or not. I bet you did the same with acting, despite that life not being what you truly wanted. You probably rehearsed every script you ever received over and over until you knew every word by heart, and not just your own. Am I right?”

Chloe blinks. Because he is right, and she has no idea how he could possibly know that after fifteen minutes of knowing her. “Yeah. You are,” she says quietly.

He beams proudly at her. “See? You’ll be Detective Not-A-Chance in no time.”

She laughs. “You know that’s not really my name, right?” she teases.

Lucifer gasps dramatically, placing his hand over his heart and feigning a wounded expression. “Are you telling me you gave me a fake name? In a bar? Detective! For shame!”

Chloe laughs harder, because he’s completely ridiculous. His smile softens, and she decides to break her ‘no telling complete strangers she just met in a bar her real name’ rule. She holds out her hand over the table. “My name is Chloe Decker,” she says quietly.

He takes her hand in his much larger one, completely engulfing hers, and then lifts it to his lips, pressing a brief kiss to the back of her hand. Another one of those warm jolts runs through her. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Chloe Decker,” he says sincerely. His eyebrows furrow as he releases her hand, and he looks over his shoulder, then sighs. “As much as I would like to continue this scintillating conversation, I’m afraid my time has run out.”

Chloe frowns. “What do you mean?”

A disgruntled expression flickers across his face. “Unfortunately, my brother has found me and will likely slow down time any second and return me to—”

Chloe blinks—and Lucifer is gone. “What...” She looks around the bar, wondering how that is even possible. He isn’t just lost somewhere in the crowd—she would see him towering over everyone here, he’s so tall—he’s gone. She blinked and he vanished. “Okay... That was weird,” she mutters to herself.

And what did he mean about his brother freezing time?

Shaking her head, she finishes off her beer, and digs for her cell phone. She sighs at the sight of eight missed calls and twelve text messages—all from her mom. She’s sure there are voicemails in varying degrees of dramatic waiting for her, too. Ignoring those, she calls for a taxi to take her to the apartment she shares with one of her co-stars from a movie she did years ago. Bethany is one of the few people who she stays in contact with. They aren’t friends, per se, but they get along well enough, and were both looking to move out of their parents’ houses around the same time.

At least she doesn’t have to go back to Malibu and deal with her mom.

Standing outside waiting for her taxi, she thinks about the strange conversation she had with the even stranger man she just met. Lucifer Morningstar. Who was more supportive of her than everyone in her life combined, and they barely talked for twenty minutes. He helped her remember what matters—her dreams, not everyone else’s. And he seemed to really believe in her. Even though she knows she’ll probably never see him again, she can’t help but wish they were actually friends.

Then again, other than the conversation they had, he seems like an arrogant, smug asshole. Probably a playboy to boot. And those are a dime a dozen in Los Angeles.

It’s a shame they won’t ever meet again.

Notes:

Hope you liked the first chapter. The story is completely written. And as I said above, I'll start posting the rest after Lucitober.

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2: Something About Lucifer

Summary:

Three months into the police academy (six months after first meeting Lucifer), Chloe sits in a coffee shop, studying, when the impossible happens: he walks in the door.

Tapping the end of her pen against her coffee cup, Chloe reads through her notes. The small table in front of her is filled with law textbooks, notebooks, and folders with notes, all sorted by subject. So far, the LAPD police academy has been rigorous, but she’s thriving under the pressure. Early morning runs. Defensive tactics. Criminal law classes. It’s exactly the sort of structure she has craved for herself for years. Something real, something meaningful. Something that she actually loves.

It hasn’t been easy balancing her new life, but she thinks she’s managed to settle into it pretty well so far. The pay isn’t nearly as great as starring in a Hollywood movie, and yet, she doesn’t care about that. She has enough to get by with the savings she’s been accumulating from acting jobs since she was old enough to have her own bank account.

But most importantly, she’s happy.

She can’t remember a time she’s been this thrilled with getting up early and going to work, even if the instructors kick her ass day in and day out.

Hell, she doesn’t even mind the other cadets’ low-key bullying. Chloe was dubbed Hollywood Barbie in her first week after someone recognized her from Hot Tub High School, and unfortunately, it stuck. They don’t think a former actress can hack it in the real world, and they have no problem telling her so. She’s lost count of how many posters she’s ripped down in the women’s locker room of her stepping out of a hot tub without her top. Not to mention several people think she managed to get accepted to the academy due to who her father is—that she’s riding legacy coattails. The truth is, she got in completely by her own merit. She was told when she applied that while they respect her father’s name, she isn’t getting special treatment. And she hasn’t. Despite what the others think.

And then there’s her mother.

True to form, Penelope didn’t speak to Chloe for nearly a month after she was told her daughter got into the academy. Before that, her mom called her bi-weekly with increasingly dramatic lectures about the dangers of being a cop. There has been crying and screaming and the silent treatment, but Chloe has refused to back down. Penelope even threatened to disinherit Chloe, to cut her off completely financially and socially.

One day, they met for lunch at her mother’s favorite restaurant. Penelope came breezing in like she was walking the red carpet, the way she does everywhere she goes. For most of the lunch, she pretended their fight never happened, and everything was normal. Until she dropped the bomb that she made a few calls, pulled some strings, and got Chloe an audition for what is slated to be a Hollywood blockbuster opposite Orlando Bloom. Chloe was expected to be ready in a week.

And that was when Chloe lost it.

She reminded her mother in no uncertain terms that she left Hollywood, had applied to the academy, and would not be going to that audition. In true Penelope Decker form, she made a scene right in the middle of the restaurant about how Chloe was letting her down. How difficult it had been to get this audition for her, and she should be grateful for it. How it would besmirch the Penelope Decker name if Chloe didn’t follow through on the audition. Chloe was slumped down in her seat, red-faced and humiliated, while her mom threw a tantrum that would put a toddler to shame. Eventually, she told her mom that she was done and walked out.

A few days after that, Chloe was called into the head academy instructor’s office to say he received a call from her mother. Penelope had told him Chloe wasn’t cut out for the LAPD and her father never would have wanted the cop life for his daughter. She went on to say that Chloe joining the academy was nothing more than a rebellion; that Chloe was acting out after the devastation of her father’s death. That Chloe is impulsive, reckless, and far too emotional and selfish for the job.

When that didn’t work the way she wanted, Penelope improvised, telling the instructor that Chloe was unstable, sneaking out of the house and drinking, and making terrible choices all around. She claimed she was worried sick and only looking out for what was best for Chloe.

That was a whole new humiliation Chloe hadn’t needed.

But thankfully, the instructors saw through the act, and told Chloe that her determination for the job and performance so far spoke louder than dramatic words and her mother’s attempt to sabotage. Chloe has the highest marks in the entire class across the board, and none of the instructors has witnessed any...questionable behavior from her. Chloe was able to explain that her mother is overly dramatic, and very much against her joining the academy, but it’s all Chloe ever desired.

They disregarded that phone call—and the ones that came after it. It would seem Penelope wasn’t the first disapproving parent they’ve dealt with.

Apart from those things, Chloe finally feels she’s on the right path. Her chosen path. And she refuses to give it up now or ever, unless it is her decision.

Tonight, she decided to get out of her apartment to study in a different environment for a change. She was feeling cooped up and needed a change of scenery. The coffee shop a couple blocks from home has become her quiet escape, someplace she can sit and unwind from her busy days at the academy. Besides, the coffee is really great, even when it’s lukewarm. Which hers is now that she’s been sitting here for more than an hour.

She takes another sip, debating whether to get up and grab another along with a snack when the door chimes. Her eyes flick in that direction and she nearly chokes on her coffee when she sees who enters.

Lucifer Morningstar.

The weird guy she met in a bar six months ago who told her to follow her desires no matter what anyone says. He’s dressed in another tailored three-piece suit—this time black with a white shirt and burgundy pocket square.

A bit overdressed for a coffee shop, but somehow it suits him.

She blinks a few times, because she must be imagining things. What are the chances that they are in the same place at the same time—twice in six months? It should be impossible. But...it’s definitely him. Nobody else could pull off that casual smirk. She hasn’t really thought of that night of the fight with her mom in months, but she couldn’t forget his advice. Or how supportive he’d been of her.

Chloe can’t stop staring as he scans the coffee shop as if he’s merely indulging in passing curiosity. And she isn’t the only one; practically the whole place has come to a standstill the second he walked in. Everyone is staring in open admiration of him, and he clearly knows it, judging by the way his smirk deepens. His eyes slow down every so often to admire someone in return, but don’t stop scanning...until his gaze lands on Chloe. Something flickers in his eyes. First, like he thinks she looks familiar, followed by recognition, and then amusement and deeper curiosity.

And then he starts walking in her direction.

The urge to smooth down her hair rises, but she tamps it down, because that is just...ridiculous. He’s just a guy she met once, nothing more. And yet...

“Well, well, well,” he purrs, “if it isn’t my favorite rebellious young officer-to-be. Fancy seeing you again, Detective.”

Setting down her pen, she sighs, unsure how she’s supposed to handle this situation. All of those social etiquette lessons her mother made her take, and they didn’t once cover etiquette of running into a barely acquaintance who encouraged one to go against their mother’s wishes. Maybe she ought to write the company a letter and suggest they add that to the curriculum.

“Lucifer.”

His smile widens. “Oh, you remember my name! I’m really quite flattered, but then again, I am utterly unforgettable.”

Without waiting for an invitation, he pulls out the chair across from her and drops into it more gracefully than Chloe could. Even after all that time spent balancing a book on her head to improve her posture. His eyes flick over the books and notes spread out over the table, and he picks up her copy of Statistics in Criminology and Criminal Justice.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “And you look positively studious, my dear. Does this mean you took my advice and rebelled against your mother’s wishes to follow your desires?”

“I did, actually,” she confirms, reaching over to take the book from his hands and set it back down. “I’ve been in the academy for three months now.”

“And no doubt taking them by storm, just as I predicted,” he says smugly. “You know, I do so admire a woman with commitment.” Leaning back, he looks her over as if she’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever laid eyes on. “But tell me, darling, what brings you to this delightful little establishment on a fine evening such as this? Surely you’ve more exciting ways to pass your time than drowning in legal jargon and police procedure?”

Chloe smirks at him. “Says the guy hanging out in a coffee shop wearing a—what is that, Armani?—three-piece suit.”

Lucifer glances down at himself with a smirk. “Ooh, good eye, darling. But it’s Prada, if you must know, and this is merely a pitstop on the way to what is surely to be a delightfully decadent party across town. I do love a good boost of caffeine before indulging in debauchery and sin. And...well, it’s been quite some time since I was able to indulge in anything enjoyable.” Leaning forward again, he rests his elbows in the only free spot on the table, steepling his fingers and cocking his head. “And you? Is it all work and no play for the Detective during academy rigamarole?”

Raising an eyebrow, she wonders what he meant by ‘it’s been quite some time’, but she doesn’t ask. “I get plenty of both, thanks,” she says stiffly.

“Do you, though?” he asks, his tone turning knowing as his eyes narrow. “You don’t strike me as someone who has been letting loose and enjoying the finer things in life much lately.” He gestures at the papers and books on the table.

She stiffens slightly and scoffs, rolling her eyes while trying to feign nonchalance. “I’m...focused,” she says with a shrug. “That’s what matters right now.”

The truth is she can’t remember the last time she went to a party or anywhere fun. Almost the moment word spread that she was quitting acting, the few friends she had began to fade away from her life. The casual ones went first, seeking out someone else who might achieve fame and fortune. Then one by one, her closer friends stopped calling or answering her calls.

Jed was the final link to the Hollywood life, and once Chloe came to the realization he was more interested in having someone on his arm that could further the DJ Karnal name, she ended things with him. Of course, finding him making out with that brunette backstage at a show hadn’t helped.

Between studying and physical training, she’s been exhausted, falling asleep almost the moment her head hits the pillow at night—or sometimes early mornings if she’s cramming for a test. She knows the payoff at the end of training will be well worth it, and this is just the beginning of her busy days, but she just turned twenty-one, and she celebrated by ordering a pizza and drinking the cheapest wine she could find. Not exactly ‘enjoying the finer things in life’.

And somehow, Lucifer seems to know it. He tsks at her. “Well, focus is good. Hard work pays off. Et cetera, et cetera.” He makes a rolling motion with his hand. “But too much discipline, and you’ll burn out before you even get that shiny badge you’re chasing after.” His eyes light up as if he just had a brilliant idea. “Tell you what, Detective—”

She almost interrupts him to remind him she isn’t even a rookie police officer yet, let alone a detective, but she actually likes the nickname. She also likes the way he says it.

“—why don’t you close those books of yours, set aside the statistics and procedure for an evening, put down that dreadfully boring study guide, and come with me to this party?” He gives her a charming smile that lights up his whole face.

Chloe lets out a short laugh. “Not a chance.”

He sighs dramatically. “Back to that, are we? Shame. You’d undoubtedly be the most interesting person there.” When she only raises her eyebrow at him, he holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. I shall leave you to your noble academic pursuits. But do me a favor, darling? Do try not to become boring. It’s terribly tedious, and you’ve your whole life ahead of you—get out and see some of it.”

Unable to hide her amused smile, Chloe nods. “Sure. I’ll do my best.”

Getting to his feet, Lucifer adjusts his jacket lapels just so, as if they weren’t already perfectly aligned. “Good. I’d hate for all that fire of yours to go to waste.” With a final, lingering glance, he gives her a little finger wave and heads back to the door, leaving behind a scent of his cologne, and something else. Something she can’t seem to shake.

Chloe stares after him for a beat longer than she probably should, contemplating the odds of seeing him again. Then she shakes herself and turns back to her studies, wondering what would have happened if she’d gone with him to that party...

---

She tries to focus on her work, to push aside a second chance encounter with the elusive Lucifer Morningstar, but after reading the same sentence six times, she has to shake herself again. What she doesn’t understand is this weird...connection they seem to have. Sure, they’ve only spoken for a total of about half an hour in six months, but she can feel it beneath her skin.

Something that tells her this won’t be the last time she sees him. And she’s almost relieved by that, which is completely absurd. She knows nothing about this guy other than an affinity for tailored suits and that he seems to find her interesting—whatever that means.

There’s just...something about him.

Before she can get too wrapped up in studying again, a now familiar, warm, teasing voice breaks through the silence. “I do have this annoying habit of being charmingly persistent, don’t I?” And he drops back down into the chair he vacated less than fifteen minutes ago, this time holding a to-go coffee cup.

“I was trying to study,” she sighs, tossing her pen down on her notebook.

He hums disinterestedly and removes the lid from his cup. Chloe watches with a raised eyebrow as he retrieves a silver flask from the inner pocket of his jacket and proceeds to pour a generous amount into what looks like black coffee—and then another generous splash to top it off. His eyes flick up to her and he smirks, offering her the flask.

“Would you like some? Macallan whiskey from 1926—wonderful year, that. I was able to enjoy a lovely holiday in London that year.”

Her other eyebrow joins the first. “In...1926?” she asks skeptically.

“Indeed. I even helped arrange the first ever transatlantic telephone call—they needed to broker a deal with the bloke in New York, you see, and happened upon me after I popped up from a recent rebellion.”

Chloe blinks at him. What is she even supposed to say to that? “You’re saying you were...alive in 1926?”

He gives her a look that suggests she’s the strange one at the table. “Isn’t that what I just said? Have all those rules and procedures melted your brain? You really ought to take a break, Detective. That can’t be good for you. Yes, I was alive in 1926. Just as I was alive when the first humans walked the Earth and when time became a thing—such a tedious invention of my father’s.” 

“Your...father’s?”

“Yes. You might know him as God Almighty, though I prefer to call him that bastard. But to each his own, I suppose.”

Right. Because he’s the Devil. Somehow, she’d forgotten about that weird...hangup of his. Does he actually believe he’s the Devil, and she managed to find a completely crazy guy? Or does he use the Devil thing as, like, a metaphor or something?

“Right. And I’m the Queen of England,” she mutters into her coffee.

Lucifer just smirks at her. “Well, hello, your majesty. You’re looking particularly...American tonight,” he purrs.

She rolls her eyes. “Look, I don’t really have time for...whatever this is, so...”

“Yes, yes, I know—laws, statistics, procedure and whatnot. But studying isn’t going to get you anywhere, and as I said, you could certainly use the break.” He leans back and sips his spiked coffee, making an impressed face. “Oh, that’s quite good.”

Feeling a flicker of frustration, Chloe sighs. “Yeah, I’m doing just fine. Thanks,” she says, trying not to let her annoyance bleed through.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Funny. You don’t look fine. You look as though you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders and any second now, it’s going to collapse. I’m simply trying to help lighten the load, as it were.”

She feels herself bristle. But at the same time, some part of her actually wants to hear whatever it is he has to say. While it’s not the easiest thing for her to admit, his presence makes her feel...seen in a way she can’t explain. A way that nobody else in her life has ever seen her, as if he’s actually seeing her and not because of her mom. Or feeling pity for her losing her father. Or telling her she’s making a mistake joining the academy.

And she likes that. Probably too much.

“I’m not carrying the weight of the world,” she shoots back, a bit sharper than she intended to sound. “I’m just...doing what I have to do. To get by. To follow my path.”

Lucifer only smiles at her, completely unbothered by her irritation. Maybe a little amused by it, even. “Ah, yes. ‘What you have to do.’ It’s really quite admirable, but have you ever stopped to wonder if you’re doing what you want to do?”

She frowns at him. “I mean, yeah... That’s the entire reason I joined the police academy—doing what I want, instead of what my mom wants.”

He waves that off. “Yes, yes, parental rebellion. But there is more to life than working and studying, Detective. There is an entire world out there,” he gestures blindly towards the windows, not taking his eyes off her, “just waiting to be explored. Debauchery to be had. Sins to be committed.”

“Okay, you do remember that I’m in the police academy, right? I said it, like, five seconds ago. Sin and the police don’t really go hand in hand, you know?” 

Lucifer chuckles. “Of course, but you’re not officially a boring cop just yet, are you? You’ve still a bit more time to get into some last minute trouble, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, trouble isn’t really my thing.”

“Oh, well, it’s most certainly mine, darling. And believe me, I could think of several ways that you could...lighten up a bit.” He pokes the tip of his tongue out through his teeth, giving her a slight leer.

It doesn’t make her uncomfortable as it might from another guy, but she still doesn’t have to put up with it. “Look, I’m doing what I want to do. I want to be a cop. It’s what I’ve always wanted. End of story.”

His gaze softens a touch, like he’s understanding something about her he hadn’t before. “I believe you. But you don’t have to give up everything to achieve your dreams, Detective. You could have it all at your fingertips if you desired. So aside from becoming the best detective the world has ever known, what else do you desire?”

“Are you seriously trying your weird pickup line on me again?” she asks flatly.

“It isn’t a pickup line,” he says, sounding slightly offended. “And it isn’t weird, either. It’s a genuine question that you’ve yet to answer.”

She thinks about it for a minute. Becoming a cop has pretty much consumed all her time lately, and she hasn’t had a moment to want anything more. Well, maybe a few more hours of sleep a night, but that isn’t an option right now. But aside from that...what does she want?

It doesn’t take long for her to realize...she doesn’t know. Or, well, she does, but the answer is too personal to share with somebody she barely knows. She wants to figure out where she belongs in life. To find her purpose beyond being a cop. She wants to be loved for who she is, not for what she does or what she has. She wants—

“Acceptance,” she hears herself say out loud.

Lucifer blinks at her, his expression turning curious, then thoughtful. “Really? I’d have thought you’d already have that—apart from your disapproving mum, of course.”

Chloe shakes her head. “Not really. All this stuff,” she gestures at her books and notes, “it’s all I have right now. My friends stopped answering calls once they found out I was going to stop acting. They saw all the party connections and red carpets and attention go away, and so did they. My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—just wanted a pretty starlet on his arm to help further his career, because he thought that would help his reputation. And my mom tried to sabotage my training by calling my instructors and telling them I’m unstable.”

He stares at her, jaw tightening in anger. “She did what?”

“Yeah, but thankfully, the instructors didn’t fall for her charms and dramatics. They looked at my progress and saw she was probably just being overprotective. But the point is, if the police academy doesn’t work out for me, then I have nothing to fall back on. I didn’t even go to college; I took enough courses during my private tutoring lessons that I skated past the requirements, but...” She looks away, her throat thick and her eyes burning. She is not going to start crying in front of a relative stranger in a coffee shop. Not a chance.

Lucifer sets his cup aside, and leans across the table. “I think you don’t give yourself enough credit, Detective. Even if by some unforeseen mishap, you don’t get through your training with flying colors, I’d imagine you’ve plenty of other talents.”

She scoffs. “What, acting?”

“You’re telling me you have no other remarkable skills than reading from a page and playing a part?” he asks, disbelieving.

“I don’t know. I haven’t done anything else but act my whole life.”

“I think you’d be surprised.”

Chloe studies him for a moment, suddenly feeling a bit suspicious for some reason. “Why do you even care, anyway? You barely know me, and yet, you’re sitting across from me giving me pep talks.”

He averts his gaze briefly, twisting a diamond cufflink at his wrist. “I’m not sure, to be honest. Pep talks are not my usual jam; I much prefer doing other things with my mouth.” He gives her a faint smirk, then seems to really consider the question.

“I suppose it’s because...I see a bit of myself in you, Detective. Rebelling against the path chosen by a parent who doesn’t seem to care about what you desire. Seeking out your true purpose in life. Taking a leap into the great unknown—although, my leap was more of a fall into a pit of darkness, but that’s beside the point.”

She furrows her eyebrows.

Tilting his head slightly, he studies her for a moment before continuing. “I find you...intriguing. And the fact that I’ve now run into you twice...well, that’s never happened to me before. I typically don’t come across the same people—time differences between planes and all. Not to mention, nobody has ever been able to resist me—my charms or my ability to pull out desires. And that is simply...” He shakes his head, searching for the right word. “Exhilarating.”

Chloe looks at him for long moments, unsure what to say to any of what he just told her. “You really are the strangest person I have ever met in my life.”

Looking as if she couldn’t have paid him a better compliment, Lucifer actually puffs out his chest proudly and preens. She cracks a small smile at his antics. “Why, thank you, darling. But I prefer unique. And as for your desire for acceptance...well, somehow I don’t think you’re alone in that. Although, most people would have said a night of sweaty, naughty fun with yours truly, you little freak,” he adds in a teasing way that comes across as almost fond or affectionate. “I don’t doubt you’ll achieve that as well, Detective.”

She cocks her head a little, looking at him. “What about you?”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, sipping from his coffee. “What about me?”

“Well, you know all about me and what I desire—what do you desire?”

For a moment, he freezes, as if the question has bewildered him and he has to think long and hard about the answer. “Oh,” he says softly, staring at his cup with a furrowed brow. Then he grins cheekily at her. “Well, I wouldn’t mind a nice bottle of Laphroaig and a good shag right about now. It won’t be long before the heavenly guard dog is let off his leash again to chase me back to my throne, after all.” 

She ignores his weird metaphors or whatever they are. “Okay, but aside from that.”

Just for a moment, the smug, teasing mask he’s worn since Chloe first met him at the bar drops, and she sees something vulnerable in his gaze. She starts to tell him he doesn’t have to answer, to apologize for asking something too personal, but then he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “Freedom.”

Her heart squeezes at the flicker of raw pain across his expression.

“What I desire more than anything, Detective, is to escape my father’s shackles and live my own life. To...be my own man for a change. It will never happen, of course; suffice to say, dear old Dad is a bit of a control freak in that regard. But these little tastes of freedom I’ve gotten every few millennia simply aren’t cutting it any longer.”

She ignores the metaphors, reading between the lines, before answering. “So...do what I did—rebel.”

Lucifer smiles sadly. “Oh, I have,” he says grimly. “In the grandest way possible. And for all my troubles, I was forced into a job that quite literally nobody, myself included, could ever truly desire. Well, nobody not of the infernal plane, that is. I was given Hell. And anytime I try to take a break, to breathe in the fresh, clean air of Earth, my dear brother is just around the corner waiting to run me back ‘where I belong’. No, unless something quite unforeseen happens, or I come across some truly remarkable set of circumstances, I believe this is my fate—viewing freedom from the outside.”

Chloe swallows, her chest feeling tight. He sounds like he’s all but given up hope of achieving his own desires, and for some reason, that breaks her heart. “I’m sorry, Lucifer.”

He shrugs and waves her off, like it’s nothing to be stuck in a life he loathes with every fiber of his being. “It’s certainly not your fault, darling,” he says breezily. But she can still see the pain in his eyes.

His eyes drift towards the clock on the wall and he finishes off his coffee. A moment later, he's masked the vulnerability with a bright grin that doesn't entirely reach his eyes. “But speaking of my angelic brother, I should probably get to this party before he gets wind that I’ve left Hell again. Are you sure I can’t talk you into joining me? I’m absolutely certain I could make it worth your while.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” she says, almost taking him up on the offer. “I have a test on Monday I need to study for.”

Sighing resignedly, he pushes his chair back and stands. “Well, then, I wish you all the luck in the world, Detective. I do hope this isn’t the last we see of each other, but if it is, do be sure to kick the world’s arse if it gives you a hard time while you’re taking it by storm. And don’t forget to enjoy yourself along the way.”

Chloe chuckles. “Okay,” she says quietly. In the back of her mind, she wishes he could stay longer. She’s actually enjoying talking to him. He’s weird and arrogant, and probably batshit crazy, but...she likes him. “Have fun, Lucifer. And good luck with...um, Hell, I guess.”

Winking at her, Lucifer gives her one last searching look, then turns on his heel and leaves. Chloe watches as he steps outside the coffee shop, adjusts his lapels, and takes a deep breath, and then he’s gone. Just like last time—vanishing into thin air.

Shaking her head, she goes back to her books, but her mind stays on Lucifer and eventually she gives up, goes home, and relaxes for the rest of the night.

Notes:

Narrator: It will not, in fact, be the last time they see each other. Not even close.

Thanks for reading! This fic is fully written and will be updated every Monday. And fair warning, things to get knocked very off-kilter from canon.

Chapter 3: Arrested Momentum

Summary:

A year has passed since Chloe last saw Lucifer Morningstar. She's now a rookie cop and gets a call to a party where she sees him again—maybe a little too much of him.

Notes:

This chapter is most of the reason for the M-rating. But it's more of a light M, mostly for safety.

Nine months have passed since Chloe graduated the LAPD police academy—with flying colors, at the top of her class, thank you very much—and life is...good. Really good. Insanely busy, and sometimes just plain insane, but she enjoys the demanding nature of the job. Her FTO, Officer Greg Moralez, is tough but fair, and has taught her a lot about being a cop. He also has a wicked sense of humor and some amazing stories.

After her graduation from the academy, Chloe moved into her own apartment—it isn’t much, but it’s completely hers. The graduation her mother boycotted because she so disapproved of Chloe’s decisions.

Chloe had spent most of the ceremony glancing around, half-expecting to see Penelope stroll in fashionably late, and when she never did...well, it was disappointing, but she and her mom hadn’t been on good terms for months before that. The only person there for her was her father’s old partner, Paul Anderson, who beamed proudly and videotaped the whole thing as if Chloe was his own daughter. Afterwards, he and his wife took her out for dinner and drinks to celebrate and give her a graduation gift. Which made Chloe start bawling in the middle of the fancy Italian restaurant.

Paul gave her a wooden box he made himself with Chloe’s name carved into the polished oak. And inside the box locked with a small gold key were several items that belonged to her father. John Decker’s badge encased with glass. A well-worn notebook full of notes and random jotted down thoughts that John kept through his early years as an officer. Two challenge coins—one was John’s given to him by his father when he graduated the academy with his name, badge number, and graduation date engraved on it. The other was for Chloe with the same, and an added message—“Always follow your heart, kid.”

And finally, was a framed photo of Chloe and her father that she’d never seen before, taken when she was about twelve and she’d gone on a ride-along with her dad for the day. She and John were sitting on the hood of his cruiser on a blanket where they had lunch—burgers and fries—and they were both smiling huge smiles.

Although it hadn’t been the same as having her mom there, supporting and cheering her on, Chloe had been nothing but grateful to Paul. They still keep in contact now that he’s retired and running his own diner not far from the precinct Chloe works out of, and she visits for lunch when she can. He’s told her several times that Penelope will snap out of this, to just give her time to get used to the idea.

Chloe isn’t so sure.

So far on the job, Chloe has seen quite a lot, and she’s sure it’s only the tip of the iceberg. Everything from drunken brawls, high-speed chases, and junkies screaming about alien abductions. She’s been on the wrong end of a gun more than once, though thankfully, hasn’t had to use hers yet to save her life. It’s probably only a matter of time in her line of work.

But today is a first. And one she really could have done without.

When she and Moralez heard the call about the illegal sex party, they exchanged looks and laughed, then headed in that direction to join the team to break it up. Chloe hadn’t been entirely prepared for what she would see, and wasn't even sure what she expected when she heard the words ‘illegal sex party’. Some rundown house with johns and prostitutes, maybe. Or the backroom of a strip club. But she wasn’t expecting a five million dollar mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

What she actually sees are black velvet couches and chaises, silk and satin everywhere, and enough sex toys to put an adult toy store out of business permanently. There's a buffet of finger foods and a wall of top-shelf liquor. And so many naked people. Like...so many. She starts blushing the second she walks through the front door, then has to remind herself she is a police officer and tries to get her poker face back into place.

It works...at first.

The raid is going smoothly with the team sweeping in fast and rounding up the nude partygoers, some of them, um, in flagrante delicto and even mid-coitus. People gasp and scramble for their clothes while others try to run. They cover themselves with sheets and pillows and, in some cases, their hands which had been otherwise occupied seconds ago. There's a mix of panic and indignation in the air, but Chloe manages to keep her cool and her focus as she scans the crowd, waiting for orders from her FTO with an air of practiced discipline.

Until she recognizes one of the partygoers.

It takes her a second to work out why he looks so familiar, because without the fancy three-piece suit, he looks...different. And she definitely doesn’t believe her eyes at first. But...no, it’s definitely him—the odd man she met twice in the last eighteen months.

Lucifer freaking Morningstar.

And, of course, he’s completely naked.

He’s just...lounging on one of the ornate chaises like he doesn’t have a care in the world and the raid is nothing more than an amusing inconvenience for him. His arms are draped along the back of the velvet upholstery, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee—just enough to maintain the bare minimum of modesty. Though Chloe gets the feeling he couldn’t care less about that. The smirk on his face, though? That smirk is utterly shameless.

She tries to blend back into the crowd of officers, hoping he won’t see her, or worse, recognize her. After all, it’s been more than a year since she last ran into him at that coffee shop. But of course, she has absolute shit luck today, and as his eyes take in the scene unfolding in front of him, they land on her. His eyebrows furrow as he stares at her and she tries to look everywhere but at him, then delighted recognition lights up his entire face.

“Well, well, look who it is! My favorite studious officer. Oh, look at you in the uniform—well done, darling.”

He actually sounds genuinely proud of her. And he’s not bothering to keep his voice down at all. Several officers look between the two of them, smirking at Chloe. She tries to ignore them.

Lucifer gasps. “Detective, have you decided to take my marvelous advice and have a bit of fun for once in your life? Well, come on over, there’s still plenty of Devil to go around. And I do love a woman in uniform.”

His gaze roves over her in a leer that makes her want to smack him. “And out, of course. Speaking of, I saw the most marvelous little film with a familiar face and her less familiar...assets. What was it again?”

She closes her eyes, dread settling in her stomach like lead. No. No no no. Please don’t say it...

“Ah, yes, Hot Tub High School. Really, darling, that was quite the nude scene. You were like the new Phoebe Cates.”

Chloe’s brain stalls for a full five seconds, because this cannot be happening.

Nope. Not happening. Not today.

But wishing isn’t going to get her out of this one.

Thankfully, everyone else is too busy with the party’s other...attendees to pay her or Lucifer any attention. The last thing she needs is her colleagues smirking at her. More than they already do.

Struggling to resist the urge to facepalm herself, she forces herself to look literally anywhere else. “Oh, my God,” she mutters under her breath. With the noise around them, Lucifer shouldn’t have been able to hear her.

He hears her. “I assure you, darling, my father has absolutely nothing to do with this, and we should all be grateful for that.” He grins at her.

And then her FTO catches sight of her, barely casting Lucifer a glance as he moves through the room, barking orders at other officers. “Decker, stop gawking and keep moving. We don’t have all day here.”

She wasn’t... She was so not...not gawking. Nope. Hm-mm.

Then her eyes flick back towards Lucifer against her wishes and can’t help taking in the rest of him, below the neck. Broad shoulders, trim waist, muscles that look like they were chiseled onto his body... And then she looks lower, just for...like, half a second and...wow. 

Nope. Not looking. Look somewhere else—anywhere else, Chloe...

Lucifer chuckles, the rich, positively infuriating sound wrapping around her like silk. “You know, it’s really quite rude to storm in and ruin a perfectly delightful evening,” he muses, making absolutely no move to cover himself beyond what his current position allows. “Honestly, Officer, I would have expected better manners from you after our last two encounters.”

Clenching her jaw, Chloe forces herself to focus on anything but the warm lighting in the room and the way it casts a glow on his ridiculously perfect, flawless skin. “You are in the middle of an unlicensed, illegal sex party,” she bites out through gritted teeth.

“And?” His head tilts to the side, amusement dancing through his dark eyes. “Since when is indulging in a bit of earthly pleasure a crime?” He presses a hand to his chest over his heart, feigning hurt feelings. “You wound me, Detective.”

“Not a detective,” she corrects him automatically. She’d almost forgotten how much she likes hearing herself being called that. Even though Lucifer is the only one who ever has.

“Not yet,” he amends smoothly without missing a beat. “But give it time, I’m sure you’ll be detectiving before you know it.”

Before Chloe can think of a response, or wonder about the warmth that runs through her at the confidence he seems to have in her, Moralez cuts in, saving her the trouble. “Sir,” he says sternly, finally acknowledging Lucifer. “You’re going to need to put some clothes on. Now.”

Lucifer’s grin only widens and he smoothly stands—oh, dear God—stretching in a way that is utterly unnecessary before strolling towards a pile of discarded clothing in a corner. He tosses aside several articles, apparently searching for something in particular, and retrieves a crimson robe. Chloe doesn’t watch the way his back muscles move as he walks. Or the tanned, freckled skin. Or the—

Focus, Decker.

Then the idiot turns back and shrugs on the robe in intentionally slow, deliberate movements, like he has all the time in the world.

When he turns back to her, he’s tightening the belt of the robe. “There. Happy now?” he asks lazily, spreading his arms wide.

Rolling her eyes, Chloe crosses her arms and narrows her eyes at him. “Ecstatic,” she deadpans.

Moralez looks between her and Lucifer, then shoots Chloe an amused smirk. “You know this guy?”

Unfortunately...

“We’ve met,” Chloe says, trying to sound as neutral as possible. She’s doing a whole lot of trying today, and probably not succeeding in the slightest.

But of course, Lucifer isn’t going to let her get away with that. “Now is that any way to treat an old friend such as myself? Don’t be so modest, darling. We go way back!”

When Moralez gives her a knowing look, Chloe can’t resist dropping her face into her hand. Why did she have to be on this call?

And why couldn’t Lucifer be...normal?

Then again, she isn’t sure she would find him as intriguing as she (grudgingly) does if he were.

---

“Do you always arrest people with such...enthusiasm, Detective?”

Gritting her teeth, Chloe intentionally tightens the cuffs around Lucifer’s wrists just on this side of too tight. He throws her an amused look over his shoulder that she ignores. “For the last time, I am not a detective,” she mutters, shoving him towards the patrol car. Maybe a bit too roughly, but he annoyed her. He deserves it.

“Yet,” he corrects her yet again, completely unbothered by the current predicament. He sends her another one of those grins he probably thinks is charming—it so isn’t (it is) and walks in front of her like she didn’t just have to arrest him. “But with your talent for authoritative manhandling, which is undeniably sexy, I’m certain you’ll get there.” Adjusting his shoulders like he’s trying to get comfortable in the cuffs, he smirks. “You do know I can get out of these anytime, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure you can,” she mutters dryly. “Keep walking.”

Moralez catches up with her. “Jesus Christ, Decker, did you really have to arrest this guy?”

“You think I wanted to?” she shoots back incredulously. Reaching past Lucifer, she opens the backdoor of the car and reflexively places a hand on his head to keep him from bumping it.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Lucifer protests. “Watch the hair, darling! No need to be so rough. At least buy me dinner and a drink first.”

Rolling her eyes, she makes sure his legs are all the way inside and slams the door on his still smirking face before she can say something she’ll regret. Or slap him. She shares a look and headshake with her FTO, who just chuckles and moves around to the driver’s seat.

Chloe starts to get into the passenger seat when Moralez pauses. “Nope. You’re riding in back with him. He seems to like you.” He grins at her, and she knows now she is never going to live this down.

Sighing in resignation and bracing herself, she follows orders and slides into the backseat beside Lucifer who looks thrilled by the development. Chloe ignores him. Or tries to. He’s difficult to ignore. While she tries to keep as much space between them as she can, knowing for a fact he’s wearing nothing beneath that silk robe, it doesn’t help her in the slightest.

He turns his head towards her, a slow, lazy smile forming on his lips. “Do you know, I don’t normally find myself under arrest—at least, not outside the bedroom, that is—but I must say, I’m rather enjoying the experience so far. The company is extraordinary.”

Chloe keeps her head turned towards the window as they pull away from the mansion, heading back to the precinct. “Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts. Somehow, I don’t think you’ll have this much fun when we reach phase two of the festivities.”

Lucifer hums thoughtfully. “Tell me, Officer Decker, do you always arrest men you share coffee and delightful conversations with?”

“That was a year ago.”

“Was it? Seems much longer for me.” There’s a slight undercurrent in his voice that she can’t read, but she also doesn’t try that hard to figure it out. “Anyway, who’s counting? However, I can’t help but feel as if there is some sort of...pattern emerging between us. A chance meeting at a bar, then another at a coffee shop, and now, here we are—handcuffs included. Whilst I am usually against the concept on principle, I daresay this is fate.”

She barks out a laugh. “Fate? You just got yourself arrested at a sex party, Lucifer. That isn’t fate, that’s...bad life choices.”

“Semantics,” he says airily. He’s obviously enjoying every second of this. “Although, I must admit, I was quite disappointed when you didn’t strip off that delightful uniform and join the fun.”

Chloe fights the heat in her face when she catches Moralez’s eyes watching her in the mirror. He’s just barely holding back a laugh. She glares at him, then glares at Lucifer. “For the love of—will you shut up?”

Lucifer smirks, having way too much fun now. “Oh, come on, don’t such a spoil sport! This could be another wonderful bonding experience for us! We’ve already got the bondage part of things.” He leans forward, jiggling the handcuffs around his wrists.

“If you keep talking,” Chloe says through clenched teeth, “I will hit you.”

“Ooh, kinky. Lucifer likes.”

Taking a slow, deliberate breath through her nose, Chloe doesn’t respond as she mentally counts down the seconds until they finally make it to the precinct and she can walk away from Lucifer.

Until Moralez bursts her bubble. He snorts from the front seat. “Decker, looks like this one is your problem now.”

---

The drive is undoubtedly the longest in Chloe’s life. To make matters even worse, Lucifer does not shut up for one minute the entire time. He comments on the state of the patrol car. (“Do you deliberately make these seats as uncomfortable as possible, or is this just an unfortunate accident of government funding? Give me five minutes and a phone call, and I shall upgrade your transportation before the end of the day.”)

Then he critiques everything from the lack of music in the car (“At least put on some classic rock. Or jazz. Something with a bit of soul. None of that modern 90s garbage.”) to his arrest (“I do hope you appreciate what a cooperative arrestee I’m being, Detective. Most people would struggle, beg, curse. Me, however? Well, I’m taking it all in stride. An absolute model prisoner.”) to Chloe ignoring him. (“Darling, I can’t help noticing you’re avoiding eye contact with me. Would that be because you’re so distracted? Perhaps reminiscing about what you saw before you so rudely interrupted my evening?”)

When she continues to ignore him, he still doesn’t take the hint. “Oh, come now, you must admit, this whole thing is rather amusing. The absolute scandal of it all. Officer Decker—soon-to-be Detective—arresting an old acquaintance at a salaciously debaucherous event—imagine the headlines!” He chuckles.

Chloe grits her teeth. Her patience wore out five minutes into the drive, and traffic is not helping in the slightest. “Lucifer, we raided that party because it was operating illegally, not because I have some...personal vendetta against you.”

Lucifer tsks at her. “Well, that’s a shame, really. I do love a good vendetta. Much more exciting than the boring standby of ‘just doing my job’.”

Moralez isn’t helping, either. He chuckles, eyes flicking to Chloe in the rearview mirror. “I gotta say, Decker, this guy’s more fun than half the people we book. Maybe we should keep him!”

She glares at him again. “Please, do not encourage him. That is the last thing he needs.”

“Oh, not to worry, Officer Moralez, I am always encouraged,” Lucifer says, smirking again.

Shaking her head, Chloe exhales while counting to ten in her head. And when that doesn’t work, to twenty. Then she turns to Lucifer. “Look, once we get to the station, you’ll be processed just like everyone else. If you cooperate and don’t piss anyone off between now and then, you’ll probably be out of holding by morning.”

Lucifer gives her a mock pout, leaning towards her. “Oh, but that means I’d have to leave your charming company,” he says, dropping his voice to something smoother and silkier. “Are you sure you don’t wish to keep me locked up just a little longer? I promise I make excellent cellmate conversation.”

Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she wonders what happened to the kind, sweet man who talked her into following her dreams, and tried to talk her into having more fun. She could have seen herself being friends with that guy. This one, however...

Maybe he has an evil twin he told about our meetings?

“You are the single most wildly irritating, positively infuriating man I have ever met in my life.”

“Oh, flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” he purrs, grinning at her again.

Moralez snorts a laugh. “I think he likes you, Decker.”

“Like is such a...weak word, don’t you think? I much prefer something along the lines of ‘intrigued’ or ‘fascinated’—” He gives Chloe a leering once-over. “Or dare I say...captivated? Spellbound, perhaps?”

Rubbing her temples against the headache forming, she turns back to the window. “Kill me. Just...kill me now.”

Beside her, she hears Lucifer shift, and glances over to see he’s stretched out his legs—or as much as he can, being as ridiculously tall as he is—and is sighing contentedly. “Oh no, darling, I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re far too much fun to torment alive.”

At long last, Moralez pulls into the precinct parking lot. Chloe starts to leap out of the car before it stops completely, remembering belatedly these doors don’t open from the inside. Her training officer parks and turns around in his seat, grinning at her. “Well, you know what to do from here, Decker. He’s all yours.”

Chloe groans.

Lucifer grins, pleased.

This is going to be a really long night.

---

Never before has Chloe been more tempted to shove somebody into a holding cell and throw away the key. The second his car door is opened, Lucifer stretches his legs outside with a satisfied sigh like he’s stepping out of the back of a limo at a red carpet event. Instead of, you know, being arrested for attending an illegal sex party wearing only a silk crimson robe.

“Finally! I was beginning to think we’d have to spend the whole night in that dreadfully cramped vehicle. How do you stand it, Detective?” Then he shoots her another signature smirk. “Not that I minded the close quarters with you, of course.”

Reminding herself it’s against protocol to physically assault an unresisting suspect, Chloe takes a deep breath that does nothing to steady her. Patience, Chloe. No strangling him. You don’t want a mark on your record. He definitely is not worth that.

Moralez just chuckles and gives her a solid pat on the back as he walks past them. “Have fun, Decker. I’ll save the paperwork for you.”

Coward.

She’ll find a way to get back at him somehow...

Chloe grabs Lucifer by the upper arm and hauls him to his feet, ignoring the way he seems to let her do so without any sort of resistance. The amusement is wafting off him in waves by now, as if this is just a game to him. Or he’s in on some secret joke. Almost the second they step inside the station, heads begin to turn the way they had at the coffee shop, she remembers suddenly. A few officers actually stop what they’re doing to gape as Lucifer strolls along beside her, smirking like he freaking owns the place.

Jensen, the desk sergeant, is staring with her jaw dropped. “Decker...what the hell is that?”

Lucifer scoffs. “Well, that is terribly rude. That? I am very much a who, I’ll have you know—and a rather magnificent one at that.”

Jensen just blinks, her eyes glazing over slightly. “...Right.” She drags her eyes from Lucifer over to Chloe, who probably looks incredibly annoyed and disgruntled at this point. “What’s he in for?”

“Illegal sex party,” Chloe sighs.

She gets a raised eyebrow in return. “I’m guessing not as the one who organized it?”

“Well, whilst I have been known to throw quite the orgy from time to time, it’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure. But no, I was merely an...enthusiastic participant this time.”

Chloe has to resist the impulse to facepalm herself again. Or maybe Lucifer this time. “Maybe try not admitting to more crimes before being processed? Or at all while you’re here?” she says to him. Shaking her head when he just smirks again, she turns back to Jensen. “He’s just here to be processed. Drunk and disorderly at best, though, honestly, I think it’s really just disorderly.”

“I have been on my most impeccable behavior, Detective!” he argues, looking at her in affront.

Jensen raises another eyebrow at the moniker, then goes about her work. “Any weapons on you?” she asks.

Lucifer grins. “Only my charms.” He pauses a beat. “Well, and what I’m wearing beneath this scintillating silk robe, of course.”

“Jesus,” Jensen mutters under her breath.

He scoffs. “Most certainly not! Terrible bore, my half-brother. I’m far better than that. Or worse, depending on your level of guilt.”

Chloe gives him a look. Before she starts questioning her own life (and career) choices, she grabs the paperwork off the desk. “I got this. Come on,” she adds to Lucifer, “let’s get this over with.”

She leads Lucifer over to the booking area, where he steps right up to the counter like he does this every day of his life. There’s no chance this guy has never been arrested before; he’s way too comfortable with the entire process.

“Oh, are you going to take my mugshot? I do make a fascinating subject for art and photography,” he announces cheerfully.

Not bothering to respond, Chloe starts to fill out the paperwork. The quicker she gets through this nightmare, the quicker she can be done with him. “Height?”

“Six-foot-three. But really, there are other parts of me that are far more intriguing, darling. Would you care to know the size of my—”

“Weight!” she says loudly before he can finish the sentence. She can practically hear his smirk when she can’t hold back her blush, because she saw the size of his...presence.

“Well, that’s a bit personal, don’t you think? Not to mention incredibly rude.”

Chloe just stares at him.

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. If you must know, around one-eighty. All muscle, of course, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” she says flatly.

“Liar.” He grins.

Ignoring him, she keeps running down the list of questions. “Any distinguishing marks? Tattoos, scars?”

“Well, I am invulnerable to Earthly weapons and tools, so no to the tattoo question—”

Chloe raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“—the only scar I have is this one here on my chin,” he finishes, tipping his head back a little to show her. She can barely see the small mark. Faint curiosity about how he got it, and how he doesn’t have any other scars crosses her mind, but she shoves it back. “Apart from that, I do have a few birthmarks you might find interesting. Quite the feat since angels aren’t born—they’re created, but there we are. Matching ones on each buttock and one right on the underside of my—”

“Nope!” Chloe slams her pen down. “I think we’re done here.”

“Already?” He pouts, and she thinks she sees genuine disappointment in his eyes. “But we’ve only just gotten started, Detective!”

“Officer,” she snaps. “My name is Officer Decker.”

“I happen to think ‘Detective’ fits you far better, so I believe I’ll be sticking with that moniker.”

Sighing and wishing she’d called in sick today, Chloe leads him to the holding cells, debating on tossing him in with someone else. In the end, she gives him his own cell; she doesn’t want to be responsible if he gets himself killed for annoying someone tonight. Unlocking the door, she gestures for him to step in.

“Step inside five paces. When I shut the door, back up to the bars and I’ll remove the cuffs,” she recites by memory.

Lucifer moves past her, intentionally brushing their shoulders together. “Been a delight spending the evening with you, darling,” he purrs.

“Yeah, well, unlike the last two times, can’t say I feel the same,” she says flatly. When she slams the door behind him, it’s a relief. And weirdly...not. For all that he annoyed the absolute hell out of her, she was glad to see him again—despite the circumstances.

When she looks up from locking the cell door, her stomach flips. Lucifer is smirking at her again.

And dangling the handcuffs from one finger.

“How did you...” she whispers.

“Well, I told you I could get out of these contraptions, darling. And I don’t lie,” he reminds her, passing her the cuffs.

Chloe takes them back feeling a bit dazed as she looks the cuffs over. They aren’t broken in any way, and she knows he wasn’t hiding any sort of lockpick on him—where would he even keep it? “Who are you?” she breathes, looking back at him.

Lucifer steps up to the bars, resting his hands there. Normally, she would order a suspect to back away, but she doesn’t get the feeling that she could be in danger from him. “As I’ve been trying to tell you, I am the Devil, Detective,” he says quietly, smiling.

“Right...” she says slowly. “Uh... Enjoy your night in holding, Beelzebub.” She turns and walks away, his chuckle following her.

When she goes back to check on him a couple hours later, he’s vanished again—from a locked cell. No witnesses saw it happen, and all the security cameras show is that he was there one second, gone in the next.

Chloe can only shake her head and wonder who Lucifer Morningstar really is.

And it doesn't take long for the rumors and myths about him and his mysterious disappearance to spread around the precinct.

Notes:

Thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying so far. Next chapter, we jump another year between chance meetings and the angst picks up a bit.

Chapter 4: Set Your Soul on Fire

Summary:

Another year has passed in Chloe's life. She's at a crossroads and contemplating a possibly life-changing decision on the beach when a familiar face appears.

One of the things Chloe has always been aware of during her nearly two years of being a cop is the likelihood of on-the-job injuries. More than the other rookies, she knew the exact risks of the badge when she was in the academy, and that there was a possibility that one day, she might not get to come home. But that hadn’t stopped her then, and it isn’t stopping her now.

Not even after getting shot for the first time.

It happened on a B&E call. The suspect was still in the house he’d broken into when she and Moralez arrived, and the second they walked in the door, he started shooting. Far from being her first shootout, Chloe tried to keep a level head while feeling bone-deep fear. What she hadn’t counted on, though, was the second shooter. Moralez saw it coming a split-second before Chloe had, and she hadn’t been able to dive for cover quickly enough. Now she has a scar in her right bicep where the bullet tore through skin, bone, and muscle. Fortunately, it didn’t hit any major blood vessels, or that might have been the end for her.

She barely spent two days in the hospital, though to hear her mother tell the story, one would think Chloe was on the verge of death. Three days after that phone call, her ears are still ringing. She’s on medical leave for the next week, until she can use her fingers again, then desk duty until the injury heals. Something she is not looking forward to in the slightest.

The first person to the hospital was Dan Espinoza. Chloe met him her first day officially on the job as a rookie, and they became fast friends. Several months after that, he asked her out on a date. The rest is history.

Until last night.

Dan brought dinner to her apartment so she wouldn’t have to deal with cooking. And then gave her the surprise she wasn’t expecting—halfway through the meal, he tossed aside his chopsticks, gave her a speech about ‘finding the one you’re meant to be with’, then got down on one knee and proposed. Chloe had stared at him, frozen for the longest time, unsure how to even respond.

They haven’t even been together eight months, and she isn’t entirely sure she’s ready to move in with him, much less get married. She loves him—or...well, she thinks she loves him. But shouldn’t she be more certain before committing to something lifelong like marriage with someone?

Which is why she’s out here on the beach in the middle of the day. She asked Dan to give her time to think about it, and he hadn’t seemed disappointed or even surprised by the request. He hadn’t even had a ring; apparently, it had been a spur of the moment decision to pop the question. But he told her to take her time.

So...she’s taking her time.

The thing is, she thinks Dan only decided to propose after the shooting. He got scared and felt out of control, and it prompted him to do something that might give him back that control. But Chloe isn’t one to just make impulsive choices, especially when they affect her future, and usually, neither is Dan. They never even talked about getting married, both of them too busy with their jobs to do more than have a date night once or twice a week. She gets being scared, but marriages are based on more than just fear of not losing someone.

She feels...pressure now, the weight of the world bearing down on her shoulders. Not necessarily by Dan himself, but all of it. Getting shot for the first time was no picnic. Her mother is still constantly worrying about her, texting statistics on police death rates in the U.S. in an attempt to scare her out of her career. The job itself. But she’s still so early in that career, and she’s still figuring out who she is outside of being a former actress and the daughter of a murdered cop. The idea of locking herself into something permanently while she’s still becoming herself...it feels suffocating.

Sighing, she pulls her knees to her chest and stares out over the water, wishing her dad were here. He would have exactly the right advice for her right now. The right questions for her to ask herself so she could decide what to do next. Right now, she’s never felt so alone.

Movement in her periphery catches her attention and she flicks her eyes to the right, seeing someone walking this way. She intends to ignore them and go back to her thoughts, but there’s something familiar about the approaching form, a niggling feeling in her mind that she should know him.

Then it clicks—the tall, narrow form, the three-piece suit that probably costs more than her monthly salary, and the closer he gets, the dark, piercing eyes. Her breath catches in his chest.

Lucifer.

Again.

She hasn’t seen him since he vanished from the LAPD holding cells over a year ago. Despite him escaping custody, there hadn’t been a manhunt for him; it wasn’t like he was a violent criminal, just an idiot at a sex party. There was a brief search of the premises, but when that turned up nothing, the lieutenant shrugged it off and went back to work. The legend of Lucifer Morningstar, however, had spread through the precinct and theories from ‘he’s some kind of escape artist’ to ‘he has mob ties and his family busted him out somehow’ had begun to form.

Chloe could never explain what happened, but she’s also seen him disappear into crowds before, and after a while, she put the incident—and him—out of her mind.

Until now.

The closer he gets to her, the more she sees he isn’t his usual smug, arrogant self today. He looks furious and upset about something, utterly lost in his thoughts to the point he doesn’t even seem to notice there’s anyone else on the beach until Chloe calls out to him.

“Interesting Houdini act from the holding cells.” The words come out more teasing than irritated. Procedure would probably have her hauling him back into the precinct, but she doubts he’d get more than a slap on the wrist and...well, she can’t really be bothered to care at the moment.

He continues to walk past her as if he hadn’t heard her, hands stuffed into his pockets and his gaze turned downward.

Chloe blinks. “Lucifer!” she calls again.

This time, his steps falter, and he glances over his shoulder in question. Unlike their last couple meetings, it takes him nearly half a minute to show any signs that he recognizes her. Surprise flickers across his expression as he turns around to face her.

“Detective,” he says quietly. “Isn’t this a delightful surprise?” No smirk. No grin. His eyes are dull and dim. “What brings you out here on this fine afternoon?”

She raises an eyebrow. It’s a miserable afternoon—cold and cloudy and drizzling. “Are you...okay?” she asks, carefully getting to her feet.

His jaw tightens, then he attempts a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yes, of course. Lovely to see you again, darling. Still with the police, are you?”

“Um. Yeah. For almost two years now,” she says slowly, closing some of the distance between them. That’s when she sees the bruises covering the left half of his face. “Oh, my God—” He flinches. “—what happened to you?”

“Hmm?” He raises his eyebrows, then seems to remember he looks as if he went ten rounds with Tyson. And lost. “Oh, this. Let’s just say that my dear,” he says the word through gritted teeth, “brother and I had a bit of a disagreement.”

Chloe pauses, trying to remember if he ever mentioned having a brother before. She thinks he might have said something. He’s talked about his family using those metaphors of his, but aside from that... And the way he says it, it sounds like there is a lot of bad history and blood between them.

“A disagreement did that to your face?” she says skeptically.

The smirk he gives her looks...hollow. “You should see the other chap.”

Yeah, she probably should have expected that response. She searches his expression. He doesn’t just look angry; he looks almost shaken. Not at all the confident guy she’d met three times previously. Even in handcuffs and wearing nothing but a robe, he had been completely in control. Now he looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Why are you here, Lucifer?” she asks quietly, taking a step closer to him.

Lucifer tilts his head to the side and studies her. A beat of silence passes between them, filled only by the rush of waves in the background. He huffs a humorless laugh. “Honestly? I’ve absolutely no idea.”

“Well, do you have somewhere to be? I could use some company for a little while,” she suggests, not wanting to let him wander aimlessly.

She isn’t sure why she cares so much about this man she barely knows. But then, every time they meet, there seems to be this...indescribable connection between them. Regardless of the circumstances, she finds she does care, and even considers him something of a friend. And she’s in short supply of friends these days.

He hesitates, sighing and looking around, like he’s searching for an excuse to not be here. She feels her stomach sink, then gives him an out. “It’s fine. I’m sure you’re busy,” she says, smiling to show no hard feelings. “I should...probably get home, anyway.”

The expression on his face softens almost imperceptibly. “I suppose I have a few minutes. For you, Detective.” A shadow of a smile appears on his half-beaten face.

She chuckles. “Yeah, still not a detective,” she says wryly.

“And I still say it’s only a matter of time and persistence.” He looks her over with furrowed eyebrows, as if only seeing her fully for the first time now. “What’s this, then?” He gestures at the sling she’s wearing for her right arm. “New accessory for the LAPD?”

“Ah, no.” Chloe leads him back to the spot where she’s been sitting and drops onto the sand. He raises an eyebrow at her, as if asking whether she truly expects him to dirty his suit. But then he sighs in resignation and sits down beside her. “I, uh, got injured on the job, actually. A shooting.”

Alarm flickers across his expression. “You were shot?” he says incredulously. For a brief second, she thinks his eyes might have flashed red, but it has to be a trick of the light. Right? “By whom? Where are they now?”

“A suspect, and he’s currently lying in the morgue. After he shot me, he ran out of the house and got hit by a car.”

Lucifer blinks, clearly having not expected that. “Oh. Well, good. When I return to Hell, I can track him down and give him his due punishment. What was this cretin’s name?”

Somehow, she’s gotten used to the metaphors and barely raises an eyebrow at the Hell talk. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’m fine, and—”

“Oh, I disagree, it matters quite a bit, darling,” he purrs dangerously. “But if you won’t tell me, I’ve other ways of finding out.”

Sighing, Chloe decides to change the subject, knowing continuing in this vein will only frustrate them both. “So you don’t know why you’re here?”

He watches her for a moment, then deflates slightly, turning to look towards the water. “That does seem to be what I said, yes.” To her, it sounds like he’s aiming for his usual arrogance and missing by a mile. Like he’s putting on a performance for her.

Her gaze drops down to his hands. Knuckles that are raw and scraped, as if he’d been swinging at something harder than a person. A brick wall, maybe. Or like he’d been fighting for a long time. “Where’ve you been, anyway?”

Lucifer shoots her a sidelong glance and a smirk, sans the amusement in his eyes. “Would you believe me if I told you I was in Hell?”

She rolls her eyes. “Right. Because that’s totally normal.”

He lets out a breathy laugh and shakes his head. “No. I suppose it isn’t, is it?”

“I mean, the last I saw you, I’d just locked you in the holding cells, you handed me my cuffs—that you somehow removed on your own. Then you vanish into thin air, and show up a year later looking like you went ten rounds with a sledgehammer, and I’m not supposed to ask questions?”

“Yes, well, I find that most people don’t question me nearly as much as you do, Detective.”

“Yeah, well, most people probably don’t arrest you at a sex party,” she shoots back dryly.

He grins. Just a small one, but genuine. “Ah, yes, those are quite fond memories, aren’t they?”

Chloe can’t decide between smiling and glaring, unsure if she’s actually in the mood for...whatever this is. She might not know him well, but she does know he’s deflecting. That much is obvious. “Why now?” she asks, cutting to the chase. “Why even come back after all this time?”

For the first time since she’d gotten his attention, a shadow of something real flickers across his expression. “I truly don’t know. I seem to be repeatedly drawn to this...City of Angels. And I suspect it’s more than the Mexican food, which is delightful.” His eyebrows furrow briefly and he turns to look at her fully. “I think it might be you, Detective.”

“I don’t even know you.” The words are ones she's said to him before, and this time, they come out bemused.

There’s a moment where she thinks she sees a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but then, he’s smirking again. “And yet, here we are sitting in the sand having this delightful conversation. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it truly was fate.”

Chloe sighs and rolls her eyes. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what? Charming? Sinful? Devilishly handsome?”

“Insufferable.”

“Oh, Detective, you wound me.”

“Yeah, right,” she mutters. “You’re impossible.”

“I don’t see you leaving.”

Chloe hesitates. Because he isn’t wrong. She has every reason to walk away, every reason to leave him sitting here bruised to hell with his cryptic non-answer answers. But something in her gut is telling her that whatever has brought him back, whatever had him pacing down the beach looking like he wanted to punch the ocean itself into submission, is something real. Something big. And for reasons she still can’t explain, she wants to know what.

“You hungry?”

Lucifer blinks at her. “I beg your pardon?”

She smiles. “I was gonna go grab a bite to eat, and since you apparently don’t know why you’re here, you might as well eat something while you figure it out. I have some figuring of my own to do anyway.”

For a second, he just stares at her, like she’s some sort of puzzle he can’t quite work out. Then slowly, a corner of his mouth tugs up. It isn’t one of his usual smirks; it’s something smaller. Something almost real. “Why, Detective, are you asking me on a date?”

She gives him a look. “Do you want to eat or not?”

He grins at her. “Lead the way, darling.”

---

The Glass House diner just down the block from the beach is one of those places that probably hasn’t been renovated since sometime in the 80s. Red vinyl booths, black and white checkered floors, a jukebox in the corner that might not even work... Chloe loves everything about this place. She’s been coming here since she was a little kid with her dad and knows most of the staff by name. The smell of coffee, grilling meat, and fryer grease fills the air as they walk through the door. One of the waitresses in a light blue uniform, Lauren, looks up from the counter and waves them into an empty booth with a friendly smile.

Chloe slides into a seat, watching in vague amusement as Lucifer inspects the surface before sitting across from her. As if they didn’t both spend the walk here wiping sand off their asses. He should look out of place here in his $10,000 suit, and yet, he seems to fit right in. The only things that don’t fit in are the bruises on his face, more prominent in the artificial lighting of the diner.

He looks around in interest before smiling at her. “Ah, I’ve quite missed the unique charm of American dining,” he muses, picking up a laminated menu with exaggerated delicacy. Like he thinks it’s going to bite him. “Truly, nowhere else in the world serves grease and heart disease with such...unwavering enthusiasm.”

Smirking, she turns towards Lauren as she approaches. “Hey, could we get two burgers and fries, and two vanilla shakes, please? And no ketchup.”

“You got it, Chloe.” The waitress’s eyes flick towards Lucifer and stay there. “And...who is your handsome friend?”

Lucifer perks up at being called handsome, ramping up the charm. Chloe rolls her eyes. “Lucifer Morningstar,” he purrs, giving Lauren a smile. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lauren giggles. “You too, honey. I’ll just...go put your order in now.”

He follows the waitress with his eyes, clearly checking out her ass while Chloe sighs. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“I would let you take me anywhere, Detective,” he says, turning back to her with the same charming grin. She tells herself she’s unaffected by that grin, but she’s lying to herself. “Ordering for me already, darling? My, my, we are getting closer.” Then he tilts his head curiously. “Why no ketchup?”

“I hate ketchup.”

He chuckles. “Such a foolish condiment.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Chloe enjoys the low hum of the diner’s late lunch crowd filling the space between them. Lucifer is leaned back in the booth, watching her carefully, the bruising on his face a stark contrast to his effortless charm. Lauren returns with two glasses of ice water for them, winking at Lucifer, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Chloe.

“So tell me, Detective,” he says quietly. “What exactly had you brooding so intensely that you ended up on the beach all by your lonesome? Not the shooting, I hope. Trouble in paradise, perhaps?”

Chloe sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “Something like that, I guess.”

He tilts his head and waits.

She hesitates, unsure why she should be telling him about her problems. Maybe because he’s a ghost from a past life, a stranger who knows just enough about her that he doesn’t feel completely unfamiliar. Or maybe she’s just spent so much time thinking about it alone that the words are burning a hole in her chest.

“I have this boyfriend. Dan. He’s a fellow cop,” she says, picking at a corner of the table. “And um, he proposed.”

Lucifer blinks at her. “Oh. Did he now?”

“Yeah.”

“And judging by your complete lack of excitement, am I to take it your answer was not an immediate and enthusiastic yes?”

She sighs. “I don’t know what the problem is. I mean, Dan is...well, Dan. He’s a good guy. Safe. Steady...”

“Sounds dreadfully boring.”

She gives him a look. “No, he isn’t boring. Just—I don’t know. I got shot, and suddenly everything just feels like it’s moving too fast, you know? Like I’m supposed to want this, because it’s the normal thing to do. The safe thing to do. Rational.”

Lucifer is quiet for a moment, idly spinning his water glass between his fingers. “And unless my memory has failed me, you don’t like being told what it is you’re supposed to want.”

Chloe glances up at him, a little caught off guard by the accuracy of the statement. “No,” she admits softly. “I don’t.”

Lucifer nods, like he understands completely. “Hmm, parental rebellion—the thing that brought us together in the first place.”

She huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “It’s not just my mom. It’s...everything. My whole life, I’ve been trying to figure out what’s mine. Where I fit in. What I actually want. And just when I think I have it, suddenly, there’s a new decision to be made, a new expectation, and I don’t know if it’s me making the choice, or if I’m just...I don’t know, falling in line.”

For a few seconds, he’s quiet, still studying her. “So, do you love him? This...Dan fellow?”

Chloe inhales a little too sharply. That isn’t what she expected him to ask. She opens her mouth, prepared to answer, then closes it again. “I...care about him.”

The smile Lucifer gives her isn’t unkind. “That isn’t what I asked you, though.”

Before she can respond, Lauren returns with their food. “Let me know if you guys need anything else.”

“Thank you, my dear, this looks wonderful,” Lucifer says smoothly.

She giggles again and hurries off to tend to other customers.

Chloe subtly rolls her eyes.

“Ah, saved by the burger!” Lucifer says, grabbing a fry from his basket and popping it into his mouth. The sound he makes is indecent and wouldn’t be out of place in the bedroom instead of a restaurant.

She stares at him, then abruptly, reaches for her milkshake. Then to put off answering, she goes for her burger, staring at it like it might have all the answers she needs.

Does she love Dan?

She should. Shouldn’t she? He’s good to her, and she knows he’ll always be there. But when she pictures the future, when she thinks about marrying him, and about forever... Something feels...not right. Off. Lucifer is still watching her as he eats, but he doesn’t push.

“Well, whatever you decide, Detective, do promise you won’t allow the tedium of domesticity make you any less interesting. That would truly be a shame.”

Taking a bite of her burger, she chews slowly and mulls over Lucifer’s words. He makes everything sound so simple. Like all of life’s biggest decisions are nothing more than a matter of entertainment value.

“You know, not everything has to be interesting,” she says finally, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “Some things are just...stable. Comfortable. Easy.”

He scoffs at her as he picks up his burger as if it’s personally offended his sensibilities. Or what few he has, anyway. “Stable, comfortable, and easy? Detective, you make it sound as though you’re preparing for a retirement home rather than marriage. How utterly tragic.”

“Well, excuse me for not basing my own life decisions on whether or not they amuse you.”

“Oh, by all means, decide away. I simply find it fascinating that you—a woman who once risked everything to defy expectations—are suddenly contemplating a life of routine domesticity. It seems rather...unlike you, that’s all.”

“You don’t even know me,” she says yet again, although the words sound weak to her own ears.

“Au contraire, ma chérie. You forget, I’ve had the immense privilege of witnessing some of your greatest hits. I watched you sneak into a bar and buy an alcoholic beverage with a fake ID.”

Chloe’s eyes widen and she looks around the diner, startled, as if she’ll expect to see her superior officer in the next booth, taking notes. But nobody is looking twice at them. “Wait, you knew about that?”

He scoffs and gives her an oh, please, Detective look. “You’ve told me all about your fight with your mum. I saw you cramming for your studies during your academy training. And you arrested me in quite the dramatic fashion. You are not a woman who settles, darling.”

Sighing, Chloe glances towards the ceiling, searching for strength. “Lucifer, you’ve met me, what? Three times now?”

“Four now,” he corrects her, his mouth full of burger.

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, four. Counting this time. That doesn’t exactly make you an expert on my life.”

“True,” he concedes, plucking a fry from her plate, probably just to annoy her. “But I do so happen to be an expert on human nature, Detective. And I know this—people like you don’t suddenly wake up one day and decide they desire something safe and predictable. It’s something they talk themselves into. Something they have to work to convince themselves is the right choice because it’s what is ‘expected’ of them.”

Dropping her burger, she leans back in the booth, crossing her arms in challenge. “Oh yeah? And what, exactly, do ‘people like me’ want, then, if you’re so smart?”

He takes his time before answering, chewing thoughtfully, then dabbing daintily at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. A contradiction from the way he’s been shoveling food into his mouth. “Something real,” he says finally. “Something that sets your soul on fire. Something that makes your blood sing, and your world turn on a new axis.”

Chloe snorts a laugh. “What are you, a poet now? And I suppose you have something like that yourself?”

She never heard him talk about any girlfriend or boyfriend, or a significant other of any kind, but she also doesn’t know everything about his life. For all she knows, he’s married. Then again, he isn’t wearing a ring, and doesn’t strike her as the relationship type.

He hesitates this time, something flickering behind his eyes before he masks it and he replaces it with a smirk. “Well, that is a rather complicated story, best saved for another day. Or preferably never.”

She looks at him, sensing there is something deeper he isn’t sharing. But before she can push, he changes the subject. “So how is life as an official crime-fighting officer, Detective? Aside from being struck by lead projectiles moving at high rates of speed, are you enjoying wielding that newfound power over the hapless citizens of Los Angeles?”

Chloe rolls her eyes. She seems to do that a lot in his presence. “Right. Because that is what being a cop is all about,” she says sarcastically.

“Oh I don’t know,” Lucifer says, grinning. “Some certainly seem to enjoy it.”

“It isn’t about power. Not for me, anyway.” Because even she can admit that, yeah, there are some cops who are way too power hungry at times. “It’s about helping people. Making a difference.”

Lucifer tilts his head, considering her and her words. “And do you feel as if you’re making a difference?”

Chloe thinks about it for a moment, then smiles a little. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, then,” he says quietly, his tone more sincere than she’s heard it since they met on the beach. “Perhaps you’ve already found what it is that sets your soul on fire.”

She blinks at him, caught off-guard by the change in tone.

“And perhaps,” he adds, reaching for another fry, “you ought to consider focusing on that before chaining yourself to a life and a douche who makes you second-guess everything.”

Maybe she should feel insulted on Dan’s behalf at Lucifer calling him a douche, but she’s more thinking about what he’s trying to say—offering her comfort and advice in his own weird, Lucifer way.

“You really are impossible, you know that?”

He smirks at her. “So I’ve been told.”

She should be annoyed. Or offended. Instead, she finds herself considering his words long after the conversation moves on.

---

They end up staying at the diner and talking like old friends for a couple hours after finishing their meals. He finally tells her what the fight with his brother was about.

“My brother Amenadiel—ever since I began taking these little...excursions to Earth every so often, it’s been his job to chase me back to my throne by any means necessary. Usually, I go back to avoid stirring up any of dear old Dad’s wrath, but lately... Well, lately, I’ve been abandoning my duties more often. Hell isn’t exactly appealing, of course, but I’ve begun to realize that the reasons I’ve been doing my job without argument are the wrong ones. And it isn’t as if I’ll ever receive recognition or gain my freedom by continuing to play along with the plan, so why should I?”

Chloe says nothing as he talks, eating instead of interrupting to scoff at his metaphors and Devil talk.

Lucifer goes on. “When I popped up this time round, Amenadiel caught up to me far quicker than usual, and when I protested returning so soon...well, the argument turned physical. Eventually, I left Amenadiel to lick his wounds and go home to tattle to Dad, and I intend to enjoy the quiet while it lasts. Though I don’t suspect it will be long now.”

Aside from the Hell references, what Chloe is hearing is that Lucifer is being forced into a family job he never wanted to begin with, and anytime he tries to breathe, to enjoy life, he’s told what he wants doesn’t matter. She remembers a conversation they had at the coffee shop when she was in the academy—how he told her all he wants is to live his own life and be his own man. But his family refuses to let him have that.

“You should press charges,” she says firmly. “We can go down to the station, fill out the reports, and maybe file for a restraining order and— Why are you smiling like that?”

Lucifer is looking at her as if she’s being naive, though not in an unkind way. “Detective, I’m afraid it isn’t that simple with my family,” he says gently. “Even if you could arrest my brother, you would hold him for less than you had me in that cell. As for a restraining order...well, you can’t exactly file one on God Himself, now can you?”

She wants to argue, to tell him not to be so ridiculous, and to take this seriously. But the look in his eyes says he is taking this seriously. Maybe he grew up in a religious cult or something, and ‘God’ is the leader, his father? Either way, it’s a screwed up situation and she wants to help her friend. The way Lucifer has helped her over the years.

“There has to be something,” she persists. “Can’t you just...leave your job, start a new life somewhere?”

“I wouldn’t get very far, believe me. My family can get around quite quickly. But really, Detective, you needn’t worry about me—”

“Of course I’m worried about you!” she says louder than intended. Several people look over at their table curiously, and she lowers her voice, finding Lucifer staring at her in amazement. “You don’t deserve to be stuck in a life you don’t want, Lucifer. You literally just told me I should do what I want to do, not what’s expected of me. Take your own advice. You once said you want to live your own life, be your own man—well, I think you should. From the sound of it, you’ve spent long enough doing something you hate. Find something that sets your soul on fire. Something that makes your blood sing, and your world turn on a new axis.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when she turns his words around on him. “I would love nothing more,” he says almost too quietly for her to make out the words.

“Try to find a way. Promise me.”

Lucifer hesitates for a long moment, frowning slightly, like he can’t work out why she cares so much. Neither can she, but the fact of the matter is, she does. She set out in the LAPD to help people; that’s what she’s doing now—helping someone. She hopes.

Eventually, he nods. “I give you my word,” he murmurs. “I don’t know that it will be in the immediate, but...yes, you’re right. I’ve given my father too much of myself as it is. It’s time to start living life on my own terms.”

Chloe smiles in relief. “Good. Thank you.”

“You know, you’re quite something, Chloe Decker.”

She raises an amused eyebrow. “Oh, you think so?”

“Oh, I know so. And as I’ve said, I know people. Can’t say I’ve ever met someone quite like you, though.”

“Well, I will take that as a compliment.”

“As you should. Especially coming from me.”

She sighs. “Aaand you ruined it.”

He laughs—a genuine laugh that lights up his whole face. It makes her smile, because it’s a really nice laugh. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Lucifer glances at the time and sighs regretfully. “Well, I best be off. I’d like to get a bit of debauchery in before I’m forced to return to the abyss, and Amenadiel isn’t likely to be in an amicable mood when he gets back.”

Regret twists in her chest. She isn’t ready to say goodbye; she’s enjoying the conversation too much. But she agrees and digs into a pocket for her wallet. Lucifer tries to protest that he can pay, but she argues that since she is the one who invited him out, she’ll get the check. He can get the next one. Though he doesn’t look pleased, he doesn’t argue further.

They linger on the sidewalk outside the diner longer than necessary, neither wanting to be the first one to say so long.

Lucifer smiles at her. “Well, Detective, this has been a truly illuminating afternoon,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Do let me know if you ever decide to abandon this whole ‘noble protector of justice’ lark. I would be absolutely delighted to assist you in your descent into sin.”

Chloe snorts a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll get right on that.”

He tilts his head again, hesitating for a moment, an almost intense look in his eyes. “Just promise me one thing, darling,” he says, his voice quieter and more sincere. She raises an eyebrow in question. “Whatever path you do end up choosing, be sure that it’s one that you actually truly desire. And not what you think you should desire.”

She swallows, nodding. “I promise,” she says softly, fiddling with her car keys. “Will I see you again?”

His smile turns soft. “Darling, at this point, I would be more surprised if you didn’t. But I certainly hope so.” His eyes fall to her sling. “Do be careful, though, hmm? It would truly be a shame for your life to be cut off far too soon.”

“I will,” she says. “You too. Try not to let your brother and your father run your life.”

“I shall do my best.”

He gives her one of his lingering glances, opening his mouth like he wants to say something else, but changes his mind. With one last smile, he turns and walks away down the sidewalk towards the city, whistling a jaunty tune as he goes. It’s a definite improvement from his mood when she first saw him on the beach.

She watches him go, a strange feeling settling in her chest. As if her entire path has just shifted half a pace to the right, and she’s headed in a different direction altogether. Shaking off the feeling, she forces her gaze away from Lucifer’s retreating back and walks back to her car. She has a lot to think about, and decisions to make. And for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t know which decision is the right one. But maybe after a little help from a friend, she’ll be able to figure it out.

Chapter 5: Homeless Magician

Summary:

Chloe is on duty at a Beverly Hills hotel, bored out of her skull and exhausted, when she scans the crowd and sees an impossible face, one she hasn't seen in six years—Lucifer Morningstar.

Standing outside the Four Seasons hotel in Beverly Hills, Chloe lets out a jaw-cracking yawn behind her hand. Tonight’s shift had been long, and while technically this isn’t in her precinct’s jurisdiction, there had been a staffing issue, and she’d been sent to help. Crime scene tape is stretched across the perimeter as investigators and other unis work on the murder that occurred here. What started out as a simple noise complaint quickly escalated to a man lying dead in the hotel halfway. The body is still being processed by forensics, unis are busy keeping back the growing crowd of onlookers, and Chloe is taking a witness statement from a hotel employee near the entrance.

A ripple of murmurs catches her attention, and her eyes flick towards the crowd, scanning to see what the commotion is about. Her stomach flips and her pulse flutters with recognition when she spots the last person she expected to see again, let alone here.

Lucifer freaking Morningstar.

He’s leaning casually against a lamppost just outside the crime scene tape, smoking a cigarette as if this is nothing out of the ordinary. His dark eyes watch the scene around him unfold, looking bored out of his mind. And he looks almost exactly the same as he had six years ago when she last saw him, like he hasn’t aged a single day since then. The same sharp three-piece suit, black with a dark blue shirt. The perfectly styled hair. That same confident smirk. He looks as if he thinks he’s above all of what’s happening here.

Chloe blinks, her brain stuttering in disbelief, but when her eyes open again—nope, he’s still here. She isn’t imagining him.

What the actual hell?

Quickly wrapping up with the hotel employee, Chloe flips her notebook closed and strides over to him. “Lucifer?” Even her voice doesn’t seem to believe it’s really him.

He glances up at the sound of his name, and she sees the same disbelief she felt flicker across his expression. Then recognition, surprise, and maybe something deeper she can’t identify. Just as quickly as the look appeared, his expression smooths out into an all too familiar smirk. “Officer Decker!” he greets, eyes sweeping her in obvious assessment. And perhaps a little appreciation. “My, my, don’t you wear authority well?”

Chloe shakes her head, still unable to believe he’s really here. After that day at the beach, then the diner, she spent she-doesn’t-know-how-long searching crowds for his face again. But as years began to pass, she came to the conclusion that that had been their last meeting. The realization had been disappointing, but she told herself not to be ridiculous; she barely knew the guy, after all. How could she miss someone she’d only met four other times?

And yet, she realizes now, she had missed him.

Letting out a disbelieving laugh, completely forgetting she’s in the middle of a crime scene and at work, she throws her arms around his neck. Instantly, he stiffens—in surprise or something else, she isn’t sure—his arms lifting halfway uncertainly. After a couple seconds, one of his arms hesitantly curls around her back, his hand resting there for a moment as he relaxes.

She backs away, smiling. “What are you even doing here?” she asks. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”

Lucifer still looks a bit stunned, maybe a little dazed from her hug, but gathers himself quickly. “Oh, well, you know me, darling. I do enjoy being unpredictable. Been a bit busy back home, and haven’t had the opportunity for escape until now. I came here to enjoy a perfectly pleasant evening of luxury and debauchery when, shockingly, someone decided to die. Most inconvenient of him, really. Somehow, I got a bit caught up in this mess. I really do have the absolute worst luck.”

Right. The murder. And she’s at work, throwing herself at an almost complete stranger. Who, apparently, was also present at a crime scene, and possibly a witness.

Chloe raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Right. Because you’re just an innocent bystander, huh?”

“Well, this time I was, yes,” he says with a charming grin. “Although, I must admit, it was quite fortuitous to have run into you, of all people. I mean, what are the odds?”

“Not very high,” she allows. “Look, as good as it is to see you, I don’t really have time for this. I need to get back to work.”

Lucifer’s grin widens. “But I would imagine you’ve time to take my statement, yes? After all, I did witness quite the disturbing amount of drama before you lot showed up and swarmed the place. And really, I would much rather tell you than one of your...less charming colleagues.” He looks at her hopefully.

Pressing her lips together against a smile, she concedes that if he really did see something, she should take his statement. And if someone else does it, he might end up in a holding cell again. Or the psych ward. “Yeah. Okay, come with me.”

“Ooh, I’d come with you anywhere, Detective.”

She shoots him a flat look. “Yeah, still not a detective.”

“No? Well, only a matter of time, isn’t it? How long has it been, anyway?”

Chloe blinks. He doesn’t know? “Um, six years.”

“Is that all?” he says incredulously as they move towards a quieter corner of the crime scene.

“All?”

“Hmm, yes, well, it was far longer for me.” His expression darkens slightly. “By quite a large margin, really.”

Weaving past other uniformed officers and forensics techs working under the harsh floodlights, Chloe can feel his eyes on her, but she keeps her gaze forward, trying to remain professional. She wants to ask him what he means about ‘quite a large margin’, but suspects he’ll respond with one of his religious metaphors. Maybe he just means it felt much longer than six years due to whatever he was dealing with at his job and with his family.

She remembers a night, years ago now, when she got a little drunk and started thinking about Lucifer. His weirdness. The kindness he’s shown her. And his metaphors. Not having anything better to do, she began Googling. First she searched Lucifer Morningstar. Not a whole lot came up; she couldn’t find any hint of an address or social media presence on him. There were some photos that she suspected were photoshopped of a man who looked like Lucifer, but they were taken back in the late-80s—and he looked exactly as he does now. Which, of course, is completely impossible.

Then she started researching his whole Devil thing—God, Heaven, Hell, et cetera. The results were mixed; some sites told her the Devil is the root of all evil. A being who desires nothing but chaos and destruction, and tempts humans to commit sin, then drags their souls to Hell to torture them for all eternity. Other sites suggested he was misunderstood. A rebellious son who was punished for desiring what humans had—free will. While not the most moral of beings, he wasn’t evil, per se, but religion and history clearly painted him as the scapegoat.

By the time she finished, her head was spinning—though that could have been the bottle of wine she’d consumed—and she didn’t know what to think. She never believed in all that religious stuff, and her research hadn’t changed that. As she got into bed that night, she thought that if by some chance Lucifer really was the Devil, the man she’d gotten to know fell more under the second category of being misunderstood. His words about wanting to be free and his own man had always stuck with her.

Now, however, she has a job to do. Everything else can wait. Lucifer leans against a wall and watches her with that smirk, something sparkling in his eyes that says he’s pleased to see her again. Chloe clears her throat and reaches for her notepad and pen.

“Okay, so you said you saw something?”

“Straight to business, is it? No casual chitchat or catching up on the last...six years?” he asks, feigning disappointment. She doesn’t miss how he hesitated before saying six years.

“Lucifer,” she says sternly.

“You really are quite adorable when you get all authoritative, Detective,” he says fondly. She gives him a look. He sighs dramatically. “Yes, all right... I did indeed witness the beginning of the events in question, although I must say, the victim was far more interesting after he became a corpse.”

“Lucifer.”

He chuckles. “Fine, fine.” He’s smirking at her again, but there’s something almost restless beneath it that she can’t pinpoint a reason for. “There I was in the hotel bar, having a disappointingly mediocre cocktail, when I noticed quite the tense exchange between the now-deceased gentleman and another guest. A woman, dark hair, red dress. Quite striking, and very angry.”

Chloe jots down a few notes. “Did you happen to hear what they were arguing about?”

“Not clearly, but I did catch something about him ‘owing’ her and ‘time is running out’. It was really quite dramatic, to be honest. And then he stormed off towards the lifts, and she left soon after. I finished my drink and was escorting a young woman back to my penthouse suite when law enforcement began swarming the floor. The next thing I knew, I was rather rudely being ushered out of the hotel before the lovely young lady and I could even exchange more than a snog.”

Chloe gives him a flat look. “I’m so sorry your one-night stand was interrupted,” she says dryly.

“Thank you, darling. I was quite looking forward to it, really. I’ve had nothing but my hand for company for far too long.”

Her face scrunches in disgust and she holds up a hand to stop him saying anything more. “Okay, yeah, that’s...definitely not information I need. Thanks. So you just happened to be at the scene of the crime.”

He looks at her with mock affront. “Officer Decker, I can’t help it that the universe insists on placing me at the center of intrigue and chaos. It really is quite the burden, as I mentioned.”

Sighing, Chloe resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Did you see anything else? Anyone following the victim or anything unusual?”

Lucifer’s expression flickers faintly with something unidentifiable. If she hadn’t spent the last eight years in this job honing her instincts, she might have missed it. “Well, nothing immediately suspicious,” he says slowly. “Though given my keen perception and unique skillset, I have no doubt I’d be far more helpful inside the crime scene rather than out here being interrogated like a common hooligan.”

She raises an amused eyebrow. “Yeah, no. Nice try.” Flipping closed her notepad, she looks around the scene. What she wouldn’t give to be part of the investigation, to be the one investigating. “Well, thank you for your statement, Mr. Morningstar. You’re free to go.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What? That’s it? Darling, we’ve barely had a chance to chat!”

“Yeah, well, I’m in the middle of work. I can’t just sit down and play catch-up with you; I have a job to do.” Especially if she ever wants to make detective.

“Well, then, I’ll stick around and assist you,” he suggests brightly.

“That...isn’t going to happen, Lucifer,” she says dryly.

“Why not? Between the two of us, I suspect we would have this little murder solved within the hour, and then we can go somewhere less...boring and enjoy ourselves. I can certainly think of a few ways for that, especially if you bring your handcuffs.” He smirks, looking her up and down appraisingly.

“I’m not even working this case really. I’m just helping out because the local precinct was short-staffed and needed extra bodies to make up the difference. All I’m meant to do is take statements.”

“Well, you aren’t going to make detective without taking initiative, darling. Not to mention a few risks. Come on, it’ll be fun. Us working together, crime-solving Devil and his intrepid soon-to-be Detective. We’d make an excellent team, don’t you think?”

“As fascinatingly catastrophic as that would be, it isn’t my call, Lucifer.”

“But you’re an officer of the law, Detective! You answer to yourself and the fine citizens of Los Angeles!”

“And to my superior officers if I let some guy walk onto the case from nowhere.”

“‘Some guy?’” he exclaims, looking offended. “How dare you! Detective, I am far superior to ‘some guy’!”

“Lucifer. It isn’t going to happen,” she says firmly.

“You’re no fun.”

Rolling her eyes, she sighs. “Look, how about this? Are you going to be in town for a while?” 

He hesitates, his gaze scanning the crowd, searching for something. Or someone. “Well, that is unknown at the moment, but I would hope so. Why? What did you have in mind, darling?”

“My shift is over in a couple hours. There’s a twenty-four hour diner a couple blocks away that has fairly decent coffee. Why don’t we meet up there if you want to ‘catch up’ with me?” she suggests, hoping she sounds casual.

His expression softens a touch. “I suppose that could be arranged, since it doesn’t seem as if I’ll be permitted back into my suite anytime soon.” He shoots a glance towards the unis stationed outside the hotel.

“Once they wrap up the initial investigation, you’ll be allowed back in.”

Humming, he twists a cufflink. “Yes, all right. Two hours, diner around the corner. I look forward to...catching up with you,” he says smoothly with a smirk. From his lips, the phrase ‘catching up’ has a completely different meaning.

“No to...whatever it is you’re thinking,” she says dryly.

“Decker! We need you over here!” calls one of the sergeants on duty.

Sighing, Chloe glances over with a one second gesture. “I need to go before I get yelled at.”

“Until later, then, Detective.”

Walking away, she feels his eyes on her still, and wonders, not for the first time, what it is about Lucifer Morningstar that she feels like they’re old friends.

---

Two and a half hours later, Chloe finally finishes her shift for the night and makes her way to the diner to meet Lucifer. She still can’t quite believe he’s here, after all these years, and isn’t entirely sure how to feel about it. Their whole...acquaintanceship is odd, to be honest; he seems to show up when she most needs a friend to talk to. When she feels lost and uncertain of which path to take next.

Almost like a guardian angel. The thought makes her smirk, knowing he would get his hackles up about being called an angel.

The weirdest part is how he looks exactly the same as she remembers. Maybe he just has really great genes.

Or he really is the Devil...

Rolling her eyes at herself, she pulls open the diner door and looks around, not seeing him at first.

“Detective!”

She can’t help smiling at the moniker. He’s turned a teasing joke into a nickname, and she likes it a lot more than she wants to admit. Lucifer once told her it suits her, and she has to agree. But she still has a ways to go before she gets her badge. Especially if others keep holding her back.

He’s sitting in a booth towards the back, his entire expression lighting up at the sight of her. Ignoring the stares they’re getting from other late-night diners, she winds her way towards him, sliding into the booth, grateful to get off her feet finally.

“Well, you look positively knackered, darling,” Lucifer says, sliding a cup of coffee towards her.

“Thank you. And yes, it’s been a really long night.”

“Any luck on the investigation?”

“Not yet. But I’m sure they’ll find their suspect.” Chloe reaches for the little bowl of individual creamer cups and pours a couple into her coffee—surprisingly not spiked.

Lucifer also hands her a menu. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to eat yet, but feel free to order whatever your heart desires—my treat, of course.”

“You don’t have to buy my dinner, Lucifer.”

“Ah, but I do. Last time we met, you footed the bill and we made a deal that I would pick up the next one,” he argues smoothly.

Chloe blinks. He remembers that? She barely does. “Oh, well, in that case...” Who is she to turn down a free meal? And she is kind of starving; she hasn’t eaten since lunch, and it’s nearly midnight.

A waitress who seems utterly enamored with Lucifer comes to the table to take their orders a few minutes later. Chloe goes for breakfast-for-dinner—a spinach omelet and a side of bacon. Lucifer orders pancakes with extra bacon along with several other items.

After the waitress flirts with him a little then leaves to take their orders to the kitchen, Chloe looks at him in amusement. “Hungry?” she teases.

“I am, actually. I’ve not had the chance to eat in what feels like millennia,” he says casually.

That gives her pause. He can afford a penthouse suite in a five-star Los Angeles hotel, but not food...? But it feels too personal to ask, so she doesn’t. He speaks before she can think of another subject.

“So tell me, Detective, what have you been up to for the last six years?” he asks, sipping his undoubtedly whiskey-spiked coffee. “Don’t tell me you married that douche you were telling me about last time we met.” His eyes drift to her left hand as if checking for a wedding band.

She winces. “Well, his name is Dan,” she corrects. “And...no, I didn’t. It, um, didn’t work out between us in the end.”

“Decided you deserve better?” he asks knowingly.

“More like I realized we wanted very different things in life,” she says wryly. “It’s kind of a long story, but the gist is that I wanted to focus on my career, and he wanted to start a family—get married, buy a house, have a kid, and all that within the first five years.”

She hesitates, thinking back to the argument she and Dan had right before she came to the realization of how different they really were. “Basically, he wanted me barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen instead of following my dreams and career. I mean, outwardly, he was supportive of me trying to become a detective, but anytime I started thinking about career advancement, he would...try to dissuade me. Or tell me it would take years before I was promoted, assuming I ever would be.”

Lucifer scowls. “Well, it would seem ‘douche’ really is an accurate name for him, doesn’t it?”

Chloe tilts her head. “He isn’t a bad guy,” she says quickly, though it still isn't the whole story. Some things she'd rather keep to herself. “Really, he isn’t. He just wanted to fit me into this little box and keep me there. Dan wanted a family. A white picket fence. I wanted...to be something that mattered.”

“Well, for your sake, I’m glad you stuck to your principles. Children truly are terrible, taxing burdens.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I mean, I wouldn’t say that, but I definitely wasn’t ready for a kid back then. I want to be more...stable in my career before I settle down and start a family.”

“So it’s domestic bliss you eventually desire for yourself, is it?”

“Not just that. I want it all—the career first, then the family. Not the other way around.”

He watches her for a few seconds, trying to work out a puzzle. “Do you regret not saying yes?”

“Hmm, no, not really. I’m not ready to settle. I sometimes wonder what life would be like if I had, but at the same time, I’m happy with what I do have. I’ve started to build up a reputation and a name for myself. Something independent from Chloe Decker, former actress, or John Decker’s kid.”

Not that there aren’t still several assholes who don’t want to see her succeed. She’s been a target for a small portion of her colleagues since she started at the LAPD. Mostly the chauvinistic ones who don’t think a woman can do the job as well as they can, and belittle anyone clearly better than they are in every way. She’d like to say that after six years, she’s gotten used to it, but...well, the only thing she can do is her best and grow a thicker skin.

If she’s being honest, that’s another reason she ended things with Dan. Not because he was belittling her, but because wasn’t sticking up for her when someone else did. She can fight her own battles, if she knows they’re happening, but more than once, she overheard one of the guys mocking her about her acting days or something else to Dan, and he’d either laugh along with them to fit in or not say a word.

Before she can fall too far into the rabbit hole of her thoughts, their food arrives, and only now does she notice exactly hungry she is. Lucifer insists she try the pie he ordered, practically shoving the plate in her face, and it is good. Almost too good, to the point she nearly snatches the second plate. Instead, she eats her omelet.

And thinks about the mystery man across from her.

About the oddity of him turning up places at the most random of times. The weird part—one of them, anyway—is that silence between them doesn’t feel awkward. It’s comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable. She’s thought it before, years ago now, that there’s something about him that draws her in. He’s offbeat and smooth, too charming for his own good, and looks like he belongs on the cover of some glossy GQ ad. But at the same time, he has a way of cutting straight through her defenses.

Normally—and this is the really weird part—it would make her feel more defensive; with him...it doesn’t.

As she eats, she catches him watching her over his coffee cup.

“What?” she asks, wiping her chin in case she’s wearing her food.

He gives her a faint smile. “Nothing, really. Merely...amazed to see you again, I suppose. I was starting to believe I’d imagined you entirely.”

Chloe snorts. “You imagined me?” She leans back in the booth, crossing her arms. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who keeps disappearing into thin air like some homeless magician.”

The offense in his expression is entirely feigned as Lucifer presses a hand over his heart. “Magician?” he says indignantly. “Oh, come now, Detective. Give me some credit. I do have standards, you know?”

She tilts her head a little. “Do you, though?” she asks musingly. “Like hanging out naked at illegal sex parties? Those kinds of standards?”

His grin is ridiculous. “Remember that, do you? I assure you, not the first nor the last time.”

“I had to arrest you, and was then forced to sit in the back with you while you flirted with me and my FTO.”

“Technically, you merely detained me. Briefly. And quite enthusiastically, I might add.” He pauses. “And your superior officer was rather taken with me, I believe.”

She rolls her eyes, but her lips twitch even as her cheeks flood with heat. “I still don’t know how you got out of that cell. The rumors about you afterwards are still going around.”

“Trade secret. I do love a good myth about myself.”

“I bet you do,” she mutters, shaking her head. Despite herself, she’s chuckling as she reaches for her coffee. Then she remembers some of his past and sobers. “So,” she says quietly, studying him. “Are you still in...Hell?”

Lucifer gives her a long look. From anyone else, it might be amusement. But she can see something flash behind his eyes that looks tired and almost ancient. “Still the Devil,” he says lightly. “Eternity-long sentence, I’m afraid. At least, that is what I’ve been told.”

She huffs a laugh. “You talk like it’s a nine-to-five job.”

“Oh, I only wish it were that simple,” he says with a sigh. “Sadly, no. Hell is a bit like one of those family-owned businesses you can never quite quit. Eternal damnation, generational trauma, endless bureaucracy. You know how it is.”

Even though she doesn’t believe the whole Devil-Hell metaphor, Chloe leans her elbows on the table, intrigued. “Let me guess. Your dad’s the CEO, and your siblings are all department heads fighting over who gets the corner office. Meanwhile, you get the crap job in the basement.”

“Eerily close. Except the CEO never shows his face, and the department heads are more likely to smite each other than schedule a meeting.”

“That...sounds awful.”

He blinks at her. “Understatement of eternity, darling.”

She studies him again. He made a joke of the situation, the way he always does. But whatever the real story is, it isn’t just a schtick. There is real weight to his words, like every quip is holding up a hundred painful things.

“Do you ever think about quitting? You’ve talked about it before,” she says.

For a long while, he doesn’t answer, looking down at his fingers tracing the rim of his mug. “All the time,” he answers quietly. “More than you could imagine, really.”

It takes her a second to respond. The air in the diner feels heavier now, without the jokes masking what’s underneath. “Then why don’t you?”

He shrugs, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Well, it’s rather hard to quit when you were never really given a choice to begin with,” he says in a lighter tone.

The words hit her harder than she expected. Chloe swallows and looks towards the windows, where the late hour of the night blurs under orange streetlamps. “I know what that’s like,” she says after a moment. “Feeling like you’re stuck on a track someone else laid out for you.”

Lucifer looks at her. “Your mother?”

“Yeah. But not just her. She wanted me to be a star. Or a showpiece.” Chloe snorts humorlessly. “Or both. Something to parade around. Even after all this time, me being a cop is...offensive to her.”

“Right, yes. You did mention a spot of bother when you were in the academy. Has she attempted to have you arrested for treason yet?”

Chloe scoffs a laugh. “No, but she skipped my graduation, and still tries to talk me into going back to acting. A couple years ago, she tricked me into having a business lunch with a new agent. Told him I was definitely interested in acting. I had to spend the whole hour trying to be polite while wanting to strangle her.”

“That’s low,” Lucifer says, his expression darkening. “Even for a human.”

“I think she thinks she’s protecting me. Texting mortality rates for cops. Trying to talk me into a safer career. She doesn’t want me to end up like my dad, which...I mean, I get that, but a little support would go a long way, you know?”

“Indeed.”

She shrugs a little. “But the thing is...I got out of the academy, started learning my job, and for the first time since my dad died, I felt—” She hesitates a moment, then lets out a breath. “Like I finally belong somewhere. Like I’m good at what I do.”

Lucifer’s eyes soften. “Good. You do. And from what I’ve seen, you are good at it. Quite good.”

The words are simple, but they land in her chest with more meaning attached. As if he isn’t just saying them to be polite; he means every word. He could just be saying what he thinks she wants to hear, but...it doesn’t feel like that.

Averting her eyes briefly, Chloe lets out a quiet laugh. “You know, you always do this. Drop into my life when I’m questioning everything and give me some weird, metaphorical pep talk.”

Smiling, he stretches his arms over the top of the booth and leans back. “Yes, well, I do aim to please. And I must say, your timing is quite excellent as well. I was just about to begin my quarterly existential crisis.”

Chloe snorts. “Lucky me.”

They grin at each other for a moment, and something warm passes between them.

“Hey,” she says after a moment. “I always wanted to ask...do you ever think it’s weird?”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Detective.” 

“This,” she says, gesturing between them. “Us. The fact that we keep running into each other. You said you thought you imagined me. I’ve wondered the same thing. More than once.”

His expression turns thoughtful. “Well, I’m not sure I’d call it weird,” he says slowly. “Fated, perhaps.”

Chloe’s heart thuds harder, just once. “You...don’t seem like a guy who believes in fate.”

“I don’t, really. I want to believe free will is what drives us. That we make our own fates. However,” he says quietly, “I also believe that some souls are drawn to each other, no matter how far they run. It’s more rare than Hollywood would have you believe, but it does happen.”

She isn’t sure what to say to that. So she doesn’t say anything.

Lucifer looks away first, suddenly restless. “Though I must say, I’m rather glad you didn’t settle with the douche. For you, that is. You deserve better than settling for less.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. You chose you, Detective, and from the sound of things, you still are. It’s quite commendable. The bravest thing a person can do.”

For a minute, all she can do is stare at him with that odd feeling again. Like he sees her in a way most people don’t bother to try. Or don’t want to. She likes it. Probably a lot more than what is wise.

She clears her throat. “Okay, enough with the compliments,” she says, needing to break whatever spell or moment is between them. “Any more and I might actually start thinking you’re a nice person.”

Lucifer grins, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, Heaven forbid, darling,” he purrs.

They both burst into laughter at the same time, Chloe snorting into her coffee, Lucifer’s shoulders shaking. Everything is so easy between them. Too easy. As if they haven’t gone six years between these moments. As if they’ve been friends all their lives.

When the laughter dies down, Chloe shakes her head, still smiling. “You are nothing but trouble.”

“Oh, absolutely,” he agrees cheerfully. “But I rather think you like a bit of trouble.” 

The smile on her face lingers, but she doesn’t dignify the comment with a response. Instead, she glances at the time on her phone and groans. “I have to be up again in five hours.”

Lucifer clutches his chest. “Don’t tell me our midnight tryst is coming to an end so soon.”

“Tryst,” she echoes, feigning offense. “This is breakfast. And coffee. And really good pie. Not a scandal.”

“Speak for yourself. I bring scandal everywhere I go.”

Believing that’s absolutely the truth, Chloe reluctantly slides out of the booth, grabbing her coat. “Yeah, I’m aware. I have the arrest record to prove it.”

He stands as well, always a gentleman despite the chaos. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulls out a massive wad of cash—she doesn’t even want to know where it came from—and leaves a few hundred dollar bills on the table like it’s nothing. Then he opens the diner door for her without comment, a rush of cool air spilling through. They step out together, and for a moment, neither of them moves.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offers.

Chloe hesitates. “You really don’t have to. I do have a gun, you know.”

“I know,” he says. “But I want to.”

So she lets him. The street is quiet with just the distant sound of traffic around them. They don’t talk as they walk side by side, their footsteps in sync. Chloe isn’t sure what she expects to happen. Awkwardness, maybe. But not this silence that feels...weirdly full.

When they reach her car, she stops and turns to him. “Thanks,” she says. “For...tonight. You know, breakfast at midnight.” She pauses. “And the talk.”

Lucifer nods, hands in his pockets. “Of course.”

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. You’re still weird.”

He beams. “And you’re still lovely.”

She smiles. “But hey, don’t be a stranger next time.”

“I never am,” he says, leaning towards her slightly. “You’re just hard to find.”

Huffing a laugh, she gets into the car, and turns the ignition. When she looks back out the window for one final look—

He’s gone.

Again.

Chloe searches the street, expecting to see him walking away. But there’s no sign of him. She sits there for a full minute, trying to figure it out. No flash of smoke, no trapdoor in the sidewalk. Just...one second he’s standing there like some absurdly handsome statue, and the next, gone. Exactly like every other time.

She lets out a slow breath, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “You’re just hard to find,” she echoes, scoffing weakly. “Speak for yourself.”

But the words loop in her mind like a chorus of a song she doesn’t want to admit she likes. Because she isn’t supposed to feel like this. Not over someone she barely knows. A handful of real conversations in the last...what, seven...eight years?

And yet.

Each encounter has carved another mark into her life. Like tiny coordinates steering her somewhere she isn’t sure she even understands yet.

Leaning her head back, she closes her eyes. The scent of coffee and expensive cologne still clings to her clothes. The warmth of his laughter echoes in her ears. It isn’t just attraction, she thinks. That would make it all so much easier. Not to mention safer. She’s dated men she was attracted to. Dan, for instance, had been solid, kind, familiar...but she hadn’t stayed.

With Lucifer, it’s something else entirely. Something she isn’t sure she can name. Or maybe she doesn’t want to. It’s infuriating, elusive, and wild. God, he is so wild. And strange. And completely full of himself. But the way he looks at her, as if he really sees her and not just a pretty face... It’s as if he accepts everything flawed with her, sight unseen.

Acceptance.

That’s what she told him all those years ago, at a coffee shop table when she was barely twenty-one, in the academy, and fighting to find her place in the world.

He’d listened. Just as he had months before that in a dark bar after a fight with her mom. He always listens.

Chloe blinks up at the roof of the car, a half-laugh escaping her throat. “You’re not real,” she mutters to the empty passenger seat. “You can’t possibly be.”

But the seat stays empty. No sign of the Devil—or the man who claims to be him.

She sits there for a while longer, listening to the engine hum around her, and stares at the spot where he’d been standing. Where he always seems to be, somehow, just when she needs him.

Except...he never stays.

And the weird thing is...it’s starting to hurt. Not in some dramatic, heartbroken way she felt after Dan. That had been clean and clear, a love she isn’t sure she felt that turned into something else. This is...murkier. Restless. A question that never has an answer.

If there’s one thing she always hated, it’s not having answers.

With a sigh, she pulls on her seatbelt, shifts into drive, and pulls onto the empty street. She doesn’t turn on the radio for something to drown her thoughts. She just drives home with nothing but silence and Lucifer Morningstar in her head.

Notes:

In the next chapter, we follow Lucifer back to Hell, and time starts to flow a bit more naturally.

Thanks for reading! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this fic! Much more to come! 💖

Chapter 6: A Kingdom of Ash

Summary:

Lucifer grudgingly returns to Hell where he thinks through his past visits to Earth, the advice he's given Chloe Decker, and how that might apply to himself and his future.

The moment Lucifer crosses the barrier from Earth, a breathless hush falls across the realm, as if all of Hell has inhaled and is holding it. One moment he was on a Los Angeles street corner, finishing a cigarette with Chloe Decker’s voice echoing in his head, when Amenadiel popped up. Lucifer had simply rolled his eyes, flicked the butt to the ground, and returned to Hell. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with his brother’s sanctimonious lectures.

And now, he’s here. Home.

Assuming one could call this place that.

The air is thicker here than anywhere else in the universe. Hotter, drier, more suffocating. The blue-grey sky above is little more than a ceiling of ash and darkness. Here, there is no sun. No moon. No stars. Only the low hum of the suffering and the distant sounds of demons having whatever amounts to fun. All of it interwoven into the fabric of the realm like an eternal symphony.

At first, he doesn’t move, staring across the obsidian hall of his throne room. The doors seal behind him without command. Hell always welcomes its king, whether he wishes to return or not.

He glances down at the dark button-up and slacks he left Earth in. At least his shoes made it this time; he’d forgotten them on his last trip topside. He takes a step forward, the soles echoing dully only to be swallowed by Hell itself. Up ahead, his throne, the one where he receives visitors, looms ahead. Towering and angular, carved from a single block of onyx streaked with veins of deep red—created by the demons as a ‘sign of respect’. It sits perched atop a staircase of cracked basalt, high above the floor, as though daring any lesser being to climb it without invitation.

None ever has.

Lucifer ignores it for now, turning instead to wander down a corridor that shouldn’t exist. Hell has a way of reshaping itself to his moods, and lately, it feels as lost as he does. Walls shift. Doorways appear only to vanish again. Entire wings of the palace emerge fully formed from shadow and discontent. He passes long-empty banquet halls, vaulted ceilings filled with hanging bones instead of chandeliers. Once upon a time, he hosted demons here. Celebrations of control, of dominance.

He hasn’t thrown a party in millennia.

The path angles sharply downwards, deeper into the palace, winding around equally sharp corners until coming to a seemingly dead end. He stops in front of a tall mirror set into the wall that is gilded in flame and cracked at the corners. His reflection stares back at him, only slightly warped today, sharp-suited, pristine aside from a few flakes of ash in his hair, and untouched by time. Unchanged, no matter how long he remains below or how many millennia pass above. The same perfectly-coiffed hair, the same stubble and wry mouth that never quite smiles anymore.

He’s really rather tired of that face.

Turning away, he presses his hand to a blank stretch of wall. Basalt grinds as the passage opens, and he steps inside, not bothering to close it behind him. The piano room is next. It had been a place of great comfort, or it should have been, anyhow. Right up to the point he discovered that music here is no comfort at all.

A grand piano sits in the center of the room, its keys blackened by heat that permeates everything. He reaches out, almost touches...but stops himself. Hell doesn’t allow for melody. Not the kind he wants to hear. It twists everything into discord, into weaponry. Even a single note would transform into a shrieking cacophony, and he isn’t in the mood to hear Chloe’s laughter twisted into something cruel.

Not tonight.

He pours a drink instead. Even liquor isn’t untouched by Hell’s effect—not even the good stuff he brings back from Earth survives for long. Within minutes, it tastes of little more than ash and rot. He finishes it anyway.

But no matter what he does, Chloe will not leave his mind.

She smiled at him like he was a man, rather than a monster. She looked him in the eye and offered him honesty, not fear. There is something...unshakable in her, something different and luminous, and when she speaks, it’s with the conviction of someone who believes life can still be shaped.

Lucifer slumps onto a cracked leather chaise near the piano, legs spread wide, hand dangling over the edge with the empty glass hanging from his fingers. Even now, he can hear her voice. “I’m not ready to settle.”

Neither is he.

Honestly, he hadn’t meant to see her again. Not really. Earth visits are meant to be fleeting distractions, brief escapes to stretch his legs and drown out the eternity pressing in around him. Today, he planned on finding debauchery as quickly as possible. And then a murder occurred just when he was leading a young woman to his suite.

He nearly left the scene altogether, with his good time good and ruined. Now, he’s glad he hadn’t. Because impossibly, there she was, standing like a sentinel at the yellow tape. Somehow, she always seems to keep being there. Or maybe he keeps being drawn to her. Not on every visit, but enough now that he can’t get it out of his head.

There is something about Chloe Decker. Something...radiant.

He hates that word. Hell is not the place for radiance. It is a prison formed from guilt, from fear and consequence. And he is its warden. Its king. Its prisoner.

Lucifer glances up. The ceiling above him has cracked again, threads of molten gold leaking across black stone. Bloody hell, even the palace is starting to crumble. Or perhaps it has always been crumbling, and only now is he starting to notice.

With a sigh, he climbs to his feet.

Eventually, he leaves the palace entirely and reaches the highest place in all of Hell: his throne. Not the one for receiving demonic dignitaries or giving commands. This is his true place of power, built on the site of his Fall. The tall obsidian spire is jagged and thin in places, as if it might give at any point. Sadly, it never has. No demon can sit upon it—only an angel. Or in Lucifer’s case, a fallen archangel. He doesn’t even know if that’s the truth or not, that no demon can take the throne, and he supposes it doesn’t matter.

Unfurling his wings, he gives a mighty flap, and then his feet touch stone. He turns to sit, and the throne welcomes him the way it always does—without ceremony. The obsidian doesn’t yield anymore than it ever does, but it seems to remember him like a long-lost lover.

He stares down at the realm he rules. The Lake of Fire churns below, crashing into the bed of rock before receding, even without a moon’s gravitational pull. A tower of screams twists into what amounts to clouds. Souls suffer in their loops, reliving their greatest guilt over and over. And for the ones who deserve it, physical torture at the hands of demons.

Lucifer hears nothing anymore. Only the silence so loud it would give him a migraine were he human. He curls his hands over the edges of the armrests and tries to clear his mind.

And still, she lingers.

Chloe, with her tired eyes and determined heart. Chloe, who doesn’t flinch when he says he’s the Devil. Chloe, who wants to burn with purpose, not bury herself in someone else’s life.

Bloody hell, does he envy her. That fire. That freedom. There was a time, once, when he had the same fire. Or at least he thinks he did. But here? Now?

This throne no longer feels like power. It feels like chains. The worst part is, he isn’t sure anymore who locked them on—his father, or himself.

---

He doesn’t know how long he sits motionless on the throne, eyes fixed on the horizon. Hell stretches outwards in every direction like a blackening wound filled with misery, dark stone formations, and judgment. No stars above. No time below—none that makes sense, that is.

Only him.

And the ash. So much bloody ash.

It falls steadily from the sky, never-ending, like snow that has forgotten how to be gentle. Fine and grey, it coats the stone around him, whispering against his shoulders and hair. The air shimmers with heat and sorrow, and somewhere in the depths, a scream tears loose. Must be a new arrival. Fresh guilt is raw and loud, he learned early. But even that fades quickly into the ambient cacophony.

Lucifer doesn’t flinch. He sits back, resting his elbows on the arms of the throne, and watches the ash swirl.

Then, in the corner of his eye, he catches something shift. Not physically; Hell doesn’t work that way. But in the drifting haze of cinders and memory, the flakes begin to form images, ones only he can see this high up. Fleeting and incomplete, as if the realm dipped into his thoughts and spilled them back in fragmented echoes.

He sees a bar with dim lighting, a live band playing silently in the distance. Chloe, twenty years old, hunched over a glass of beer, with righteous fire in her eyes and uncertainty in her voice. “I want to do something that matters. What I’m doing now... It was never my choice.”

She hadn’t known him then. Had absolutely no reason in the world to trust him. And yet, she’d told him everything.

The ash swirls again, forming another scene.

A coffee shop. Steam rising from paper cups. Chloe wearing a police academy hoodie, surrounded by books and pretending she didn’t care that she was drowning in coursework.

Lucifer leaned in and said, “Ah, yes. ‘What you have to do.’ It’s really quite admirable, but have you ever stopped to wonder if you’re doing what you want to do?” That had given her pause she tried to hide, but he could see the answer in her eyes. She may have been pursuing her dream, but she wasn’t truly living.

Another shift in the ash.

The LAPD holding cells with their cold metal bars. Lucifer wearing a red silk robe and nothing else, and smirking despite his good time being interrupted. Chloe furious and flustered and brilliant, her badge still fresh and her principles unshakable. He can still hear the clink of cuffs. The snap of her voice barking orders with barely concealed indignation.

Even then, she hadn’t looked at him like a monster. She never has.

The next image is more recent despite the years in Hell since. It comes along quieter, softer.

The beach from what feels like eons ago for him. Chloe sitting in the sand, hair loose around her face, eyes lost to the tide, her arm in a sling. The fury he’d felt when he learned she had been shot surprised him. As had the demands to know the shooter’s identity. (He did find the man upon returning to Hell, and the man is probably still screaming his throat raw.)

From there, they’d gone to a diner, a different one than today. Her voice had been low and uncertain. “I got shot, and suddenly everything just feels like it’s moving too fast, you know? Like I’m supposed to want this, because it’s the normal thing to do. The safe thing to do. Rational.”

That conversation cut deeper than he expected. She spoke about expectations and choice, and not knowing if she was choosing for herself or falling into line. Even though she hadn’t said it, he could see the pressure she felt to make that choice. And in that moment, he understood her better than he had anyone else. Because he was living the same life in a different prison. Forced to fit into a much darker box.

The final image in the ash is another diner. The one from today. Well, however many days it’s been since he returned to Hell, anyway.

Despite telling him to meet her, Lucifer half-expected her not to show. Then she’d walked in just after midnight like a revelation. A memory that had gotten brighter in his absence. He’d only just seen her at the crime scene, but the diner had been what mattered.

They talked. Really talked, as if they were old friends reunited. She told him she said no to the proposal. That she was focusing on herself, on her job. That her douche of a boyfriend had wanted something she wasn’t ready to give. And he had said a few things he hadn’t meant to say. Not out loud.

About fate. About how lovely she was. That he keeps being drawn back to her.

Lucifer closes his eyes. There are no clocks in Hell, but he can feel the passage of time now. Each moment with Chloe has been seared into his mind. They were nothing grand in the scheme of the universe. They weren’t filled with revelations, or confessions, or even sex. But they were real.

And here...well, real is rare. Far too bloody rare.

The memories don’t fade. They just loop, much like the souls with their guilt below. But these loops aren’t punishment. They feel more like a tether. A reminder that once, he had been more than a warden, more than a symbol of suffering.

He’d been an angel. He’d been happy, even as discontent sowed in his soul.

Lucifer tilts his head back, letting the ash settle on his cheeks.

Is this what his father fears? That he would find something meaningful in the world above? That he would touch humanity and want more than a kingdom carved from regret? The thought pulls a short, bitter laugh from his chest.

But he might be onto something there.

For so long—longer than even he can remember—he followed the rules, more or less. Played his part. Then he asked too many pointed questions and was banished, appointed, throned. He became the Devil. The Fallen. The Punisher.

But that had never been his choice. Not freely.

And now, he’s beginning to wonder more and more often—what would it mean to stop playing the part altogether? To write his own role, his own rules.

To break away from the chains that pull him back here again and again.

---

Days or centuries pass without Lucifer moving from the throne. Time here is meaningless; it curls on itself then stretches endlessly before looping again—like so many other things in Hell. Only the shift within him makes anything feel different now. Inertia is normally his forte—on Earth, he dances, strides, laughs, seduces; in Hell, he commands, wanders aimlessly, stares indifferently. Here, on the throne that became his prison and kingdom, he remains still and tense.

Restless, though not in the usual way.

No matter how he sits, obsidian presses along his spine like a brand. And Hell...well, he can feel Hell watching him. Directly below, he can feel the throne room respond to his discomfort. The temperature climbs. Stone cracks in spider-webbed patterns on the roof. The walls pulse faintly red as heat bleeds through them like magma, thickening the air with tension, smoke, and what feels like resentment.

Or perhaps that’s just him.

Lucifer grits his teeth, his fingers flexing along the throne’s arms. This entire realm is alive—he’s felt it from the moment he dragged his burning carcass from the Lake of Fire. It breathes through the basalt columns, bleeds through the screams of the damned. And he is the warden, the keeper, the so-called king. Heaven’s Greatest Betrayer.

The Morning Star.

But worse than all of that, he is also a prisoner.

“I never asked for this,” he says aloud, his voice low and sharp through the stillness.

Of course, no one answers. No one ever does. But the silence afterwards holds a sting, as if he’s just confessed weakness to the walls. Here, weakness equates to death.

Lucifer shoots to his feet, the motion explosive enough to rock the spire below the throne, just an inch or two. It sways briefly, then returns to its place. Far beneath his feet, the ground splits with a crack. Somewhere more distant, screams rise in pitch like startled birds. He unfurls his wings with a sharp snap and takes off into the sky, ash pelting his skin. He ignores it.

He never chose this role. Not any of it. Oh, he took it seriously, made it his own, shaped the place into something resembling order. That had been his true rebellion; if his father wanted him cast down, then damn it, Lucifer would bloody well thrive in the darkness.

But now he isn’t so sure that what came after was strength, or simply another tightening length of chains.

After all these eons, he can still hear his father’s voice echoing through time and silence. “Even rebellion can serve a higher purpose, My son.” The bastard made it sound like a compliment. A prophecy. What it really was, though, was a trap.

Lucifer lands on the edge of a cliff side overlooking the Lake. The place where he burned for centuries. Where he drowned. Where he was reborn. Clenching his jaw, he puts his fist through the basalt, pulling back an uninjured hand. He wants to scream.

Instead, he leans against the rock, closes his eyes, and clenches his fists.

Chloe. She sees him. Not the Devil. Not the myth. Him.

She may not know the truth, but unlike the rest of her kind, she sees past the mask he wears. To the version of himself he remembers only in fleeting glimpses—before the Fall, before the branding, before eternity wrapped its hands around his throat. That version returns when she looks at him like he isn’t damned. When she asked about his desires as though he actually deserves to have him. She doesn’t fear him. Or fall for his charms—she’s immune to him. She challenges him. Mocks him. Talks to him like he’s ridiculous, infuriating...and human.

Lucifer lets out a long breath and drops to the edge of the cliff, legs dangling high above molten lava, and rests his face in one hand. He can feel it...the way the realm is tightening its grip on his soul, as if it knows he’s slipping from its grasp. Hell doesn’t like it one bit when its master dreams.

Leaning back, he lets his eyes slide closed again, and pictures another life. One without a throne. Without the kingdom of ash and despair. But with a piano. Warm, polished wood. Real sound without distortion. An apartment, perhaps high above a city like Los Angeles, filled with music and windows and light...and freedom. With laughter echoing through it that isn’t cruel and cold, but kind and warm. Not from the damned, but someone else entirely.

Someone like her.

Lucifer’s breath catches in his chest as the fantasy continues to wrap tighter. It would be a life that isn’t about punishment. A life not forced on him. A life he chooses.

He can hear the way she said it in the diner, over omelets, pie, and cooling coffee. “Dan wanted a family. A white picket fence. I wanted...to be something that mattered.” He knew that tone the moment he heard it. It echoed his own voice more times than he can count.

But now, something new presses at the edges of the thought—can he matter without being damned? Can he be free?

For once, he lets the idea root deeper and doesn’t push it away. For once, he isn’t filled with cynicism and anger. The unspoken, undeniable truth curls through his chest. He wants more.

Not power. Or vengeance. Or absolution. Just...more.

Slowly, Lucifer opens his eyes. The Lake hasn’t vanished. Hell hasn’t changed. But he has.

He sits forward, the weight on his shoulders suddenly lighter for finally having admitted it, even if only to himself. All this time, he refused to even consider it, knowing it was futile. That no matter what he does or where he goes, his father would ensure he returned here.

But there is no going back to how things have been. He can’t un-know what he wants now. Chloe sparked something in him years ago; he just hadn’t realized it until now. And every time he returns to Earth, every time he sees her, it burns brighter.

He is going back. Not to escape Hell, but to choose something else.

To choose himself.

Lucifer stands slowly and rolls his shoulders. Ash drifts from his jacket as he moves, and the lake rolls with the tremor of his decision. He straightens the cuffs of his sleeves with a practiced flick, his movements crisp and precise. He unfurls his wings and flies to the top of the cliff, to face the vast landscape of torment he rules.

The screams. The fires. The throne. He stares at it all without fear and nods. “It’s time,” he whispers.

Then he spreads his wings, brighter now than they’ve been in countless eons, blinding white in the darkness as they flare to their full width. He steps to the edge of the cliff and leaps into the air, rising through smoke and ash like a missile of defiance.

Lucifer Morningstar soars over his realm, past the Cliffs of Sorrow, past Pandæmonium, and heads straight for the gates.

He doesn’t look back.

---

The Gates of Hell were not carved by mortal hands. They were formed in the first cataclysm after the Fall, where divine fire met abyssal stone. Towering, jagged, and pulsing with an ancient power all of their own, the gates have no locks, no chains, no hinges. They do not open; they allow. Or they do not.

Lucifer lands before them with a soft beat of his wings and the crunch of scorched ground beneath his shoes, ash swirling at his heels like fog drawn to him. As if it’s trying to pull him back. Even here, at the edge of everything, Hell breathes around him. Watching him, refusing to let go so easily.

All of his jaunts to Earth were different. Then, even though he was escaping his duties, he always knew in the back of his mind that he would return. Hell knew the same thing. This time, though, he has no intention of going back to his throne. To the souls or the demons or any of it.

Hell knows it too.

Behind him, the kingdom seethes. A realm shaped of its own accord, built not for salvation or destruction, but containment. For the souls. For him. He’s lost count of how many times he stood at these gates. Each time before, it had been about duty. A damned soul to judge. A lesson to teach a demon growing too bold. A diversion. A punishment. A game.

But not this time.

This time, it is a choice.

Lucifer lifts his chin, eyes scanning the swirling darkness beyond the gate. There is no physical passage to Earth, not the way mortals think. No winding staircases, no swirling vortex. It’s all will, and intent, and defiance. The choice to leave Hell is always one of resistance. Of risk.

But it’s also a claim. And he made his.

He stands alone. His suit jacket settles against his waist in the hot wind, his wings slowly folding behind him. They ache. Every time he returns to this place, they ache more. They’re still pristine and bright, still a reminder of what he once was—and what, perhaps, he can still become.

“Do you really think He will let you go?” the realm whispers in his ear, though no voice speaks. “Do you think she will be waiting for you? That you can walk amongst the living without consequence?”

Lucifer smiles faintly, lips curling into something both bitter and fond. “Oh, I’m not asking for permission.”

He reaches out and touches the obsidian edge of the gate. It throbs with heat under his fingertips. The way it always does, as if it knows him, as if it remembers. He lets it.

“Let them watch,” he murmurs to the stone, to the souls, to the silent heavens. “Let them all bloody watch.”

Behind him, the world screams, but he continues to step forward. The moment he passes through, Hell recoils, its fury a howl in the deep, a thousand tongues cursing his name. The air thins. Gravity buckles. Everything pushes against him, trying to force him back.

But he won’t stop now. Not when he’s this damn close.

He pushes through the gate. And with a beat of his wings, he vanishes.

Chapter 7: Honor This Boundary

Summary:

Lucifer is determined to make Los Angeles his new home, whatever it takes.

The City of Angels glitters beneath him like a sea of burning embers that is alive in ways Hell could never be. Lucifer leans against a rusty railing atop a vacant high-rise in the heart of the city, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers that's he's already half-forgotten. He also feels alive in a way he hasn't felt since...well, ever. And not only because he feels freer than he ever has.

But because, just hours ago, he saw her again.

Chloe.

For her, he suspects, it has only been a few weeks since they last met, a month or two at most. For him, it’s been years, likely more, that he spent on his throne thinking about the past, present, and future. Since he flipped the bird to both the realm and his father, and broke his chains. Since he left Hell—hopefully, for good this time.

She hadn’t seen him—he made sure of that, sticking to shadows and drawing on celestial abilities to remain unseen. He only stayed long enough to get a glimpse of her laughter in the dimly lit bar, uniform still sharp even after what seemed to be a long shift. Her shoulders had been relaxed, her smile unguarded as she unwound with a handful of colleagues. It was a moment of real peace. Quite the rarity in a city that devours it.

Perhaps it was a bit creepy, watching her from the shadows, but he had to know. If all of it—his defiance, his desires, his choices—had been worth it.

And it is. More than he can put into words. Seeing her like that, easy and content and vibrant, cemented something in him. She is thriving, that quiet strength in her is still burning brightly, steady and sure, even after all these years.

He wants that for himself. The confidence she exudes even when the world shoves back. The knowledge that she’s doing something for herself rather than those around her. The joy in following her own desires. He thought those were all things he was without effort, but he’s spent so much of his existence seeking something he will never have: forgiveness. It’s time to learn to be himself, find his own path, the way Chloe Decker has found hers.

Lucifer brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales, holding it for a moment before letting it go. He watches it curl like incense towards the uncaring heavens—

And then it slows. The wind shifts as the world moves forward in slow-motion.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t even turn. Behind him, a flutter of massive wings breaks the silent near-stillness. A bitter, unsurprised smile forms on his lips. He’d been expecting this...waiting for it. And he is more than ready.

“Come to drag me back to the pit already, brother?” he murmurs, eyes still fixed on the city. “Or just here to lecture me?” He can feel his brother’s fury from here. The annoyance at being forced to chase after the wayward fallen angel so soon.

Amenadiel doesn’t answer right away, standing just behind Lucifer, silent and unmovable. The perfect picture of judgment incarnate. Even the wind is still now; despite being out of view of the test of the city, the angel slowed time. Always above the humans, always outside looking down his nose at anyone who isn’t in their father’s good graces..

Lucifer turns his head, just enough to glance over his shoulder. His brother looks like a divine sentinel, arms crossed, wings flared in an attempt to intimidate. Smirking, he flicks ash away into the night and pointedly turns away.

“Your return to the underworld has been demanded.”

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer drops the cigarette only to light another—it’s going to be that kind of conversation. “Oh good,” he says brightly. “The brooding statue speaks. I was starting to wonder if you’d lost the ability. Perhaps I should cancel the celebratory strippers.”

The angel scoffs in disgust.

With an exaggerated sigh, Lucifer exhales smoke and faces his brother fully. “Well, now that you’re here, shall I fetch your trumpet, or would you prefer to smite me unannounced?”

His brother’s eyes narrow. “You abandoned your post.”

The smirk on Lucifer’s face vanishes. “Straight to the sermon, then. Lovely. How terribly on brand.”

“Do you think this is a joke?” Amenadiel’s voice is calm, but vibrates with restrained force. “You were entrusted with the balance between realms. You were given dominion over the damned. And instead you play voyeur and tempt innocent humans in a city of vice pretending to be something you’re not.”

The laugh that falls from Lucifer’s lips is low and exhausted. “Pretending? Oh, brother, I have never been more honest in my entire existence. I’m not playing. I am choosing.”

“You don’t get to choose, Lucifer,” Amenadiel snaps. “Angels weren’t created to choose, and even if we were, you forfeited any chance you had for free will the day you fell.”

A muscle in Lucifer’s jaw twitches, but he doesn’t take the bait his brother is throwing. “That is where you’re wrong, brother. That is what you have always misunderstood. I didn’t fall because I stopped loving our father. I didn’t fall due to some fabricated rebellion. I fell because I wanted to decide who I was without Him defining me.”

The two celestials stand inches apart now, light against fury, Heaven’s fist against Hell’s fire.

Amenadiel’s wings arch higher. “You know the rules, Luci. If you remain here, if you continue to abandon your duty, then I will drag you back myself. The way I have been for the countless millennia.”

Lucifer’s smile returns, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well. You’re certainly welcome to try.”

The angel bristles, poising as if ready to strike. But for once, Lucifer doesn’t rise to meet him. He only turns away, looking out over the city again. “It isn’t Hell that breaks me, you know,” he says, his voice quieter now dropping his usual act and speaking the full truth. “It’s how easy it is to forget I ever left.”

For a long time, Amenadiel doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, as if he’s simply waiting for the Devil to grow bored of his little rebellion this time. But Lucifer doesn’t falter. His gaze lingers on the glittering expanse of Los Angeles, imagining all the possibilities it holds if this plan works.

When he does speak, his voice isn’t flippant or amused. It’s steady and more raw than he intended. “Do you know what Hell sounds like, brother?”

He can practically hear Amenadiel’s frown, taken aback by Lucifer’s sudden shift.

“It isn’t fire or screams or any of that absurd nonsense. Not really.” Lucifer exhales slowly, a white puff of smoke hanging in the air. He doesn’t swat it away. “It’s music that has been twisted into something almost familiar, but wrong in every possible way. The realm corrupts it, you see, and uses it to torment souls who once loved it. I found a piano once, in a loop of some obscure composer, and brought it into my palace in the hopes that I could find just a touch of joy in a place that eats it alive. It plays in echoes now. Warped as if the strings are rusted. As if the damned are trying to scream through the notes.”

He tosses the stub over the edge of the rooftop, watching it fall in slow motion. “I used to love music.”

“Lucifer—”

“No,” he cuts in sharply. “No, brother, not this time. You think when I visit Earth that I am abandoning my post? You think I just came here to sip aged whiskey and chase skirts? I came here because I needed—do you hear me, Amenadiel?—I needed to see if any of it bloody matters.”

Turning slightly, Lucifer clenches his jaw, his eyes burning with something more than defiance. “Eons in Hell, brother. Eons playing warden to the damned, listening to the same cries, the same regrets, the same lies. After a while, it all starts to blur together. The sins. The faces. Even the pain.”

His voice drops, low and simmering with countless years of his own pain. “So yes, I come up here for air. Just for a breath. To remind myself that not everything is ash and agony. That something out there might still be...real.”

Amenadiel regards him carefully, but continues to say nothing.

Scoffing, Lucifer shakes his head, annoyed with himself for saying too much. “But of course, you wouldn’t understand that, would you? You’ve never had to sit alone, in the dark, and wonder if the fire burning your skin is punishment or the point.”

“You chose your fate,” Amenadiel replies evenly. “You made your decision when you defied our father.”

“I wanted freedom,” Lucifer snaps. “And I have paid for that sin, every damn day since.”

He takes another pointed step forward. “But don’t mistake this for weakness, brother. I haven’t lost my way. I know exactly where I stand. And do you know, I’m beginning to wonder if there might be a way forward that doesn’t end in chains.”

The angel’s frown deepens. “This isn’t the way of things, Luci. You don’t get to rewrite the order of the universe.”

“Don’t I?” Lucifer asks, his voice almost gentle. “Perhaps not today. Perhaps not ever. But for the first time in a very long time...” He swallows, his throat tight. “I want to try.”

Gunmetal grey wings rustle, tension rippling through every inch of Amenadiel’s celestial form. “You speak as if any of this is negotiable,” he says, his voice tight with divine duty and certainty. “Lucifer, after all you have done, you don’t get to walk away from your punishment just because you’re tired of it.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “I asked one question, Amenadiel,” he says quietly. “Just the one. And for that, I was punished. For that, I have served that punishment longer than most mortals have ever been capable of counting, much less comprehending. Despite my occasional break, I have upheld every rule, carried out every task, and done so without complaint—well, mostly,” he adds with a sardonic smile. “Tell me, how many eons of good behavior before I’m allowed a real bloody vacation?”

“You were not sent there to earn your parole,” Amenadiel replies. “You were sent to rule. Given a kingdom of your own to carry out justice.”

“Justice?” Lucifer scoffs. “What is just about an eternity for one mistake? A mistake, I’ll remind you again, that stemmed from asking questions. Questions that harmed not a single soul or angel, about wanting to choose.” His voice grows lower, and he suddenly feels every one of his billions of years in this universe. “Or is that the real sin? Desiring autonomy?”

Amenadiel steps forward, his dark eyes hard. “You’re talking blasphemy, Lucifer. Treason. Again.”

“No,” Lucifer says, his voice unnervingly steady. “No, brother. I am talking truth. And since we’re being honest, I think you’re not here for justice at all. I think you’re afraid.”

The wings stiffen. “Afraid?”

Lucifer tilts his head, studying his brother. “That I’ll break the mold. That I will prove there is another way to exist in the universe. Not as one of Father’s obedient soldiers, not as shadows cast in His image...but as something entirely our own.”

“Hell has made you delusional.”

“You think so?” Lucifer shrugs. “Then why not leave me be? Allow me to spiral, to stumble the way I have in the past. Tell me, brother, what harm is there in watching me fall if it’s all destined to burn anyway?”

Amenadiel hesitates.

Lucifer catches it, just a brief flicker of uncertainty in his brother’s eyes. For a moment, he sees the angel he once knew. The brother who laughed and flew with him, who taught him and the others to fly. The one he’s not seen from the moment their father declared Lucifer’s questions ‘rebellion’. It makes his heart ache with old pain he’s refused to acknowledge for longer than he wants to remember.

But he presses, knowing this may just be his only opening. “I propose a deal, brother,” he says quietly. “One that not even you can claim is unfair.”

Though there is no verbal response, Amenadiel’s silence is permission enough.

Spreading his hands, Lucifer gestures to Los Angeles. And to himself. “Leave me be. Cease your little celestial witch hunts. No more stalking rooftops or slowing time to pull me from perfectly pleasant evenings. In return, I shall keep a low profile—I won’t intentionally make a public spectacle of myself. No rebellion against the Silver City or dear old Dad. No chaos on Earth. I shall behave.”

“As if that means anything coming from you.”

Despite the stab to the chest from the words, Lucifer grins, slow and sharp. “Well, we both know I don’t lie, brother,” he reminds the angel. “But perhaps you would prefer sealing this with a vow?”

That surprises Amenadiel. He tenses, eyebrows furrowing low. “You would bind yourself?” he says skeptically. “In the celestial tongue?”

Lucifer nods. “Indeed. An oath, spoken true from the soul. I shall stay in the lines if you agree to stay out of my way.”

“And what of Hell? The realm requires a warden, Lucifer.”

The Devil hums, as if considering, but he’s worked that out as well. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I agree. However,” he adds when Amenadiel starts to speak, “I’ll throw in a boon, if you insist: I shall monitor the realm remotely. From Earth. Should there be demonic revolts or souls not receiving their due punishment, then I shall intervene. Can’t have demons ruining my vacation, now can I? Though I will insist on an exception for one particular demon. You remember Mazikeen, yes?”

Amenadiel sneers at both the suggestion and the demon’s name. “Are you truly so arrogant to believe you could manage Hell from a distance?”

“Well, it seems to work for Dad,” Lucifer says dismissively. “When was the last time you saw Him?”

A muscle in his brother’s eye twitches. “Father will not allow this madness, Luci. And even if He did, you’ll never be given peace. Not from the Silver City, and not from Hell.”

Lucifer shrugs again. “If I can’t have peace, brother,” he says quietly, “then I shall take purpose.”

“Your purpose is in Hell.”

“No. Hell was my punishment, and I’ve done my time. I choose freedom.”

Amenadiel takes a step closer, his wings bristling. “If I were to agree to this...insanity, what happens when you inevitably fail?”

“If I break my end of our bargain, which I would never do, then I will return to Hell. For good, and without complaint. You shall never see hide nor feather of me again,” Lucifer says smoothly. “On the other side of that coin...well, I suppose I don’t have to tell you what happens to angels who break oaths, do I?”

The wings seem to shudder, reflexively pulling closer to Amenadiel’s spine as if seeking protection from him. “And if I refuse?”

Lucifer’s expression doesn’t change. But the air around him subtly shifts, the effect almost imperceptible. A slight reminder that while Amenadiel may be the eldest, Lucifer is still the Devil. The temperature rises a few degrees. A gust of wind blows between them, despite time being slowed to a crawl. Not overtly threatening, but immovable. If his brother requires a demonstration of power, then so be it. This is not something Lucifer will falter on.

Not when it’s this important.

“Well, then I suppose we shall find out whether the Devil really does have a breaking point,” he says, his voice deceptively soft.

For a long time Amenadiel says nothing. Lucifer can see him weighing the options in his mind—take the deal, or carry out his duty. In fact, the silence lasts for so long, he wonders if force is the only way to get what he desires after all.

Until his brother says, “An oath, then,” and folds his wings back. “Fully binding. At least until Father has His say.”

It’s been a long time since that threat carried any weight for Lucifer. He nods, keeping his expression even. “Very well. Let’s see if I recall clearly how to do this, shall we?”

The two celestials raise their right hands, fingers curling into mirror shapes, a gesture of vow-binding known only to angels. This particular vow is far deeper than Lucifer's usual deals. It reads the soul, reads the desires of the angels involved, and then binds them until the agreement comes to an amicable end. Or until one of the angels breaks it. When they speak, it’s in their native tongue, and while Lucifer hasn’t spoken it in ages, the syllables roll easily off his lips in lyrical, almost musical tones.

“Ashael n’katar varesh-ru, talmarien uth’kesh vi’rel—dorahan vel’tu sharrath nu’enai.”

A moment passes, and nothing happens. Lucifer nearly starts to wonder if he did the whole thing wrong, after all. Then a spark of light passes between their palms, flickering gold and then red as it surrounds them, and then vanishes altogether.

Amenadiel looks at him one last time. “Father will not be pleased.”

“Yes, well,” Lucifer says, energy surging in his insides, “when it comes to me, when has He ever been?”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

He meets his brother’s gaze with a faint smirk. “Oh, I’m absolutely sure I will. But not the way you expect.”

Without responding, Amenadiel vanishes, gone in a flutter of grey wings.

Once more, Lucifer stands alone to watch the city return to its normal speed. He looks up at the stars, or what he can see from here, then out towards the horizon. A genuine smile pulls at his lips. Quite honestly, he hadn’t expected that to work. He was sure Amenadiel would cause more of a fuss or see through the obvious loopholes in their deal.

Perhaps, for once, his brother also remembered a time when Lucifer was more than the Devil. Perhaps he saw what Hell was doing to his younger brother and what little heart he has left empathized with Lucifer.

It likely won’t last. Amenadiel will return to the Silver City, fume for a while, then regroup. But that oath...that was real; Amenadiel cannot break it without risking himself. And if there’s one thing Lucifer knows it’s that the Firstborn will not risk his wings. The only being who can bring an end to this deal without them both agreeing is their father.

Lucifer’s gaze drifts up, searching, though he knows there won’t be anything to see. “What say You, Dad?” he asks quietly. “Speak now, or forever leave me the hell alone.”

Silence. Not even a spark of lightning in protest.

“That’s what I thought.”

For a while, he remains on the rooftop, long after the sound of Amenadiel’s wings fades. Los Angeles moves normally again, and the vow continues to tingle across Lucifer’s skin like a divine brand, humming faintly with ancient magic.

It is done.

The realization and implications hit with the force of a meteor. At long last, his brother will stop hounding him like some angelic probation officer with an entire forest up his arse. He lets out a sigh, rolls his shoulders, and turns back to the city. The lights, the noise, the sin clinging to every rooftop and alleyway... Everything about this place is perfect.

And more importantly...it’s his.

Or well, it will be.

Lucifer’s gaze drifts towards the building across the street. A high-rise made of stone and glass that comes to a point at the top. Bloody gorgeous.

He’s done a bit of research on the place. Currently, it’s still a cesspit known as Rico’s, a fight club of some sort that smells like stale sweat and broken dreams. But there’s something about the building, something raw and electric that calls to him. It wants to be more. It reminds him of Hell in the early days: brutal, chaotic, unpolished—it even has a fighting cage. Only this time, he can forge something out of it for himself that isn’t part of his father’s grand design or Amenadiel’s suffocating self-righteousness.

Something...fun, filled with sin and desire and the best damn whiskey money can buy—and some it can’t.

On the top floor of the building, he can just make out a balcony. That will be his too, his very own penthouse of decadence.

Now he just has to make it happen.

Lucifer grins and twists his cufflinks. “Easier than getting a stripper to use my lap as a stage,” he murmurs.

He steps off the rooftop casually, letting gravity take him, and lands lightly in the alley below with a graceful, soundless thud. A group of clubgoers ambles past, already half-drunk and laughing on their way elsewhere. Soon, they’ll all flock to him. One of them glances over and stumbles slightly, her jaw slackening at the sight of him. Lucifer flashes a charming grin, adjusts his collar, and makes his way across the street into Rico’s through a side entrance like he already owns it.

Inside...well, he was right in calling it a cesspit. Cheering, jeering men crowd around a metal cage where two other men are beating each other to a pulp. The air reeks of blood, beer, and terrible decisions. It reminds him of Rome back in the Colosseum days when gladiators fought to the death for honor and glory. Or sometimes freedom—that Lucifer can relate to.

Lucifer smiles, making his way down the staircase, ignoring the clamor and jostling until he reaches the bar. “Excuse me,” he calls to a passing bartender—a man with more muscle and tattoos than brains. “Might I have your finest whiskey, please?” For added incentive, he tosses a few hundred dollar bills on the counter. “Also, who owns this establishment?”

The bartender blinks at him for a moment, snatches the money from the counter, then turns to retrieve the drink. “Tio Sorrento,” he grunts, jerking his head towards a booth near the wall.

“Lovely. Thank you ever so.” Lucifer sips his drink, a happy noise forming in his throat as he scans the club.

A man he presumes to be Tio Sorrento is lounged with his legs spread wide and a beautiful woman on either side of him. Lucifer's grin sharpens, hidden by his glass, as he makes his way over.

Tio looks up as he approaches, removing his arms from the women. “Think you’re in the wrong place, pal,” he says in what is likely meant to be a threatening tone.

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Sorrento,” Lucifer says smoothly. “And I’ve a proposal for you that might just make your night.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I’d like to buy your establishment.”

Tio blinks. “You want to what?”

Lucifer reaches into his pocket and plucks out a larger wad of bills, tossing it into Tio’s lap. “I said, I want to buy this charming little dive. Name your price—I assure you, there’s more where that came from. Oh, and do throw in all of your licenses, liquor inventory, and that rather fetching red chandelier above the ring. It will look lovely in the wine cellar.”

Tio stares at him. “You high? There is no wine cellar here.”

“Well, not yet. That goes for your question as well. I’m merely quite determined.”

The man snorts, looking wary, but then he glances down at the money in his lap as greed begins to take over. And he starts to count. When he looks up, Lucifer is already scanning the room again, planning how to redecorate as he sips his drink.

“This isn’t enough.”

With a careless shrug, Lucifer reaches into his other pocket for another stack, tossing it over. Tio catches this one. “I believe you’ll find it is now. Consider that a down payment, if you will. We can discuss further arrangements later.”

Tio grumbles something under his breath, but it isn’t a refusal.

“Splendid. I want you and your little fight club gone by morning,” Lucifer says cheerfully. “You may also consider this your severance package. Don’t come back. If you do, I may be forced to unleash...well, me.” His smile is all teeth, his voice is dark, and his eyes flash with hellfire just long enough to get the point across.

Tio pales, his gulp audible over the fighting. “Yeah, fine, man. Place’s yours.”

Lucifer raises his glass in a toast—to himself. “Cheers, then. Pleasure doing business with you.”

With a gesture from Tio, a group of bouncers step forward and begin clearing the place out. The fighting is brought to an end, the fighters looking around in confusion. Several people glance at Lucifer suspiciously but leave.

Lucifer ignores all of it, mentally drafting his vision. The bar will need refurbishing, as will the flooring if it is to be a proper dance floor. And in the center—

“This place could really use a piano,” he says to himself.

No more sweaty cage fights. No more cheap chairs and flickering lights.

Light.

Lux.

Not a place of punishment or penance, but desire and pleasure. Of escape. A playground for saints and sinners alike. A throne room disguised as a nightclub.

His kingdom on Earth.

Lucifer steps into the cage, ignoring the blood and sweat beneath his shoes, and glances up at the cracked ceiling and peeling paint. None of this matters. He can see the shape of it. The limitless potential. Not just for the building, but for him.

For the first time in eons, Lucifer feels as if he’s claimed something for himself—and only himself. A new beginning. Not in Heaven. Not in Hell. Not out of duty or guilt.

Only desire.

And he intends to follow that wherever it might lead. Even if it means defying everything he’s ever known.

Especially then.

If dear old Dad wants a rebellion, He can have it. Right here.

---

A week later, Lucifer lands on the balcony of what will be his new home, breathing in the Los Angeles air. It’s cleaner than Hell’s acrid stillness, but it still reeks of car exhaust mixed with salty ocean air. He inhales it deeply anyway, wings flaring wide as his shoes touch concrete flooring. A second figure clings tightly to his neck, growling curses, and leaps from his arms the moment she can.

“Next time, I’m taking the damn stairs,” Maze mutters.

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer fixes his now wrinkled, ash-covered suit. “You’re welcome,” he grumbles, furling his wings. He tilts his head back a little, feeling the sun’s warmth on his face, as it’s welcoming him back again.

Maze brushes soot from her armor and looks around with a curled lip. “You didn’t say it would be that long of a flight,” she complains. “It’s too fucking bright here.”

“Yes, well, welcome to Earth, Mazikeen. There's a sun here, and it tends to get bright on occasion.”

“You dragged me away from ripping out entrails for...what, real estate?”

Lucifer gestures towards the penthouse interior, currently a skeleton of two-by-fours and marble. A few construction workers glance over, barely batting their eyes at the sight of two beings appearing from nowhere. They’re being paid to work and keep their mouths closed.

“Not just real estate, Mazey. A monument. A temple of pleasure and indulgence. My kingdom...on my terms.”

She eyes the humans inside suspiciously, taking in ladders, crates, and exposed wiring. “Nice kingdom,” she says flatly.

“Yes, well, it’s still under construction. Come along, I’ll show you the rest.”

Downstairs, they stand on the mezzanine overlooking even more construction. What was once Rico’s has now been completely gutted. Wooden scaffolding crisscrosses through open floors. Marble tiles lie unsealed, dust veiling their shine. A faint scent of sawdust fills the air, mingling with the incense Lucifer insisted on burning despite the fire hazard. The sound of drills and the occasional curse from a contractor clash with the music playing in the background.

Lucifer smiles every time he comes down here. He can’t remember ever smiling this bloody much.

“Impressive.”

Lucifer sighs. “I’d forgotten how demons lack vision. What you’re looking at, Mazikeen of the Lilim, was once a fight club, liberated by myself from a man named Tio. Terrible taste in lighting. Decent taste in bloodsport.”

“Should’ve kept the bloodsport.”

He ignores her. “And now, it’s being transformed. Lux, I’m calling it. More than a simple nightclub, it will be a sanctuary. For beauty and desire...and enough sin to hold even your interest.”

“And you flew back to Hell for me because...?”

Lucifer turns to her, eyes gleaming. “Because I need someone who knows me, Maze,” he says quietly. “Who won’t ask questions I’m not prepared to answer. And frankly, someone who won’t flinch when I occasionally set something on fire.”

The demon tilts her head, still suspicious. “It’s finally happened, hasn’t it? You lost your damn mind.”

“Quite possibly,” he says cheerfully, leaning towards her. “But I intend to do it in style.”

“What makes you think Daddy Dearest in the Sky is going to let you keep all this?”

Sighing, Lucifer reaches for his flask. “All taken care of. I made a deal with Amenadiel—he leaves me alone, I manage Hell from Earth, and everyone’s happy.”

Maze’s eyes shoot up. “And Daddy’s Angel went for that?”

“For now,” Lucifer says. “Throw in an ancient celestial pact, and his hands are tied. If my bastard of a father objects, He can come find me Himself.”

Maze crosses her arms and looks at him. “What’s this really about, Lucifer? I get the occasional vacations for sex and booze and more sex, but you’ve never done anything like this.”

Lucifer hesitates. He hasn’t told his right-hand demon the full story—about Chloe—and he isn’t sure he’s ready to. He knows how it looks from an outsider’s perspective, but this is about more than one woman. She may be the spark that lit his devilish fire, but Lucifer has been headed towards this for ages. The restlessness he felt in Hell simmered through his veins long before he spotted Chloe Decker in a dark bar.

“I’m done, Maze,” he admits quietly. “With my father’s plan. With Hell. With following the path chosen for me. This time, I’m chasing my own desires, whatever they may be. Starting with Lux.”

The look on her face says she doesn’t believe him in the slightest, that she knows there's more to the story, but she doesn’t question further.

For now, at least.

Before she can launch into another ‘but you’re the king of Hell’ speech, he starts down the staircase, not bothering to look at the unfinished stairs. “I’m thinking bar along this wall,” he says, gesturing to the right, “filled with expensive spirits and mirrors behind the shelves. Perhaps television screens along the ceiling for ambiance. I’m importing the finest liquors from France, Japan, and a small back-alley distillery in Peru that adds just a touch of spiritual vertigo.”

“You’re not actually going to tend bar,” Maze says skeptically.

“No, but you are.”

She stops. And stares. “Excuse me?”

“Well, where else would you be? You’ll head security, of course. Bartender will be one of your many duties.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not at all.”

The stare turns into a glare. “I’m a demon, Lucifer. Not a damn bartender.”

“And you’re also my right-hand, Maze. Despite my relocation, I am still your king. I believe your words were ‘where you go, I go,’ and I go here, therefore, so do you. This is happening.”

Her jaw tenses, but she averts her eyes. “Fine. But if I don’t get to punch someone at least once a day, I mutiny.”

“Done,” he agrees easily. “Now, for the dance floor, I’m thinking stages, dramatic lighting, a few stripper poles, and—”

“Excuse me! This is private property!”

Blinking, Lucifer stops mid-step, turning towards the commanding voice at the top of the stairs. Beside him, Maze has two Hell-forged blades in hand, which is impressive given she hadn’t been holding them a moment ago. He stopped questioning where she keeps them.

Above them, an older, balding man in an expensive suit and ego stitched into every thread strides to the railing. He looks around at the dust and scaffolding, nose wrinkling like he’s just smelled something unpleasant.

Lucifer narrows his eyes slightly. “And who might you be?”

“Dean Cooper,” he says, puffing out his chest. Though it doesn’t extend past his belly. “I own this building. In fact, I own half this block. You must be the squatter my legal team’s been talking about.”

Maze starts for the stairs, knives raised, her posture defensive and threatening. “Want me to gut this asshole now or wait until he tries something cute?”

Lucifer holds up a hand to pause her, not taking his eyes off the stairs. “Mr. Cooper,” he says smoothly, striding up the steps with all the grace of a cat about to toy with a mouse. “Lucifer Morningstar. Pleasure to meet you. I believe we’re going to be best friends.”

Cooper looks unimpressed. “Not if you think you can run a brothel in my building.”

“A nightclub, actually,” Lucifer replies with a mild smile. “Though admittedly, the boundaries between indulgence and business often blur. I intend for this to be the destination for indulgence and desire, as I was just telling my associate.” He pauses, smile widening. “And speaking of—tell me, Mr. Cooper—” He steps closer, eyes locking with the man before him. “—what is it you truly desire?”

Cooper blinks. For a moment, all the arrogance drains from his face. His eyes glaze over and his mouth slackens slightly. “I want...to own every building on Sunset. Every club, every bar. Strippers, thongs, and champagne fountains,” he says, his voice dreamy and breathless. “Like the good old days.”

Lucifer smiles. “Well, I’d say you’re halfway there already. But I think we can help each other out. If you allow me to buy this building, I’ll help you—”

Before he can finish, the doors bang open, and the moment shatters like glass. Cooper blinks again, awareness returning in an instant. It would seem he’s brought along backup.

Half a dozen cops enter, led by a figure that stops Lucifer cold.

Chloe Decker.

Chapter 8: New Roots

Summary:

Chloe learns that Lucifer has relocated permanently to Los Angeles and tries to wrap her mind around the idea of him sticking around for once. And she meets Mazikeen for the first time.

Chloe’s badge glints on her uniformed chest, her expression one of no nonsense, her presence undeniable. Lucifer stares, transfixed, taking in her blue eyes and her hair pulled back into a strict bun, as his heart does an odd flutter. And his brain collapses beneath a whirlwind of noise and color, narrowing finally into stunned clarity.

Chloe bloody Decker. Here. In his club. She hasn’t even seen him yet.

Beside him, Maze looks between Lucifer and Chloe, squinting in expectation. “Uh...do we kill them now or...?”

Cooper points at Lucifer. “There! That’s the man. Evict him,” he commands the cops as if they’re his own private army.

Finally, Chloe’s eyes land on Lucifer. She blinks, her eyebrows rising a fraction. Some silent message passes between them unintentionally. Then she drags her gaze away to look at Cooper, looking perfectly polished and calm. “Mr. Cooper, why don’t we speak outside?”

“What?”

Chloe takes charge easily. “Well, you said he’s trespassing. Let’s get your statement while the others secure the property,” she says smoothly.

Cooper sputters, but Chloe holds her ground. It’s really quite impressive. The man has five inches and at least a hundred pounds on her. One by one, the other officers file out with him, barely hiding their confusion, taking Cooper with them. Chloe doesn’t budge until the doors shut.

The second the others are gone, she rounds on Lucifer. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demands in a hiss.

Lucifer opens his mouth to respond. Nothing comes out. He glances sideways at Maze, whose eyes say one thing clearly: What is happening right now and why aren’t we stabbing her?

“I—” Lucifer tries again, then clears his throat. “I...bought the building...?” 

Or he thought he had. Clearly Tio Sorrento scammed him. There was no mention of Dean Cooper. That will need to be dealt with.

Later, anyway.

Chloe crosses her arms. “Why?”

“Because...I wanted to?” he offers weakly.

She gives him a look. “Lucifer.”

He throws his hands in the air. “Well, how was I supposed to know you’d be showing up with half the LAPD?” He pauses, smiling slightly. “Though admittedly, I can’t say I’m not thrilled you did.”

Maze hisses under her breath, glaring at Chloe. “Are you seriously letting this human talk to you like this? Really?”

“Hush.”

Running a hand down her face, Chloe takes a step closer. “Are you drunk?”

“Not yet, unfortunately,” he says, recovering quickly with a grin. “But that can certainly be arranged.”

Chloe sighs, though her expression softens a touch. She glances over her shoulder, then looks around at the construction. The contractors stopped working the moment the cops showed up, now waiting for a signal of what to do next. When she turns back to Lucifer, there’s a hint of a smile on her face.

She leans a little closer. “Turn the music on,” she says conspiratorially. “This place is dead.”

Lucifer blinks as her words register in his mind. He lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Absolutely,” he purrs, snapping his fingers. Music erupts from the overhead system. The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go?” blares at a volume that probably violates three noise ordinances.

Smiling widely, he gestures towards the stairs. “Welcome to Lux, Detective,” he says brightly.

Chloe shakes her head, her smile finally appearing, small as it is. “I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again—you are nothing but trouble,” she mutters. And if he didn’t know any better, he’d say her tone is almost fond.

“Oh, you have no idea, darling.”

---

Chloe stands still, letting it all wash over her for a moment. She’d been sent to an eviction notice, called in by Dean Cooper, one of the most wealthy (and hated) men in Los Angeles. When she got the call, she expected some gang dispute or other troublesome squatter. What she didn’t expect was to see Lucifer Morningstar and a woman who looks like she walked straight out of Game of Thrones.

She isn’t entirely sure what’s happening here, and she’ll probably hear about it from her superiors, but the least she can do is give Lucifer the benefit of the doubt. For now.

Speaking of, he’s already heading down the stairs towards the bar like he owns not just it but the entire block as well. Which, she reminds herself, he doesn’t. Shaking her head, she moves to catch up with him. “You really bought this place?” she asks over the music. The moment they hit the floor, the volume drops enough to allow talking without shouting.

“Well, supposedly,” Lucifer says cheerfully as he moves behind the bar. He pulls two crystal tumblers from underneath, somehow already there despite the construction. “It would seem I’ve still some negotiating to do. But no matter! I’m sure this is merely a tiny hiccup in my plan.”

“Plan?” she echoes, watching him pour something amber and expensive into both glasses. One of which he offers her. She takes it reflexively, giving it a cautious sniff and raises a teasing eyebrow. “This doesn’t smell like roofies, and yet, this still seems to be actually happening.”

He feigns a gasp. “Detective! You wound me! I only roofie people for business, never for pleasure!” he says, eyes dancing with mischief.

She blinks. “You say that like it’s any better.”

Lucifer toasts her with a grin, then throws back his drink. “Roofies are a violation of free will, darling, and I would never violate yours. Though if there's anything else you'd like for me to violate...”

Giving him a look, Chloe takes a tiny sip. And coughs. “What is that?”

“An Islay single malt so old it could vote in three countries,” he says. “Acquired it in a very amusing game of strip poker. I kept winning.”

“Of course you did.” She leans on the bar, glancing around the still-under-construction-club. “Are those...stripper poles?”

“Hmm. I think I’ll put my new piano between them,” Lucifer muses.

She blinks again. “That seems...like a fire hazard.”

“Only if you’re doing it right,” he says without missing a beat. “I plan to make the upper floors very exclusive. Dens of debauchery. Private rooms for the refined hedonist. Perhaps a rooftop pool or garden bar. Maybe a dungeon. Haven’t quite decided on that yet.”

Leaning against a wall with her arms crossed, the woman in armor perks up slightly. “There better be chains.”

“Oh, there will be chains,” Lucifer assures her.

Chloe gives him another look. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly.”

“You’re opening an actual sex club?”

“Nightclub,” he corrects her, then leans forward on his elbows, eyes glittering in a way she’s never seen. He looks excited. Happy, even. “That might also occasionally feature entirely consensual debauchery. One must cater to the taste of one’s clientele, after all.” 

The other woman twirls a curved, sharp blade between her fingers, not looking away from Chloe. “She’s not yelling. That’s weird.”

Lucifer doesn’t take his eyes off Chloe either. Though their expressions are very different—one is predatory, the other is...well, a softer sort of predatory. “That is weird.”

Chloe shrugs. “I’ve been a cop in L.A. for almost a decade. You really think this is the first time I’ve seen something like this? I mean, I once went on a call to an illegal sex party and arrested an idiot in a silk robe.”

He laughs. “You keep mentioning that. Clearly, I made quite the impression.”

“Oh, you made an impression all right,” she grumbles.

“Besides, I assure you, you’ve never seen something like me.”

“You’re not wrong there.”

For a moment, they’re quiet. Everything else—the music, the construction, her job—fades into the background. All that is left is something heavy and oddly warm.

The bubble is burst by the other woman’s groan. “Okay, is this flirty banter gonna be a regular thing? Should I go?”

“Oh, you should definitely stay,” Lucifer says, grinning as he pulls a bottle of what looks like absinthe from under the bar. “As my head of security, you’ll also be picking out outfits.”

She brightens. “I want axes on the back of the club jackets.”

“Done.”

Chloe watches them both, taking another tentative sip of her drink. Technically she shouldn’t be drinking at all, but this isn’t even close to being enough to intoxicate her. She looks at Lucifer. “So you actually did it,” she says softly.

He blinks, confused by her shift in tone. “Sorry?”

“Left the family business. Doing your own thing. Being your own man.”

His expression clears. “Yes, well, it was about time,” he says loftily.

“What changed your mind?”

Lucifer looks at her for a long moment, something shining in his eyes that she can’t read but makes her heart thud once. “Quite a few things, really,” he says into his glass. “So now here I am, embracing my free will, starting anew all over again.”

She nods, a small, an oddly proud smile on her lips. “Good,” she says quietly. “I'm good to hear it.” She swears the tips of his ears turn the faintest bit pink. Averting her gaze, she glances around again. “So...Lux, huh?”

“Indeed,” he says, perking up again. “Latin for ‘light’, which is quite fitting for the Lightbringer, I think. But if anyone asks, it means, ‘luxuria,’ or something sophisticated. I can’t say that, as I don’t lie, but you can.”

Chloe presses her lips against a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I do try,” he preens. “And I don’t see you leaving.”

There’s another of those pauses, where everything fades completely, leaving nothing but the two of them. It seems to happen a lot around Lucifer. No contractors. No building dust. No woman in spiked armor hovering and muttering under her breath. Right now, there is only her, and only him, and the music playing somewhere in the background.

Lucifer looks away first, clearing his throat. He nods at her drink. “Another?”

“I’m on duty.”

“And? I won’t tell.”

“You’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”

“A minor technicality. And you’re welcome.”

Chloe gives him a look but doesn’t push away the glass when he refills it. She doesn’t drink it either as she slides onto the one of the few assembled barstools in the place. “Dean Cooper is going to be pissed tomorrow.”

“Dean Cooper deserves to be pissed,” Lucifer counters. “He tried to evict me. From my building.”

She hums. “Technically, it isn’t your building.”

“Yes, well, semantics. It would seem I was swindled. But it will be handled.”

She decides not to ask how it will be handled. Especially when his eyes dart to Armor Lady and her really sharp blades in the corner.

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Detective. And the other tenth is charm.”

Chloe snorts a laugh. “You’re just lucky I talked him out of calling code enforcement. He wanted a whole SWAT team to swoop in here along with them.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t believe in luck, darling,” he says, swirling the drink in his hand absently. “Only timing.”

Again, their eyes lock, something passing between them. Chloe isn’t entirely sure she should examine it at all.

Then the woman in spikes clears her throat. Loudly. “You two gonna keep eye-fucking or can I go intimidate the contractor about soundproofing?”

He sighs. “Subtle, Maze,” he mutters.

“I left that in Hell.”

“Fair enough.”

Maze stalks off, muttering about checking ‘blood drains’ in the private rooms.

Chloe stares after her with a raised eyebrow. “So is she, like...your assistant or something?”

“Bodyguard, confidante, chaos enthusiast,” Lucifer says. “We go way back.”

Turning back to him, she blinks several times. “She seems...intense. And I don’t think she likes me.”

“Oh, you should see her on a good day.” He leans forward slightly, lowering his voice. “So, Detective. What brings you to this part of town this evening, really? Surely it wasn’t merely fate that brought you walking into my den of sin.”

Suppressing a smirk, she leans forward too, lifting her chin slightly. “You really do think the universe revolves around you, huh?”

“I think the universe should.”

The smile breaks free despite her attempts.

Lucifer grins back, apparently pleased at her amusement. He pulls away and silence settles between them, weirdly comfortably as ever considering this is only their sixth conversation.

When he starts polishing an already spotless glass, she raises an eyebrow. “You always polish glasses when you’re nervous?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Who says I’m nervous? Believe me, if I were, we would be having a very different evening.”

“Uh-huh,” Chloe says, unimpressed. “So what’s the real story with this place? I mean, why here? You broke away from your family issues, you could have gone anywhere in the world.”

He pauses for a moment too long, then smiles smoothly. “I liked the bones. Bit of grit. Bit of history—it was quite the den of sin before I ever walked through its doors, I’ve recently learned. And it’s...close to everything I need.”

“Close to the Sunset Strip?”

“More like...possibilities.”

She gives him yet another look. “You are the least straightforward person I have ever met. Considering I’m a cop, that’s saying something.”

“Thank you.”

“Not a compliment.”

Lucifer pours himself another generous splash of whiskey and tosses it back, then sets the glass aside, leaning towards her across the bar again. “I could ask the same of you, you know,” he says. “What are you doing here? Still walking the beat? Surely by now they should have promoted you to something with a bit more swagger.”

Chloe hesitates, then takes a large sip of the drink she isn’t supposed to be drinking. But considering what she's about to tell him, a fact she hadn't mentioned the last time they met, alcohol is definitely a must. “I’ve taken the detective’s exam twice now,” she admits. 

He perks up. “Oh?”

“And failed. Twice.”

Blinking, he cocks his head, confused. “How is that possible?”

Sighing, she leans back, adjusting the gun on her hip. “I passed the written portion both times. Aced it, actually.” There is real pride in her voice, even knowing what she has to admit next. “But then I failed the interview portions. Not because I blundered but because...I took my top off.”

Another blink. “You...did what?” he says, torn between more confusion and intrigue.

“In a movie, Lucifer,” she says sternly. “When I was nineteen. It was my only ‘big’ role. And it’s haunted me ever since. That was the last thing I did before leaving acting.”

The confusion fades leaving only realization. His eyes flick down to her chest for barely a second before returning to her face. “Ah, yes! Hot Tub High School! Remarkable work, Detective. Your assets truly shine from the screen. It's been quite some time since I last watched it. I may have to do so again soon. You know to...refresh my memory.”

She glares. “Funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be. But what on Earth does that have to do with becoming a detective?”

“Objectively? Absolutely nothing. Subjectively, though... Apparently it was,” she tilts her head back, pretending to think, “‘conduct unbecoming of an LAPD detective.’ Basically, it’s PR bullshit and a personal vendetta.”

Lucifer sets his glass down slowly. “What a petty little man.”

“Woman, actually.”

“Well, that’s even worse. I find it very disappointing when women in power lack vision.”

“I’ll try to remember that for my next career planning session.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “So what now? Surely you aren’t going to let this stop you?”

She hesitates only a moment, then shakes her head. “No. I’m just waiting for the next opening. There’s a possibility of one at a different precinct. Different panel.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. Like this hasn’t been weighing on her mind for years. “I’ll get there.”

The expression in Lucifer’s eyes, the way he studies her, is closer to reverence than amusement. She tries not to blush in uniform. “You really do burn, don’t you?”

Chloe blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Your drive, your tenacity. Your fire.” He waves his glass vaguely. “You don’t...flicker like most humans. You blaze.”

She has to look away at that, unsure what to make of it. Or him, for that matter. “You always make everything sound so dramatic, you know that?”

“Life is dramatic. Or at least, it should be.”

Silence stretches out again. Chloe tries to think about anything but the way he’s watching her. Only a few months have passed since she last saw him, and he seems more...intense now. Brighter, like whatever happened to free him from familial obligations reignited his soul. Which is...a lot deeper than it probably should be.

He tilts his head, leaning on the bar. “You know,” he says with more softness than she expected, “most people I’ve met desire success, or revenge, or some delightfully filthy vice. But you...well, you desire purpose.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You got all that from a handful of conversations?”

“I pay attention.”

She gives him a long look, trying to work out the puzzle that is Lucifer Morningstar. And still with only a few of the pieces. “I still don’t really know what it is you want,” she says quietly, without meaning to.

Lucifer goes still, opening his mouth for a moment, then closing it again. He could answer a dozen ways. A clever line. A joke. A half-truth. Instead, he says quietly, “I want to choose, Detective. Without interference. Without fate nudging the board. I want to be...” He trails off, his eyes bright.

Then he grins like he hadn’t just come dangerously close to the truth. “Anyway!” he says brightly. “Enough about me. Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets. Or at least your weirdest arrest story.”

Letting the moment pass but filing it away for later, Chloe huffs a laugh. “Hmm, you first. Weirdest arrest that didn’t involve velvet ropes or silk robes.”

He gives her a beatific look. “Well, there goes my entire résumé.”

They both laugh, and for a while, it’s just easy. Music playing, construction lights glaring, laughter hanging between them like a secret only they’re in on.

But then Maze reappears, looking mildly homicidal. “Security guy’s a perv. Fired him. Told him he had sixty seconds to live if he looked back.”

Lucifer doesn’t so much as blink. “Excellent initiative, Mazikeen.”

She looks between him and Chloe, nostrils flaring faintly. “So is this a date?”

He opens his mouth.

Chloe answers first. “No.”

Lucifer grins. “I wouldn’t call it a date.”

Maze rolls her eyes and stalks off muttering something about him being weird.

He looks at Chloe as if they weren’t interrupted at all, tilting his head slightly. “You know, you didn’t have to back me up earlier,” he says. “With Cooper. That could have gone south for you.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t stab anyone, so I thought that deserved some reward.”

The grin widens. “You’re warming to me,” he says, sounding delighted.

She gets to her feet, sliding her jacket back on. “I’d say it’s more of a heat-adjacent tolerance.”

“I’ll take it.”

Though part of her wants to stay here, with Lucifer, Chloe reminds herself she's on duty and it won't be long before someone comes looking for her. “I should get going.”

Despite the disappointment that flickers across this face, he doesn't argue. He walks her to the front doors, dramatic as ever. “Well, I do thank you for your assistance,” he says. “And for your delightful company as ever. I hope you won’t be a stranger.”

Chloe pauses with her hand on the door, debating what to say. “So you’re really staying this time?” is what comes out. “You’re not just going to...vanish on me again?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” he says quietly. “But yes, my intention is to remain here, in Los Angeles. No more realm-hopping for me.”

She huffs a laugh. “You are literally the only man I’ve ever met who could say ‘realm-hopping’ in a sentence and somehow make it sound like a sex thing.”

“It certainly could be, if you play your cards right.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

He only gives her that pleased grin again.

Although she really should leave, she can’t help lingering, studying Lucifer’s features. He looks the same now as he did a decade ago when they met in a bar. “You seriously don’t age, do you?”

Lucifer blinks. “Pardon?”

Chloe motions at him awkwardly, suddenly realizing how that sounded. “You look exactly the same. Nine years ago, that bar? You haven’t changed. Like, at all.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Then smiles faintly. “Good genes?”

Far from convinced, Chloe lets it go anyway. “You’re really weird, too.”

“Again, thank you.”

“Again, not a compliment. But you’re welcome.” She pauses, then sighs and glances outside. “I really should go. It’s the end of my shift, but I need to deal with Dean Cooper.”

“Yes, as do I.”

“Hopefully without knives?”

“I suppose that will entirely depend upon him.”

She rolls her eyes, then glances over her shoulder towards the sounds of construction. “A piano, huh?”

He smiles. “At least two.”

Pushing open the door, she meets his gaze before leaving. “Play something good on it, Morningstar.”

There’s warmth in his gaze she hasn’t seen before now. “Only for you, Detective.”

With another eyeroll to cover the way her heart flips in her chest, she waves and walks into the night, feeling his eyes on her the whole time. Only when she reaches her squad car does she glance back. He’s holding the door open still. And smiling. Her heart gives another flutter as she slides into the driver’s seat.

Whatever it means for him to be in L.A. permanently, Chloe has a feeling everything has completely changed.

For once, she doesn’t think it’s in a bad way.

---

Lucifer remains at the door, watching Chloe a bit longer than he probably should. Smiling more softly than he probably should. There are a thousand things to do, starting with dealing with Dean Cooper and Lux’s ownership, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off her.

This was the last thing he expected today. He rather thought he’d have more time to prepare before she found out he relocated. But it was certainly a pleasant surprise.

“What the hell’s going on?”

That, however, is not a pleasant anything.

Slowly, Lucifer lets the door close and turns to face his stony faced right-hand demon. “Whatever do you mean, Mazikeen?” he asks, his tone one of forced pleasantness.

She crosses her arms, glaring. “Since when do you flirt with humans like some sort of lovesick puppy.”

“I’m not a ‘lovesick’ anything, puppy or otherwise.”

“How do you even know that chick? There’s no way you just met her today.”

“For your information—not that it’s any of your business—I’ve known her for years,” he says, walking past Maze. “Earth years, that is. We’re...friends. I suppose.” He frowns slightly, unsure if that’s what he and Chloe are or not.

Maze catches up to him easily. “You’re the Devil. You don’t have friends,” she says sternly.

“And yet, here you are, Mazikeen. Either I’m growing soft, or you’re confusing indentured servitude with friendship again.” He throws her a smirk. “Besides, I can be devilish and still be devastatingly charming company. It’s called multitasking.”

“Bullshit. You were making moon-eyes at that human, all because...why, again? She stepped in to fight your battles with that real estate guy who’s probably going to expire in the next five years?”

Gritting his teeth, Lucifer tries not to lose his temper. After all, it is Maze’s job to watch his back. “Look, she’s...” He trails off before he can say ‘nothing’, which would be a lie. “I don’t know. But there is something about her. Something that sets her apart from other humans. And I would very much like to know what that is.”

“I could gut her and show you you’re delusional.”

He rounds on her before she can finish the sentence, pinning her to the wall with one hand at her throat. “If you lay one finger on Chloe Decker,” he growls, eyes flashing crimson, “I will flay you alive with your own blades. Have I made myself clear?”

The demon glares at him a moment longer, then looks away petulantly. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Lovely.” He releases her and stomps off before there can be a smiting. “Now. About Tio Sorrento and Dean Cooper...”

---

A set of keys hits the bowl with a hollow clatter, the only sound in the apartment besides the low hum of the fridge and the muffled arguing from her downstairs neighbors. Chloe kicks the door shut behind her and leans against it for a moment, shoulders sagging. Another twelve-hour shift. Another pile of reports. Another patrol route that felt like walking in circles.

Toeing off her boot, she kicks them towards the door, watching them bounce off the wall and leave a scuff behind. She shrugs out of her jacket, hanging it on the lone wall hook, then glances around. The apartment is dim and cool, small enough that she can see everything from right here. The threadbare couch, the mismatched end tables, the secondhand bookshelf still missing a shelf. The air smells like takeout and dust.

She pads into the kitchen and tosses a microwave meal into the oven, grabbing a bottle of wine while peeling off her uniform shirt with the other hand. The tight bun she wrestled her hair into this morning is looser now, pieces clinging to sweat at her temples. The wine pours too fast, filling the glass nearly to the brim.

After the microwave dings, Chloe curls up on the couch in an old tank top and pajama shorts, glass in one hand, remote in the other. A tray of half-melted pasta sits on the coffee table as she flicks idly through channels—true crime (she lives it), cooking competitions (she can’t even microwave pasta), reality shows (too many teeth, not enough clothing).

She mutes it. And the moment she does, her thoughts wander. To the one person she tries not to think about too often.

Three months have passed since the last time Lucifer Morningstar grinned that infuriating grin at her. Since he vanished again before sunrise, just like always. Gone before she could ask too many questions, the ones that have been burning in her mind for nearly a decade. Even though she, for once, admitted to herself she wanted to see him again, she hadn’t actually expected it.

Now he’s back in Los Angeles. And this time, he doesn’t seem to be idly drifting.

Chloe sips her wine, eyes sliding to the laptop on the coffee table. Her stomach flips a little—she promised herself she wouldn’t look again. But the temptation tugs at her all the same. Lucifer is staying, setting up roots, and already causing trouble. She doesn’t know what any of it means, not really. But it means something.

Why here? Why now?

Why her?

The wine doesn’t answer. Neither does the TV. So she sits in silence, staring into the muted flicker of someone else’s story playing out on a screen. Then lets her mind drift back to coffee steam and diner food and the ghost of a smile that shouldn’t matter this much.

And yet.

“Damn it,” she mutters, reaching for the laptop.

While she waits for it to boot up, she nibbles on her half-lukewarm, half-still-frozen dinner. The laptop is old. Not old enough to officially qualify as vintage, but old enough to whir and sputter and flash an angry blue screen every third restart. Tonight, though, it plays nice, humming quickly to life like it understands she isn’t in the mood for a fight.

She opens the browser. Her bookmarks are sparse—LAPD portals, her credit card dashboard, a bookmarked pasta recipe she still hasn’t tried. And then there’s the tab she keeps hidden in a buried folder labeled ‘utilities’, as if naming it something innocuous makes it any less pathetic.

For a second, she hesitates. Then she clicks it.

The search results load with the same three grainy photos she’s stared at a dozen times before. Lucifer Morningstar. In one image, he’s wearing a velvet smoke jacket and lounging beside a pool, tan and grinning with a drink in his hand, while half a dozen women in skimpy bikinis and bunny ear headbands hang all over him. The caption says, Playboy Mansion, 1978 – Fundraiser to Repair Hollywood Sign.

Another has him in black and white, standing beside a Model T Ford on a dirt road—1952, supposedly. And the third, clearly altered, shows him on a 1920s movie set, all sharp cheekbones and cold eyes beneath a bowler hat talking to Marion Davies.

None of the photos she found make any sense. He looks exactly the same in each and every one. Same face. Same bone structure. Same smirk like he knows something the rest of the world doesn’t. And hell, maybe he does. Or maybe she’s reading way too much into it.

You know...again.

Chloe sits back and rubs a hand over her face. She isn’t crazy. Probably. It’s just that nothing about him ever adds up to anything rational. The way he talks. The way he vanishes. The way he looks at her, like he’s constantly surprised she can see him at all. She’s tried finding him before, after their meeting six years ago at the beach—back when she considered marrying Dan Espinoza. She ran his name through every LAPD system she had access to—and got nothing in return. No DMV records. No bank statements. The only property records were decades old; she assumed they were family-owned and maybe he inherited it all. It was like he didn’t exist.

Until a week ago.

She opens her other tab—county records. There it is, still open from her late lunch break at the precinct.

OWNER: Morningstar, Lucifer
PROPERTY: 666 Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA
Commercial Use: Entertainment / Hospitality / Lounge
DBA: LUX

Just like when she first saw it, she scoffs at the address—there is no way that was the original address. How he managed to have it changed, she has no clue. And yet, here it is. Her eyes linger on the name. Lux. He said it means ‘light’. She isn’t sure if he meant it ironically or not.

She clicks on another tab, freshly updated.

California DMV License: Issued 8 Days Ago
Name: Lucifer Morningstar
DOB: 6/6/76
Address: 666 Sunset Blvd

The photo is recent. She can easily tell. He looks the same, of course, but the smile is newer, like he’d just gotten away with something.

He’s staying, she thinks. This time, he’s staying. He said so. And he doesn’t lie.

Weird as that is.

Chloe sits back on her couch and lets out a slow breath. She doesn’t know what it means. For her. For him. For the strange thread that has tied them together all these years, tugging at the edges of her life when she least expects it. She should be irritated. She should be suspicious as all hell. But mostly she feels...relieved.

And maybe a little lonely.

She closes her laptop and looks around her apartment.

Scratch that—a lot lonely.

Letting her head fall back against the couch cushion, she rolls her eyes at herself. The wine glass is already empty, which isn't helping matters. The TV is still playing, muted and pointless. And her life feels just as pointless at the moment.

Twice now, a detective’s badge was within her sights. The written tests were both passed with flying colors, one of the highest scores in the precinct. But the interview, the part where they judged her ‘maturity, judgment, and long-term reliability’, ended with a polite rejection and ghost of a smirk. What’s worse, she knows why. The interviewer was an old acquaintance of her parents’—or more specifically, her mother. A woman who still looks at Chloe like she’s a tabloid headline waiting to happen.

Apparently being on the cover of Teen Weekly in a bikini at nineteen makes her unfit to carry a gun and badge at thirty.

Or maybe it was the boobs in the movie.

Or the ‘wildly scandalous’ party history—which lasted, like, a month. Tops.

She reaches for her phone and opens the notes app. A single line she typed months ago stares back at her.

What do you desire?

Tonight, she doesn’t have an answer. But she does know what she doesn’t want—this. The silence. The loneliness. The constant feeling of being on the outside of her own life, looking in.

Lucifer Morningstar is a mystery. But he’s also a reminder that she isn’t insane to want more than patrol routes and cold microwave pasta. And now he’s building something in her city.

She doesn’t know what it means yet. But she intends to find out.

---

At 3:07 AM, Chloe wakes up, heart racing, a throw blanket tangled around her legs like restraints. She sits upright on the couch—again. She hadn’t made it to bed. Again.

The television glows soft blue against the walls, casting warped shadows of her furniture like looming ghosts. Some late-night crime drama murmurs quietly under the volume threshold. She doesn’t remember putting it on. Maybe it had been on all night. Maybe it had been off, and the universe flipped it on just to mess with her.

Exactly her luck.

She rubs her face, smearing the mascara she hadn’t bothered to wash off as she tries to remember her dream. It hadn’t been about Lucifer—at least, not directly—but his voice echoes in her mind all the same, twined through memory like a song stuck on repeat. That last time at the diner, he’d talked about freedom like it was a luxury just out of reach. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since.

Especially now that he came back. According to him, there will be no vanishing acts this time. No ‘poof’ into smoke or inexplicable absences. (“Not if you don’t want me to,” he said, looking at her as if his existence hinged on her response.) This time, he’s setting up shop on Sunset Boulevard, changing Los Angeles landmark addresses like others change their socks, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

With a sigh, she stands and pads barefoot to the kitchen, crossing ancient hardwood that creaks under her weight. Her apartment is small—barely 600-square feet—but she’s made it feel like home. A cheap home, yes. But home nonetheless. Mismatched mugs and end tables. Crappy bookshelves. A couch with a spring that has put a permanent indent in her hip. The coffeemaker that groans louder than her squad car’s engine.

Chloe pours herself water and leans against the counter, staring at the tiny magnetic calendar stuck to her fridge. A bright red circle marks the last detective’s exam six months ago. Her chest aches.

She’s good at her job, damn it. She has worked twice as hard as half the guys who wear gold shields—and who make half as many arrests. She has nothing to show for it but bruises, night shifts, and a deepening line between her brows.

The worst part? She doesn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Not really. Dan is long gone. Not a bad guy, despite his mistakes, just...not right for her. He wanted white picket fences and a family and Sunday brunches. Chloe hadn’t even been able to picture that life, let alone live it. Not to mention, his mother hated Chloe. Because she wasn’t Catholic. Because she didn’t believe in God. Because she questioned rather than having faith. She and Dan are still cordial when they pass—though he moved up to the Detectives’ Club...six months ago.

Yeah. She lost the promotion to her ex-boyfriend. Then she had to smile and congratulate him, knowing he wasn’t ready for the job. He’s smart and has good intuition (when he uses it), but he goes for the easy answers most of the time. Whatever will get him a closed case.

But...he also has a penis. Which Chloe, decidedly, does not.

Her partner now is decent enough, but they aren’t close. Most of the people at the precinct are polite but distant. She’s still ‘Hollywood Barbie’ to them. Still the girl who took her top off in a movie for less than a minute. Her last halfway decent friend moved to Denver a year ago. And her mom...well. Let’s just say Penelope hasn’t changed her opinion about her only child’s career decisions. Like, not even a little.

Literally, the only person who ever talks to her like she belongs in her own skin is a half-insane, impossibly smooth new nightclub owner who claims to be the actual Devil. Someone she’s only had real conversations with a few times. Which...probably says a lot about Chloe’s social life, more than anything else.

She rolls her eyes and sets down the glass. The guy is probably completely full of crap. Probably has a stash of fake IDs and an army of stylists to keep himself looking eternally 35. It’s entirely within the realm of possibility. This is Los Angeles, after all.

But something nags at her. About him. Not just the mystery that surrounds him, not just the magic-trick vanishing acts. It’s the way he sees her. Not as a failed actress or struggling cop. To him, she's just her, Chloe Decker. As if that is enough for him.

Chloe walks back to the living room and flops down on the couch again, pulling her laptop back onto her lap. Her fingers hover over the keys. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t.

Just one more look, her mind whispers. Ironically like the Devil on her shoulder.

She searches his name again. This time, with a filter. News within the past week. Nothing pops up—no interviews, no scandals, no party coverage. All she finds is one small press release from a local property firm noting the new entertainment venue being registered under ‘Lux Holdings’.

No bio. No press tour. No history. The guy doesn’t exist in any public way.

Except in her life.

Chloe shuts the laptop and stares at the ceiling.

Look, she doesn’t believe in fate. Doesn’t believe in signs from the universe or symbols in tea leaves or any of that crap. But something is absolutely changing. Something is about to change. She can feel it in her bones. In her gut. In the way the air has felt electric from the moment her eyes landed on him at Lux.

Lucifer bloody Morningstar has put down roots. In her city. And whether she likes it or not...something about him has taken root in her, too.

Notes:

As you may or may not have noticed, the chapter count for this has changed to (?), because I decided I didn't like where I ended it and I've been adding more chapters. Not sure as of now how much longer it's going to be. Hope you don't mind. 😊

Chapter 9: Someone

Summary:

Chloe's and Lucifer's meet again. Other people in their lives begin to notice they're changing and suspect who is to blame.

With ten minutes left to her shift, all Chloe is thinking about are a glass of wine, a hot shower, and vegging on the couch. Which, of course, is when the call comes in from dispatch.

“Possible assault. 900 block of Sunset, at a club called Lux. Suspect detained by staff.”

At first, Chloe doesn’t react. It’s her partner, Officer Chris Rivas, who lets out a low whistle. “Lux? Isn’t that the place everyone’s talking about? Didn’t even know it was open yet.”

It isn’t. She knows it isn’t. Because Lucifer freaking Morningstar sent her a text the other night inviting her to the grand opening this weekend. How he got her number, she has no idea. And now that he’s hanging around again, for good apparently, he can’t keep himself out of trouble.

“I’ll drive,” Chloe says before Chris can even wad up his burger wrapper.

---

The tan stone and dark glass of Lux are unmistakable from the street. Sleek and commanding, the building radiates opulence. Chloe hates how much she still remembers the warmth she felt inside. Not from the lights or the music or even the absurdly expensive whiskey. From Lucifer himself. The sound of his voice, the smell of his cologne, the way he smiled at her—

And she needs to stop this.

As they approach, the doorman, wearing a three-piece suit and an earpiece, steps aside with a respectful nod. “Officers. He’s expecting you.”

Chris looks at Chloe with a raised eyebrow. “He?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she follows the sounds of muffled shouting through the grand double doors. And nearly stops in her tracks.

The place has undergone some serious renovations since the last time Chloe was here—less than a week ago. Polished wood, dark marble floors, a scattering of plush leather furniture. The lighting is dim but warm and welcoming in some weird way. The stairs are finished this time. So is the bar—all glass shelves filled with bottles with labels she doesn’t recognize, reflected by a mirrored wall. She barely recognizes the place.

Sitting pride of place on what she assumes is the dance floor is a shiny, black piano. It almost makes her smile, thinking about how Lucifer told her he'd have at least two. And then she remembers why she’s here.

Which are the two patrons being separated by security. One has a bruised jaw and the other is holding an ice pack to his head. A tall woman in skintight black leather—Maze, she realizes, barely recognizing her either, without the spiked shoulder pads—stands nearby with her arms crossed looking entirely too amused by the chaos.

And at the bar, dressed in another of his absurdly tailored suits, is Lucifer bloody Morningstar himself. He’s leaning against the counter like it’s a throne, a glass of something dark dangling between his fingers. He sees Chloe the moment she walks off the last stair, and his face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Detective,” he drawls, as if they only parted yesterday. “You got my invitation, after all. How delightful.”

Chris raises an eyebrow at her. “Detective?” he mutters under his breath.

Chloe ignores him, addressing Lucifer. “It was a dispatch call,” she says, walking past him towards the detained patrons. “Try not to sound so smug about it.”

She can feel Chris still raising his eyebrows at her. But she keeps ignoring it.

“Ah, but smugness is my default setting, darling,” Lucifer purrs as she brushes him off.

Without bothering to answer, she sits down beside the guy with an ice pack, who groans loudly and winces. “Name?” Chloe says.

“Brad Levine,” he mutters. “Look, I don’t want to press charges. The guy was drunk. We were fighting over a girl.”

“You pulled a knife on me, dude!” the other patron shouts as he’s ushered away by Chris.

Chloe raises an eyebrow at Brad. “You pulled a knife?”

His gaze flickers nervously to the other man. “It wasn’t like that.”

Chloe stands, gestures for her partner to take a statement, then turns to look at Lucifer. “Your staff called this in?”

“Indeed,” he says. “Very responsible of them. Though I must admit, I would have handled this situation with a bit more flair.”

“Yeah, I bet you would have. I didn’t even think you were open yet.”

Lucifer smiles. “Not officially, no. This is more...market research, if you will.” He tilts his head as he takes a step closer. “How much longer are you going to do this, Detective?”

She blinks. “Excuse me?”

“This,” he gestures at her, then towards the fighting market research patrons, “the whole beat cop thing. You have ‘Detective’ written all over you.”

“And yet, here I stand. A lowly beat cop,” she deadpans. “And it’s Officer. Not Detective.”

“Noted. Disregarded.”

Chloe wonders if she can arrest him for being a dick. With a sigh, she finally looks up at him. At his face—impossibly handsome, smug, and infuriatingly delighted to see her. “You can’t afford this kind of drama, Lucifer,” she says quietly. “If you’re opening a club, you need to run it clean.”

“Oh, but I do,” he says innocently. “Very clean. Spotless, in fact. You should see my liquor storage. Not a single speck of dust.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“And don’t worry, Detective—ah, Officer,” he amends with a little wave of his hand. “No drugs in common areas, no trafficking, no underage nonsense. Just good old-fashioned debauchery.”

Her eye twitches at the loophole ‘...in common areas’, but she lets it go. In fact, though she tries not to smile, she fails.

And he notices. Of course he does. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?” he says softly. “It suits you, you know. Smiling.”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Rarely. But for you, I could be convinced. I have a few ball gags upstairs if you like.”

“Wow. Gross.”

Rivas clears his throat. “Dispatch says we’re good to log it as a mutual combat, no charges. You want me to file the report?”

“Yeah,” Chloe says, distracted, her eyes still on Lucifer. “Thanks.”

Her partner nods and heads for the exit, giving her a look that says, You okay with him? She nods once, and he leaves. Now it’s just her and Lucifer, and the low thump of bass echoing from speakers above.

He moves behind the bar, pours two drinks with practiced ease, and slides one towards her. “You look like you could use it.” he explains.

She eyes it longingly. “I’m still on duty.”

“You’re technically off duty, actually,” he corrects her, glancing at a clock. “I heard you only had ten minutes left. Now, I’m no mathematician, but I believe that means...well, you’re mine now, love.” He grins, looking unbearably, smugly proud of himself.

She takes the drink without asking how he knew when her shift was up. She's just too tired to care right now.

Clapping his hands together, Lucifer reaches for his own. “Splendid,” he murmurs into the glass.

“I hate you so much.”

“No. You don’t.”

And therein lies the problem—she really, really doesn’t.

---

Before she knows it, she and Lucifer are sitting side by side in a leather booth that is entirely too comfortable. The drink is smooth. The music is almost soothing. And Lucifer’s cologne is a bit too familiar. All of it puts Chloe at ease in a way she hasn’t been since starting her shift.

This is not good.

Too bad the rest of her doesn’t agree with her mind.

“So,” Lucifer drawls, leaning back with his legs crossed, ankle on one knee. His free arm is thrown over the back of the booth, right behind Chloe. “How was your day, darling?”

She rolls her eyes. “It was shit. I was going to go home and relax, and then I got a call to come break up a petty jealousy fight.”

“Lucky you. Well, for being here, that is. But tell me,” he turns to face her, “what exactly made the rest of the day ‘shit’?”

Shrugging, she sips her drink to delay answering. It wasn’t one thing in particular but a culmination. She didn’t sleep great. Her coffeemaker crapped out. She and Rivas got all the most frustrating calls. Her mom was calling and texting all day. It just goes on and on.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Chloe blinks, glancing sidelong at Lucifer. He isn’t smirking or teasing. He’s genuinely asking. No innuendo, just concern. “Not really,” she mutters. “Just one of those days, I guess.”

He frowns slightly, as if he’d been hoping for a different answer. Something he could fix. “Well, I think I know one thing that could make your life better,” he says, brightening. “You never responded to my message about Lux’s grand opening this weekend.”

Which reminds her— “How did you get my number, anyway? I don’t remember giving it to you.”

“I have my ways,” he says simply. “And that still isn’t an answer.”

“Neither was yours.”

He huffs a laugh. “Well, if you must know, you’re fairly easy to find.”

“My number is private and unlisted.”

“Yes. And? I’ve a demon at my disposal who can locate any human anywhere in the world in under an hour.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, come on, Detective,” he purrs, leaning closer. “You could be my guest of honor at the party.”

“Who says I want to be?”

Lucifer gives her a puppy dog look that makes her heart flip. It’s as annoying as it is adorable. “After all this trouble I went through of relocating to Los Angeles to be closer to you, and you won’t even come to my first big bash? I’m hurt.”

Chloe chokes on her drink. “Wait, what?” she coughs. “To be...closer to me?”

He blinks, as if he hadn’t realized what words came out of his mouth. “Well, I mean—” He cuts himself off, an uncharacteristically bashful, anxious look on his face. “That is...you’re the only person here I really know...?”

She stares at him. His whole no-lies thing crosses her mind, and that didn’t sound like a lie. But maybe a half-truth.

What is she supposed to say to that?

Clearing his throat, Lucifer averts his gaze, taking a large gulp of his drink.

“Look, it’s...nothing personal. Clubs and parties aren’t really my thing,” she says quietly.

“Right. Of course. Forget I mentioned it,” he says quickly. But she sees the disappointment in his eyes. Possibly a little hurt.

Damn it...

“Maybe...” she says.

He whips around, looking so hopeful a smile pulls her lips. “Yes?”

“Maybe I can drop by for an hour or so,” she concedes. “Maybe.”

Lucifer beams like she just gave him the greatest gift known to man. It thaws her further. “Then I shall look forward to that hour or so with bated breath,” he says sincerely.

Shaking her head, she finishes her drink. “As much as I’d like to stay—” And surprisingly, she means it. “—I need to get home.”

“Early shift again?”

“No, but I haven’t been sleeping great.” Ever since she found out he moved to Los Angeles permanently.

His eyebrows furrow with concern. “Why’s that?”

“Not sure,” she says evasively. Not a lie. Just...a convenient truth. “Do me a favor, though?”

“Name it,” he says easily, standing when she does.

Handing back the empty glass, she meets his gaze. “Try to keep the trouble to a minimum, yeah? I don’t want all my calls to be pulling me here every other day.”

“And be deprived of your delightful company?” he asks with mock offense. “Where’s the fun in that, darling?”

Rolling her eyes, Chloe smiles reluctantly. “Good night, Lucifer,” she says firmly.

He chuckles. “Sweet dreams, Detective.”

She opens her mouth to ask him again not to call her that, but she likes it too damn much. At the same time, it makes her ache for the dream she can’t seem to achieve.

“Do you have a ride home?”

“I’ll get a taxi or Uber,” she says, waving one last time. “Behave.”

His scoff follows her to the staircase, probably at the mention of pubic transportation. Where Maze has been leaning against the banister, apparently watching them this whole time. Her arms are crossed and there’s a look of disapproval so deep on her face it would put Penelope's to shame. She steps in front of the stairs, blocking them when Chloe approaches.

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “Something I can help you with?”

The woman’s jaw tightens and her eyes flash. Then she glances over Chloe’s shoulder, rolls her eyes, and moves. “You’re ruining him,” she mutters under her breath as Chloe passes.

Though her steps don’t falter, Chloe frowns. When she looks back, Maze is already stomping off towards the back room. Lucifer is glaring after her with a dark expression on his face. At least until he glances back to Chloe and it softens. He gives her a tight smile and finishes his drink, moving towards the bar without a backwards glance.

“These people are so weird,” Chloe mutters to herself on the way upstairs, opening her Uber app.

---

The apartment is dark when she gets home. Not a dramatic noir-dark, but the kind of gloom that clings to outdated blinds and overworked lightbulbs. Her sad little kitchen sits off to the side, all cracked faux-marble countertops and Formica dreams. The living room is clean but lived-in. Her worn couch awaits her like an old tired friend. A stack of scripts she meant to throw out with the trash yesterday leans precariously on the table, next to a cup of room temperature tea she made and forgot about.

She drops her keys into the chipped bowl by the door, shrugs off her jacket, and kicks off her shoes. And breathes for what feels like the first time today.

Lux hadn’t gone how she expected.

Lucifer never goes how she expects.

The guy is supposed to be a blip on her radar. A fever dream. Some weird memory she can’t quite shake. Instead, he strolled back into her life—again—and made himself at home. With his $10,000 suits and whiskey and that little smirk that knows too much. Honestly, she doesn’t know what unsettles her more—that he’s back for good, or that something in her wants him to stay. Always wants him to stay.

“After all this trouble I went through of relocating to Los Angeles to be closer to you...”

Trying—and failing—to shake the whole thing off, she moves to the kitchen for a glass of water she doesn’t actually want. Because doing something feels better than nothing. Silence presses in alongside that sense of loneliness.

There are times, all these years later, that she wonders what would have happened if she never met Lucifer Morningstar. Or if he hadn’t shown up right after Dan proposed. Would she have said yes? Would they be married now with two-point-five kids, a dog, and a backyard? She might be a little less lonely if she had said yes. The thing is, she does want those things...eventually. Nine years ago, she thought she might climb the LAPD ranks quicker than she has. But Dan wasn’t willing to wait that long—he wanted it all right then and there...or not at all.

Chloe chose not at all. For both of them. Of course, his decisions before the proposal were another reason she said no. But even she was willing to overlook what happened—until she ran into Lucifer.

She doesn’t regret it, exactly, but sometimes she wonders.

Then comes the knock. It isn’t tentative. Whoever it is knocks with the assurance of someone who has never been told the word no. For a moment, Lucifer’s face pops into her mind, and she wonders if he followed her home.

Why does that possibility make her pulse quicken?

Sighing, Chloe sets down her glass, wipes her palms on her jeans, and pulls open the door. And promptly has to suppress a loud, petulant groan.

Penelope Decker stands in the hallway, every inch of her immaculate. And completely out of place in this apartment building. The weird thing about her mom—one of them, anyway—is that she doesn’t age; she just evolves with the times. Hair blown out to a level of gloss rarely seen outside shampoo commercials, lips painted the perfect ‘barely there’ mauve, draped in a blazer that probably cost more than Chloe’s monthly rent. She looks as if she just stepped off a Hollywood set. Chloe has the urge to check the hallway for a red carpet and crowd of paparazzi.

“Pumpkin,” Penelope says, breezing inside without waiting for permission. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I should drop by.”

“Right,” Chloe mutters, closing the door. “Because Malibu is practically next door.”

Her mother kisses the air beside Chloe’s cheek, then turns in a slow circle, surveying the apartment like she’s cataloging crime scene evidence. “Well. I see you’re still living like a rebellious college student,” she says primly.

“It’s called rent control.”

“It’s called wasting your potential.” Her mother clicks her tongue and strides towards the couch, but doesn't sit down. Because the Queen of Sci-Fi doesn’t sit unless the seat is pre-approved by a stylist. “I’m surprised you haven’t started hoarding cats. Yet.”

“Well, I’m allergic to cats, Mom. Thanks for remembering,” Chloe says, leaning against the door. “What do you want?”

Penelope turns with the audacity to look hurt. “I came to see how you’re doing, of course! Is that a crime now? A mother checking in on her only child?” Her eyes find the scripts—that she sent. “Oh! Have you been reading these?”

“No. And I’ll thank you to stop having them sent over. I get that you hate me being a cop, you’ve made that pretty damn clear, but it isn’t changing, Mom.”

“What I hate is you wasting your limitless potential, your talent, your face on something that is going to leave you jaded and bitter. Or worse. I hate that you’re doing it all to spite me.”

“That is not why I—” Chloe stops herself. Barely. She doesn’t owe this stupid fight another rerun. Not tonight. Not when her thoughts are still spiraling over her life. Over a man in a nightclub who makes her feel...seen. And wanted. And a thousand other things she doesn’t want to acknowledge.

Penelope raises a perfectly manicured, not a hair out of place eyebrow. “Have you reconsidered acting? I’ve got a Netflix contact who’s casting something edgy and female-led. You could audition. The script should be here somewhere.” She starts digging through the pile like it’s her home to dig through.

“No.”

“You’re not even curious?”

Chloe crosses her arms. “I passed the detective written exams, Mom. With flying colors.”

“Well? Then why aren’t you a detective?”

The words hit harder than expected. Something twists sharply in Chloe’s chest as she stiffens. “Because the captain who interviewed me was Maddox—you know, your old friend? And for some strange reason, she thinks former actresses make poor cops. Thought I wanted attention rather than justice.”

Instead of looking ashamed or even caught-out, her mother’s mouth twists. It isn’t quite sympathy, nor quite smugness, but some hybrid of the two, made up largely by the latter. “Well, you did spend your formative years pretending to cry on cue. Can you blame them?”

Chloe’s eye twitches. “I can blame people like you for feeding them that narrative. The way you fed my academy instructors those lies about how I was nothing but an attention-seeking, troubled rebel.”

“Oh, please—”

“No,” Chloe snaps. “No more, Mom. You don’t get to barge into my life, insult my apartment, belittle my job, and then play victim. I had enough of that as a kid.”

Penelope blinks. She doesn’t look angry, though; she looks curious. As if something has just clicked into place in her mind. Which is so much more dangerous than anger. “You met someone,” she gasps dramatically.

Chloe stares. “I...what?”

Her mother waves vaguely at her face. “There’s a glow. A defiance. Something’s put that spark in your eye again.”

“I’m not twelve, Mom. I don’t get crushes.”

“No, but you do get obsessed,” her mother says, crossing her arms. Somehow, even her Prada purse slides gracefully to her elbow. “You’ve always fallen hard for people who make you feel special, Chloe. Directors. Co-stars. That disc jockey with the eyes and boyish face.”

“I’m not dating anyone.”

“I didn’t say you were, now did I? I said you met someone.” Penelope tilts her head to better study Chloe. Chloe tries not to squirm. “Let me guess—older? Charismatic? Damaged in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one who understands him?”

Damn Chloe’s brain. She’s silent just a second too long.

Penelope smirks. “Nailed it.”

“Yeah. You can go now,” Chloe mutters.

“You’re protecting him.”

“There is literally nothing to protect.”

Her mother moves closer, lowering her voice in what might be concern from anyone else’s mother. “Be careful, Chloe. You always think you’re the strong one. Strong enough to fix broken men. But some people? They aren’t wounded; they’re just dangerous.”

And with those parting words, she turns towards the door, her heels clicking sharp against the hardwood. But before she leaves entirely, she pauses. “For what it’s worth...I do admire your conviction. Even if it’s entirely misdirected.”

The door clicks shut.

Chloe stands in the quiet, her jaw clenched. She doesn’t cry. Hasn’t truly cried in years, not since her father’s funeral. Instead, she paces. Once. Twice. Then marches back to her laptop and sits down hard in front of it.

Penelope is wrong. Like she’s wrong about everything else. Lucifer isn’t dangerous. At least...not to her. Not in the physical sense.

She types his name into the LAPD database again, a bit harder than necessary. Nothing new since the last time she looked—just the call about the fight tonight, but even that is only listed under Lux’s address. She opens a browser and Googles him for the hundredth time. Same old images. Two from the 1920s, and one from the 70s. A blurry one from ten years ago at some gala.

Except now, there’s one more.

Lucifer Morningstar, listed as CEO of Lux Holdings, LLC. Owner of the building on Sunset.

Her city. Her turf. Her orbit.

And somehow, even now, it feels like he is the one pulling the strings.

Chloe slowly shuts the laptop, her mind buzzing. Then his voice echoes from earlier again with the same words: "After all this trouble I went through of relocating to Los Angeles to be closer to you...” And the way he reacted afterwards, like he’d let something slip he hadn’t intended to. Like he meant the words.

Right before she agreed to come to Lux’s grand opening Saturday night.

“Damn it,” she sighs, falling back into the cushions. “What is it you really want, Lucifer?”

She doesn’t know what it is he’s planning. But she isn’t sure she wants him to stop, either.

“I am so screwed.”

---

Music curls low through Lux, a sultry baseline thumping gently beneath warm, golden lighting that creates few shadows—as intended. The space breathes as if it’s always existed with its gleaming marble floors, curved leather booths, and sleek wood bar glinting beneath recessed spotlights. Not a speck of construction dust—at least not down here.

At the far end of the bar, Mazikeen swirls a glass of scotch, the amber liquid catching fire under the warm hanging bulbs. She slouches back in one of the high-backed stools, flipping a Hell-forged blade lazily between her fingers. The metal makes no sound as it turns end over end as it slips back into her palm with ease.

Bored. Again.

Lucifer descends from the elevator alone, adjusting a diamond cufflink on a dark shirt still dusted with plaster. He pauses at the stairs leading from the mezzanine, brushing the particles off his sleeves with a tsk of distaste. “I swear, if one more of those wankpuffin contractors tries to tell me exposed wiring is part of the aesthetic, I’ll toss them over the railing myself.”

Maze raises a disinterested scarred eyebrow. “You’re the one who hired humans. Could’ve brought up some demons, let me whip them into shape.”

The expression on Lucifer’s face is half grin, half grimace. “And spend eternity fixing toilets that erupt into fire? No, thank you, Mazikeen.”

He starts down the stairs, heels clicking on polished stone. But then he stops. His gaze moves with slow satisfaction across the finished club level—the crown jewel of what will become his kingdom. Lux. His light. “Finally,” he murmurs. “A space that actually listens when I talk dirty to it.”

The demon flicks a blade towards the back of the and sinks her drink. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve been redecorating your way out of Hell for centuries. Don’t pretend this is new.”

Lucifer turns to her, one eyebrow rising. “Ah, but this time it is entirely mine. Top to bottom. I’m not borrowing a club this time, Maze. I’m building it. Carving my desires straight into the soul of this City of Angels.”

“More like slapping in sex dungeons between overpriced tile jobs,” she mutters.

He beams. “Oh, I am so glad you asked!” He turns back to the mezzanine railing, gesturing upward as though unveiling a masterpiece. Maze grabs a bottle from behind the bar and reluctantly trails after him. “Level three,” Lucifer begins, “will be a hedonist’s haven. Think: aphrodisiac tastings, infrared rooms, and naturally, a rooftop...well, balcony hot tub. Overlooking Sunset, of course.”

Maze perks up marginally. “Hot tub. Huh.”

“Oh yes. The most decadent spa retreat in Los Angeles, except instead of that blasted cucumber water they drink, it’ll be champagne fountains and tantric massage tables. Next, the bondage floor—entirely consent-based, of course. Luxurious leather, private rooms, velvet ropes—”

“Ooh, now we’re talking.”

“—with a dress code. I’m thinking...wings encouraged.”

Maze groans. “You are such a perv.” She pauses. “I love it.”

Lucifer laughs, delight spreading across his face. “Guilty as charged.” He leans against the railing now, gazing down at the dance floor below. The lighting is soft but layered, and the long shadows between booths give the impression of something always just out of reach.

The demon watches him quietly for a moment. “You’re really gonna stay this time? This isn’t just...one of your weird vacations?”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer, letting the question hang between them. His eyes track across the floor like he’s seeing something Maze can’t—a memory or a decision not yet made. “I’m not saying I’m retiring,” he says at last, his tone light but eyes far. “The vow I made with Amenadiel doesn’t expressly forbid that, but...” He trails off, swallowing. “Hell never exactly felt like home, Mazikeen. Not in all the billions of years I was forced to remain there.”

Maze scoffs quietly. “That place hasn’t changed, Lucifer. You have.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“This isn’t just a club,” she adds, probing. “You’re putting down roots. Damn near nesting. I watched how long it took you yesterday to stack those stupid napkins.”

Lucifer turns, his smile flickering. “Yes, well. Isn’t that what humans do?”

“You’re not human.”

“Details.”

Her eyes narrow. “You found something up here. Or someone.”

He doesn’t flinch, but he doesn’t meet her gaze either. “I believe you’ll find that’s my business.”

She snorts. “I said it once, but apparently, you need the reminder—you’re the Devil. You don’t have friends.”

Lucifer smirks, his teeth flashing. “No. But sometimes I let the humans think they’re special. Keeps things interesting. For myself, of course.”

Maze stares for a second longer, not buying it.

He deflects, smoothly as ever. “Now, I’m also considering a performance stage on floor seven. Think modern cabaret—live music, dramatic lighting, a bit of flair. I could even get another Steinway and—”

“Lucifer.”

His voice stalls.

Stepping into his space, Maze is close enough to grab him by the lapels, though she doesn’t dare. This time. “If you’re setting up shop in L.A., you need to tell the truth. To me, at least.”

Lucifer studies her in silence. For a moment, he looks tired. But then, he steps out of her reach, clapping his hands once. “And speaking of Hell—”

She raises a suspicious eyebrow.

“How are things down below?” he asks, his tone more serious.

Letting out a breath, Maze tosses a knife in the air and catches it again. “Stable. For now, anyway. The commanders are running things while I’m here. But they’re getting antsy. The longer you stay away, the more they talk. Whisper.”

He scoffs. “They’ve always whispered, Maze. Let them.”

“You know how this works—first comes the whispering, then comes the stabbing.”

He gives a cold smile. “Then let them wonder. But the first demon to disobey my no-possession law will be the last.”

Maze eyes him suspiciously. “This isn’t like you. Hell is your job. Your kingdom.”

“Was,” he corrects her. “Very firmly past tense.”

Her lip curls. “Then who are you now?”

Lucifer turns to face the empty club once more, exhaling as if the question is smoke he can’t breathe out. “A man who has been tired of living by someone else’s rules and script for a very long time.” He grabs the bottle from Maze’s lax grip and raises it in toast. “To temptation.”

She snatches it back when he’s had a long sip. “And overpriced cocktails.”

He smirks. This time it meets his eyes again as he curls his fingers like claws and twists his wrist slightly, as if turning a knob. The music volume kicks up a notch, giving the space more rhythm, a heartbeat of its own. This place is starting to feel like something new again, something he hadn’t expected to find—like a home.

When was the last time he had one of those?

---

The next evening, Lucifer leans against the recently finished penthouse railing. Around him, the wind picks up in little eddies between skeletal beams and half-built walls, tugging a sheet of tarp until it snaps loose and flaps like some wildly wounded thing. He doesn’t move to catch it. Instead, he sips his whiskey and looks out at the Los Angeles skyline, never getting tired of this view.

He turned off most of the lights inside, leaving only the tiny pinprick of light from the tree root chandelier that was hung up a few days ago. The piano will eventually go directly below it, and he can already see those little lights reflecting from polished wood. The rest of the place is still in shambles, but promises to be something truly remarkable when it’s finished. Only half of the marble flooring has been installed so far, the shelving for the bar and the crates of liquor are stacked neatly against a wall, and another has more crates containing books for the bookshelves—two rows for the library. Eventually, anyway.

But he hasn’t left. Technically, he could stay quite literally anywhere in the city. Hotels already owe him favors. He has three properties under his name dotting the area—and a few more in negotiation stages. Hell, he could find a human to crash with if he were really desperate.

Yet here he is, living out of a cramped, half-finished penthouse. At least his bed finally arrived today; he doesn’t have to sleep on the leather settee anymore.

The point is, by now, he would have been chased off back to Hell by his dear older brother. He should be sulking on his throne and planning his next trip topside. Instead, he’s here. More than that, even without this deal serving as his shield, he would fight tooth and nail to remain right here in Los Angeles. He has plans for every floor of this building now that it’s officially his—Dean Cooper folded the moment he saw what Lucifer was willing to pay. And as for Tio Sorrento...well, Lucifer let Maze play with him.

Once finished, the penthouse will be everything he never allowed himself to have before. Not in Hell. Not even that time he summered in Rome under a dozen different names.

The thought makes him scowl. He lifts the glass but doesn’t drink. He just...stares at the skyline like it might give him the answers he craves.

Why now?

He knows the answer, of course—he’s known it for some time. He just doesn’t want to admit it to himself.

Closing his eyes, Lucifer lets the wind curl around him, tugging at his shirt. The night is cool, soft, and full of noise from distant music, traffic, laughter, and a far-off siren.

Everything Hell doesn’t have.

Everything he isn’t supposed to desire.

“Careful,” says a voice behind him. “If you lean too far over, I might not catch you.”

Lucifer doesn’t bother to turn. “You’d let me fall just for the privilege of saying you told me so.”

Maze steps out from the shadows. She’s casually dressed, which for her means black boots, jeans tight enough to be illegal, and a cropped hoodie that says Knives Before Boys. Her hair is up and messy, and there’s a short blade tucked behind her ear like it’s a pencil. She wanders over without invitation, pausing by the unwrapped box marked Assyrian Stone Wall—ANTIQUE, and flicks it with a knuckle.

“Still think this rock is going to make you feel more at home?” she asks.

“It isn’t about feeling at home, Maze,” Lucifer says, finally sipping his whiskey. “It’s about permanence. Legacy. Atmosphere.”

She snorts. “You hate permanence. You change cities like humans change underwear.”

Lucifer hums low in his throat, acknowledging the point without conceding it.

After a moment, Maze walks further onto the balcony space, toeing at a nail embedded in the floor. “The club downstairs is decent. Sexy lighting. Good acoustics.”

He raises an eyebrow, knowing her ass-kissing tone anywhere. “Wait until the poles are installed,” he says absently. “We’re importing titanium-reinforced ones. Designed for—”

“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “I saw the blueprints. You’re basically building a perv’s paradise.”

“Your favorite kind of paradise.”

“Not wrong there.”

A corner of his mouth quirks, but he doesn’t quite let the smile form. Silence stretches out between them for a few moments, broken only by the wind and the hum of Los Angeles. Maze looks out at the skyline, then at Lucifer.

“You’re acting weird.”

Slowly, he turns his head. “Define ‘weird’.”

“You’ve stayed in one place for longer than a week,” she says flatly. “You keep getting lost in thought. You’re not drinking enough. You even turned down an orgy invite last night. Which is a shame—it was a damn good orgy.”

Lucifer tilts his head, pretending to be surprised. “You invited me to an orgy?”

“Not me. Steve. That bartender with the split tongue? You like that guy.”

He scoffs. “Please. Steve smells like disappointment and Axe body spray. I most certainly do not like Steve.”

Maze doesn’t smile. “Point is...you’re off. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”

He looks away again, the wind rustling his shirt collar.

“The Devil is not supposed to have soft spots. Or weird mood swings. Or homes. Or...whatever the hell a Netflix is. You’re not supposed to pause.”

Lucifer says nothing. His entire life has been on pause. Until an Earth decade ago.

“Unless,” Maze adds, watching him as if she’s read his thoughts, “you’ve found something worth pausing for.”

He doesn’t rise to the bait, because they've been through this already. Instead, he glances down rather than up, watching the L.A. nightlife scene start to come out. Soon, they’ll be flocking to Lux. To him. He can’t bloody wait.

“Is it a someone?”

Still, he doesn’t answer.

She sighs. “You’re just...totally not gonna say her name, are you?”

“No,” he says softly.

For a while, Maze is quiet. Then she pulls something from behind her back. One of her favorite daggers, aside from the ones he forged for her eons ago—small, bone-handled, with delicate carvings along the blade. She offers it, handle first. Her way of extending an olive branch. Calming the t treacherous waters.

Lucifer glances at it, raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t take it.

The demon drops her arm. “Fine. Be moody. But if this person—and we both know who I’m talking about—is making you soft, I’m going to gut them.”

“We’ve been through this, Maze.” He gives her a crooked smile. “No one is making me soft. I’m merely...contemplative.”

“Which is just another word for brooding. Before we know it, you’ll be a damn vampire instead of the Devil. Or worse, a hormonal, lovesick human.”

He turns away.

Maze finally gets the hint and leaves, pausing to look around the unfinished penthouse. “All you’re doing is building another cage for yourself, Lucifer. The walls, furniture, lighting plans. It’s gilded this time instead of Hell-based, but it’s still a cage.”

After a while, he notices she left. Once his whiskey glass is empty and he sets it down. The night air continues to sweep around him, and he closes his eyes. When he unfurls them, his wings are huge, white, and luminous as ever, brightening up the balcony.

For a moment, they flutter, like they want to take to the sky and fly through the night. Like he should want.

But he doesn’t. He folds them behind him, slowly, like one might draw a curtain shut. His feet remain firmly on the ground. That’s another change he’s undergone—rather than feeling like shackles, like the last remaining ties to his father and the Silver City, he doesn’t despise his wings. There was a brief time when he first arrived here that he considered severing them—or having Maze do it, rather—but he stopped before the thought could firmly form.

He told himself it’s because of the vow he made with Amenadiel. There could come a time he’ll need to return to Hell to deal with demons uprising beyond the usual. Or perhaps he’ll find life on Earth isn’t what he thought it might be.

But that isn’t why. He thinks it’s for another reason. For...a someone.

For the first time in a long time, he isn’t considering running. In fact, he’ll be staying here a long time to come.

Notes:

Thanks for reading as always! I'll be posting something for the next few days (two one-shots and an All the Devil's Details update), so if I fill your inboxes, apologies ahead of time. 😊

Chapter 10: The Queen of Lux

Summary:

The night of Lux's grand opening, everything is perfect from the music and the booze to the guest list. But Lucifer keeps waiting. Not that he'll admit it.

The city of Los Angeles has never been more alive than it is tonight. Within the walls of its newest nightclub, Lux, the warm lights pour across the floor, catching the curve of crystal glasses and the gleam of polished wood and leather. Music blares from the speakers, sensual rhythms blending seamlessly into bass-heavy tracks. Every booth and table is filled with bodies taking in the luxury, the decadence, the unprecedented vibe of desire not a single one of them has experienced before.

Certainly not like this.

It’s a symphony of indulgence, and at its center is the Devil himself.

Lucifer moves easily through the crowd like a king surveying his court. His tailored black suit fits him like sin. The open collar, the crisp lines, the perfectly-folded crimson pocket square. Everything, all of it, from his hair to the trimmed stubble on his jaw to his shoes polished to a mirror shine and even his smile is a performance. And tonight? Well...tonight, the show is without a doubt his finest yet.

“Senator Carmichael,” he drawls smoothly, clinking glasses with a silver-haired man whose date looks barely legal. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is your wife out of town again?”

The senator laughs too loudly. “You know how it is, Morningstar.”

“Indeed I do,” Lucifer purrs, lips twitching as the senator's date eyes him hungrily. “And your secrets are safe with me, as always.”

A wink, then a toast, and he moves on.

A woman in red blocks his path next. Young, pouty, glittering like a champagne bottle just waiting to be popped, her fingers graze his chest as she leans in. “Buy me a drink and I’ll show you what else I sparkle in,” she whispers seductively.

Lucifer gives her a charming smirk. “Tempting, my dear. But I find mystery much more intoxicating than revelation.”

She pouts. He moves on.

The next is older, statuesque, lips red as blood and perfume that smells like lust. She traces her nail along his jaw, catching his stubble. “Do you ever get bored with all of this?” she asks huskily. “Or are you just waiting for the right company?”

He turns her hand gently in his and kisses her knuckles. “Darling, if I were ever bored, I’d simply burn the world down and start all over again.”

Her laugh follows him across the room.

Every last one of them wants something from him. Whether it be fame, power, escape...or him. And for once, quite possibly the first time ever, he doesn’t want to give.

Behind the bar, he pours drinks with a flourish for a Hollywood director whose movies made millions and a lawyer whose lawsuits were conveniently settled. He listens, just enough, to a fashion mogul rant about taxes while slipping her a drink she definitely forgot. He flirts, laughs, dances. Every expression is flawless. Every line lands.

He is on.

But underneath it all, a strange dissonance hums. A quiet, aching little chord that is ever so slightly out of tune. And that is what he doesn’t understand. He’s truly done it. Built something for himself. This isn’t a kingdom carved by God Almighty or dictated by duty. It’s entirely different from what he’s known for so long. Lux is his—designed, branded, birthed into the world by his will and desire alone.

He should damn well be basking in it.

Instead...his gaze drifts. Again.

The staircase. Thirteen steps made of wood and marble leading down into the crowd. It’s a grand entrance waiting to happen.

Well. He’s still waiting.

Lucifer forces his eyes away along with the disappointment creeping up his chest.

Not yet.

So he makes the rounds again, exchanges pleasantries with a pair of influencers live streaming in designer nothing. He dances briefly with a pop star who won’t remember her own name come midnight. Behind him, cameras flash. Somewhere, laughter swells. But the moment he isn’t speaking, isn’t smiling, isn’t reaching for another drink, his eyes betray him.

Back to the staircase.

Still no sign of her.

He downs half a glass of whiskey, then immediately replaces it with something stronger. His fingers drum on the bartop. Irritation claws at the edges of his poise. Not at her, of course—never her. But at himself.

He isn’t waiting waiting. Obviously.

Waiting would imply hope.

No, he’s simply...observing. Monitoring. You know, just in case and all that.

Behind the bar, Maze catches the flick of his gaze and narrows her eyes. She doesn’t say a word. Yet.

Lucifer makes a show of returning to the floor, charming a couple from Beverly Hills, complimenting a TikTok sensation’s glittery eyebrows, then poses with a group of college girls for their Wobble page. The music dips, then climbs again, seamless and perfect. His people are the best, weaving through the party and catering to everyone. The crowd swells with laughter and dancing and desire.

And the emptiness lingers.

For fuck’s sake, he has power. He has worship. He has the entire city of Los Angeles eating out of the palm of his hand. So why does it feel so bloody quiet? And why, in the deepest part of him—a place even he pretends doesn’t exist—is he still hoping she might come?

She shouldn’t come.

While he did invite her, while she said ‘maybe...’, he hadn’t expected it—had he? She also said that clubs and parties aren’t her thing. He’s known for some time she’s more likely to stay home on a Saturday night than go out dancing and drinking. Or perhaps that glimmer he’s seen in her eyes on occasion might lead her here.

Perhaps not.

And if not?

Well. He will survive. The way he always does.

Gritting his teeth, Lucifer sweeps past the bar again. Maze is polishing a glass like it personally offended her. Again.

“Subtle,” she says, not looking up. If she did, she’d see the crowd of customers waiting for service.

“I beg your pardon?” he replies smoothly.

She holds up the glass, pretending to inspect it for spots that aren’t there. “Whatever you’re waiting for? Not coming. Be better for all of us if it doesn’t, anyway.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Why, Maze. I didn't realize you cared.”

She throws him a flat look. “I don’t.”

Bracing his hands on the counter, Lucifer leans forward. “Then why, pray tell, are you still watching me?”

The demon doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t push. But then, he doesn’t need to. He made his point.

Instead, he turns back to the crowd, drink in hand, becoming the perfect host once more.

Lux is alive now. Breathing, moving, sinning. And the Devil smiles as he waits for something he doesn't even have a name for.

---

When he once again slips behind the bar a while later, it’s with the grace of a being who has long since mastered every inch of his domain, no matter what form it takes. He doesn’t announce himself, doesn’t make a show of it as he pours himself a generous double of whiskey. Then he leans against the shelves of gleaming liquor bottles, eyes sweeping over his own masterpiece like a king already tired of his own coronation.

Maze doesn’t look up from where she slices limes with a blade too sharp for the task. She just tosses a bar rag at him without ceremony. He looks down with a raised eyebrow as it lands on his chest with a wet slap. “You’re pouting,” she says.

“I most certainly am not,” Lucifer replies, dabbing his lapel anyway.

She gives him a look. “It’s your own damn party, that you’ve looked forward to for days, and now you’re sulking like someone pissed in your whiskey.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I am not sulking. I am...absorbing. Savoring the moment. Can’t you feel it, Mazikeen? Lux is alive. She’s breathing. Vibrating. She’s bloody perfect.”

“And yet, you’re still acting like a sad little demon prince who got left out of the orgy.” Maze’s grin is sharp. “You’re restless. Just admit it already.”

“I am not—”

“I’ve watched you pace seven circuits around this place. Yes, I counted them. Because every time, your face does this thing where you look at the stairs, twitch, then you look away and pretend not to care. Badly, I might add.”

Lucifer opens his mouth. Closes it. Drinks again. Anything else would be a lie. And they both know it.

Maze leans her elbows on the bar, eyes glittering like she’s having the time of her life torturing him. “You built a palace. But it wasn’t for freedom, was it? And it won’t mean a damn thing if the queen doesn’t show her face.”

That stops him. He’s very careful not to react visibly. If Maze sees even the faintest hint of weakness, she’ll crank the torment to thirteen. What he can’t do, however, is stop the look on his face—half insulted, half exposed—from showing for long, and that tells her all she needs to know.

“Still can't say her name,” Maze notes, though not without amusement.

Lucifer shifts his stance, twists his cufflinks, tries to collect the pieces of himself with some measure of dignity. And he isn’t entirely sure he succeeded. “Well, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” She smirks. “Because the Devil I know doesn’t pine. Or wait. Or stare at staircases like a kicked Hellhound puppy. By now, you’d have taken half a dozen of these humans into the backroom, at the same time, and given them all orgasms, and then go for seconds.”

“Oh, please,” Lucifer scoffs. “I don’t pine. And I certainly don’t—”

He stops. Something in the air has changed. Nothing dramatic, and it isn’t enough to register with anyone else in the room, but he feels it all the same. Like a shift or a ripple. As if the atmosphere turned inside out for the briefest of seconds.

Feeling his skin prickle, he turns around.

And there she is.

At the top of the staircase, haloed by soft golden light and utterly out of place in the best possible way, stands Chloe Decker. She isn't wearing a gown or even a designer label. There was no dramatic entrance. Only her in jeans, scuffed black boots, a leather jacket, and a touch of lipstick. Her hair hangs down around her shoulders—he’s never seen it down like that; is it always so...wavy? The woman has absolutely no business looking that stunning while surrounded by couture and high-gloss decadence, and somehow eclipsing them all.

All the breath rushes from Lucifer at once. Not in an exhale; it simply vanishes. The music pumping through the speakers fades away into background noise. The crowd becomes little more than a blur he doesn’t notice in the slightest. Only one remains.

And bloody hell, she’s real, not some figment of his imagination.

She’s here.

He convinced himself she wouldn’t come. Told himself it didn’t matter. After all, tonight is for Lux, for him, for the image he cultivated like his own personal religion. But the moment he laid eyes on her, he felt something settle deep in his chest that has felt empty for longer than he cares to admit. Something unfamiliar that he barely understands.

He smiles. But it isn’t the grin he’s spent eons practicing, the one he’s spent all evening giving the rich and desperate. Or the casual smirk for the beautiful and the damned. This smile is slower. Softer. It feels almost reverent on his lips. It's a smile that some part of him is positively revolted by, while the rest of him is too busy staring to care that the Devil doesn't do...whatever it is he's currently doing.

Chloe scans the room from her vantage point at the top of the stairs, fingers curled around the railing. Her eyes move like a cop casing a scene to size up the crowd, check for exits or possible threat levels. Finally, her gaze lands on him—and stops. She doesn’t smile right away, watching him with blue eyes that narrow slightly, assessing. As if she’s trying to match the man in the suit with the one who has disappeared from her life so many times in the past.

When Lucifer takes a step forward, he faintly hears Maze curse under her breath. “Oh, fuck me,” she mutters, slamming a glass down and vanishing somewhere into the back with the haste of someone who would rather stab something than watch her king go all gooey-eyed over a human.

Lucifer doesn’t notice her departure as he crosses the room slowly. The crowd parts for him as if they know this moment is significant in some way. Chloe descends the stairs as if she doesn’t even notice the people surrounding them. Every eye in the club is on her now, even if they don’t realize why. It’s something in the way she moves with a casual, easy grace that draws the spotlight without ever once asking for it.

By the time she reaches the last stair, Lucifer is already waiting. He doesn’t flirt or make a joke. Doesn’t so much as open his mouth to try.

Chloe’s eyes dart around the room for half a second, glittering softly in the light. “This whole place for me?” she says dryly. “You really shouldn’t have.”

The grin on Lucifer’s face stretches wider, slipping into something slightly more familiar to him. Mischief laced with awe. “Well, I am infamous for exceeding expectations in all things.”

She raises an eyebrow, pressing her lips against a smile. “Yeah, see...exceeding expectations is usually a bottle of wine. Maybe some flowers. Not a thirteen-story monument to vice.”

“Semantics, Detective,” he says smoothly, teasingly. “Besides, I rather thought you might enjoy something with a bit more...decadence.” He cocks his head to the side. “Was I wrong?”

She gives him a long look, her expression softening slightly. “You really opened a nightclub.”

“I most certainly did.”

“With strippers.”

“Dancers, actually. Stripper is pejorative.”

“Marble floors, leather booths, hand-carved wood bar.”

“The Devil does have standards, darling.”

Chloe crosses her arms. “And you named it Lux. Latin for light.”

Lucifer feels his grin falter for a fraction of a second. “Yes, well, it seemed appropriate.” He searches her eyes. “You remembered.”

For a long moment, she just studies him, a puzzle she can’t quite work out. A mystery she can’t solve. Between the suit, the club, the crowd...it should feel like a mask or a performance. Simply another level of Lucifer’s usual exhausting pageantry. But she sees something different in his eyes tonight. Less bravado than she’s used to, more like...longing.

Which...that can't be right.

“So what’s the real deal here?” she asks. The question that has been on her mind for more than two weeks now. “You’re really just...planting yourself in L.A. to open a high-end palace of sin?”

Trying to hold onto a shred of levity, he shrugs. “I quite thought it was about time this city had a bit of class,” he says casually.

“A bit more chaos is more like it,” she mutters, but her lips are twitching.

Unable to resist any longer, Lucifer leans a few inches closer. “You actually came,” he says softly. “Decided to leave behind the rational and responsible, did you?”

“I was...curious,” she says, glancing around the club. “You always have this way of making an entrance.”

He watches her, afraid to blink lest she vanish. “And? What’s the verdict, Detective?”

Chloe’s eyes dart from the staircase to the crowd to the piano sitting off to the side near the dance floor. Then she lets her gaze shift back to him. “It’s very...you,” she says finally.

He blinks, then frowns. “I literally can’t tell if that is a good thing or a bad thing.”

She doesn’t seem to have an answer. Maybe she isn’t sure either. Instead, she looks past him towards the bar. “Where’s Maze tonight?”

“I believe she’s retreated to avoid making gagging noises at our...reunion,” he answers, smiling wryly.

Chloe snorts a laugh. “Smart woman.”

Lucifer tilts his head to study her again. “Do you really think I did all of this for you?”

“I think you did all of this for yourself. But I also think you were really hoping I would show up.”

Well, he certainly can’t deny that any longer, can he? “Touchė, Detective. Though to be fair, I do believe the word you used was ‘maybe’.”

Her lips twitch again, and their gazes meet for what feels like just a smidge too long. “Well,” she eventually says. “I suppose since I’m here now, might as well make the most of it, right?”

When his smile returns, it’s more genuine. Brighter than before. “Absolutely, darling,” he purrs, extending his crooked elbow. “Would the lady care for a drink?”

Chloe considers for a moment. “Well, this is a party...”

He glances pointedly down at his elbow. “Then allow me to escort you, Detective. Wouldn’t want you getting lost in the crowd, now would we?” Though he has a feeling he would spot her in any size crowd.

She hesitates just long enough to make him sweat, gaze dropping uncertainly to his arm. Then finally takes it. His smile softens slightly as he leads her through the crowd, the music returning as if it had been muted for the entirety of their conversation. The lights gleam like stars shining above a kingdom built of temptation and desire. For the first time tonight, Lucifer feels the pulse align with that something deep inside his chest.

Chloe is here, and suddenly, Lux no longer feels empty.

He only wishes he knew what any of this means.

They take refuge in a corner booth tucked away in one of Lux’s more private alcoves. The couple who was here retreated from a simple look from Lucifer, scattering elsewhere into the club. Lucifer retrieves drinks from the bar and returns in less than a minute, sliding the glass across the table before she even makes a request.

She blinks, looking from the drink to him. “I don’t remember asking for anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” he says without missing a beat, settling into the booth across from her. He adjusts his suit—not that it requires adjusting—and smiles at her. “You’re a rye woman. One sugar cube, two dashes of bitter. No cherry.”

Narrowing her eyes, Chloe lifts the glass, sips, then hums softly in appreciation. “Damn it.”

“Was I wrong?” he asks, his tone innocent and knowing.

“I didn’t say that,” she says, leaning back against the leather. “But you do have this whole...showmanship thing down perfectly”

“I prefer the phrase ‘enigma wrapped in bespoke debauchery, garnished with impeccable taste.”

Chloe huffs a laugh, and he watches the tension ease from her shoulders bit by bit. Around them, the music continues to gently thump, the volume just loud enough to drown out idle conversations from other booths. The whole setting feels...intimate. Which only makes it even more dangerous. For the both of them, he supposes.

She glances around, taking in the space again—everything from the polished, dark wood to the strategic lighting to him. “Okay, I’ll admit...this really isn’t what I expected.”

Lucifer raises an eyebrow, absently swirling the whiskey in his glass. “No? Is it too many napkin folds? I did tell Maze not to go overboard with those YouTube tutorials. Or perhaps it’s the titanium poles?”

“I mean....there’s a pole or two.”

“Tastefully placed, thank you very much.”

That earns him another smile, and it makes him feel ten-feet-tall. “But it’s...beautiful. Classy in a way I wasn’t counting on. I kinda figured your vision of a nightclub would be louder, wilder...tackier, maybe?”

“Chloe Decker,” he says with entirely mock affront. “I am wounded! I’ll have you know, my standards are exquisite and above reproach.”

“Your standards are expensive.”

“Well, yes, that too, I suppose.”

She takes another, slower sip of her drink. Her expression softens again. “You know, it’s weird, but...I don’t know. I’m proud of you. You really made a life for yourself here, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s gaze drifts away momentarily, following the path of a dancer weaving her way through the crowd. He thinks of all the times he intended to do something like this, only to be chased back to a throne he never desired. How he was forced to make a flimsy vow just to create this life at all. “For now,” he murmurs into his glass.

Chloe tilts her head, studying him. “How long are you planning to stay this time?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out immediately. “I suppose...I’ve not yet decided,” he says quietly. “There are several mitigating factors, some of which are entirely outside my control. But tonight feels...important.”

She snorts. “I mean, it’s a club opening, not a coronation.”

“I’d argue that in Los Angeles, they are exactly the same thing.”

When she looks at him again, he feels her gaze as if she’s touching him. Her eyes move from his jaw to his eyes that don’t feel as sharp as they normally would. He can see the shift in her as well. Just a hint of pink in her cheeks. The tension that remains in her posture, like she’s wound so tightly she can’t entirely relax.

“You know...I almost didn’t come,” she says quietly.

His glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “Oh? Why’s that, Detective?”

She shrugs, tracing the rim of her glass. “I wasn’t sure what this was,” she says, gesturing vaguely between them, as if the words to describe it elude her. “Or...what it isn’t.”

Well, that would make two of them, then. Lucifer leans forward across the table, his voice quiet but serious. “Are you afraid of what you desire?” he murmurs.

At first, she doesn’t answer, staring into her drink like that might bring her clarity. “Honestly? I’m not even sure I know what it is I want these days,” she admits, looking at him through her lashes. “But I think maybe...I might be getting a little closer to finding out.”

Before Lucifer can even think up a response to that, a woman interrupts them. A tall, glittering woman wearing a barely there, silver dress. “Lucifer,” she purrs, leaning over him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. This place is insane.” She bites her lip as she looks him up and down. “You know, you promised me a dance.”

Across from him, Chloe looks away, what little tension that seeped from her shoulders snapping back like elastic.

Lucifer doesn’t miss it. He turns to the woman with a polite smile. “Did I? Well, I promised many things to many people. The list tonight is quite long, I’m afraid. But I assure you, you’re probably on it. Somewhere.”

She pouts, brushing her fingers down his arm. “You’re impossible, you know.”

“Yes, so I have been told.” He waits until the woman finally gets the hint and disappears into the crowd before turning back to Chloe. Really, he should have expected that. What he didn’t expect was her reaction. Was that jealousy he sensed? But no, that seems unlikely. She isn't attracted to him the way others are. Or at least, he thought she wasn't. He doesn’t say anything, simply letting the silence speak for itself. But his hand slides a bit closer to hers, enough to feel the warmth of her skin without touching.

Then he slowly turns his hand over, palm up in invitation. “May I have this dance?” he asks softly.

Chloe blinks, eyes darting to where they last saw the woman, then back to him. “Seriously?”

“I’m always serious when it comes to dancing, Detective.”

She hesitates for a slight moment, taking a breath like she might say something. Without a word, she sets down her glass and slides out of the booth. “Lead the way. Partner.”

It’s his turn to blink at the word partner. He suspects she’s merely referring to the dance, but it sounds like more than that to his ears. Or perhaps that’s the hope again.

With a smile, he guides her towards the dance floor. Surprisingly, it isn’t crowded; there are only a few couples here and there swaying to the rhythm of some jazz remix. Lucifer takes her hand, placing his other lightly at the small of her back, letting his fingers brush the hem of her jacket. Then he leads her through steps he’s been through a million times with a million different people.

It’s clear early on she isn’t much of a dancer. She stumbles slightly, blushes, and mutters apologies for stepping on his shoes. But he only grins, his movements slow and unhurried. Teaching without instructing. The music wraps around them, and with each note, she seems to relax.

“Eyes on me, Detective,” he murmurs when she only watches her feet.

His own gaze doesn’t stray from her once. Not towards the bar, or the balcony, or to any of the dozens of people watching him. Wanting him. There are several on her, as well. Then on both of them, as if they’ve just stolen the spotlight. Neither of them notices. He doesn’t tease, flirt, or smirk, simply enjoying the moment for what it is. For the first time all evening, he doesn’t feel the demand of hosting. He doesn’t need to make another deal or smile charmingly at someone he isn’t interested in.

She smiles up at him, and his heart does that funny flip. He leans closer, still keeping a respectful distance between them. Normally, for him, dancing is merely foreplay. This feels like something else entirely; something he doesn’t have a name for, despite speaking every language known to humankind. And several that aren’t.

Halfway through the song, Chloe takes a breath to speak. He tilts his head slightly to hear her better. “This isn’t what I expected,” she says again, her eyebrows furrowed like she’s still puzzling over him.

His lips pull up into that half-smile that feels more full of wonder than anything. “Yes, well...neither were you, Detective.”

He didn’t expect any of this. He never expected her. Not when he first sat down at her table a decade ago in a dark bar and coaxed her into talking to him about her parental troubles. Not when he walked into a Los Angeles coffee shop and saw her at another table with her academy books spread out around her. Certainly not when she burst into the sex party and he was arrested wearing only a silk robe, or when he wandered a beach after a fight with his brother only to find her sitting in the sand, or any of the other times they’ve crossed paths.

Chloe said she isn’t sure what this is between them—or what it isn’t. Neither is he, but for once, he isn’t in a hurry to find out. Whatever it is, it’s something he’s never experienced before, and he doesn’t want to let it go.

Doesn’t want to let her go.

Which, of course, is when the real world interrupts.

Lucifer feels when her phone buzzes in her back pocket. She pauses, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, then glances at it. Her lips tighten.

“Duty calls?” he murmurs, already knowing the answer.

Chloe nods with a sigh. “Yeah. They’re calling me in for my shift early. It’s probably a drug bust. Or parking enforcement duty—again.” She gives him a tight smile.

Lucifer steps back, letting his arms drop...and pretending he doesn’t feel bereft without her in his arms. He walks her through the crowd, up the stairs, all the way to the front entrance while the party surges behind him. But he doesn’t hear the laughter or the music or footsteps across marble.

He also doesn’t ask her to stay, or say that he wants her to. But he’s sure his eyes do the talking for him.

Chloe lingers, one foot still inside as if she doesn’t want to leave either. “Well,” she says, “congratulations, Lucifer. This really is amazing. Lux is beautiful.”

The words fall from his lips without permission. “As are you, Detective,” he murmurs, leaning towards her as if his entire center of gravity has shifted to now revolve around her.

Hell, maybe it has. It would certainly explain quite a few things.

For a long moment, neither of them moves. Her lips part as if she wants to say something else, but she only smiles, nods, and then steps out into the night. The door swings shut behind her, and while he should return to the party, Lucifer lingers for far too long, staring at the place where she’d been a moment ago.

As if he’s hoping the night might give her back to him.

Notes:

On the upside, I finished the story and updated the tags. On the downside, this story will be going for a while. But I like the way it turned out, and hopefully you will too. ❤️

Chapter 11: Tuxedo-Wearing Jackass

Summary:

In the aftermath of the party, Chloe can't seem to focus. Well, that isn't entirely true; there's one thing she focuses on perfectly. What she doesn't know is that her life is about to change yet again.

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.

Notes:

And there we have it. Officially Detective Chloe Decker. And the Devil didn't even have to help. 😈🕵️🏼‍♀️

Notes:

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