Chapter Text
All through childhood, Chloe Decker had always been nervous about being called to the principal’s office. More often than not, on those rare instances her name would squeak and crackle from the classroom’s announcement system, the reason was as momentous as a forgotten lunch or school project. Yet even so, each instance had caused her stomach to lurch like she was about to be sick as she stood on shaky legs and made her way down the winding halls of her elementary school.
Twenty-odd years later, and the feeling hadn’t abated one bit. Except rather than being called to the main office, it was the Lieutenant's office. And rather than meeting her dad, in full uniform and sheepishly grinning as he gave her the forgotten lunch, it was higher ups wanting to ask yet more questions. Questions about Marcus Pierce. Questions about her abrupt month-long vacation in the midst of an investigation. Questions about why her civilian consultant hadn’t been so much as sighted within a half mile of the precinct for three weeks now...
So when Captain Colby, the acting Lieutenant until the mess with Pierce was cleared up, sent a discreet email to her asking she meet him in his office, a full body shudder ran through Chloe, her stomach dropping as her mouth went dry.
Closing her latest case file, she took a moment to straighten out her desk before rising and walking across the bullpen with as much casual confidence as she could muster. She’d thought these meetings were long over. Pierce had been dead three long months now. What was the point in continuing to belabor what had transpired that day?
At the Captain’s door, she hesitated, one hand awkwardly raised to knock as she decided on how to present herself. Open and curious as to the nature of the meeting? Business-like and no nonsense? On the offensive? Defensive? Somewhere in between?
She settled for rapping lightly on the glass, the action causing an avalanche of poisonous memories to creep coldly down her spine. How many times had she knocked just the same when this had been Pierce’s office and they had been… together?
“Come in,” a strong but not unkind voice called, and she slowly opened the door.
“Captain,” she greeted, standing stiffly just over the threshold. This office… it had long lost its welcoming luster. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on the wiry man sitting behind the oak desk, refusing to allow her gaze to drift to the clouded memories gathering in the corners of her sight, cajoling her to focus on the objects that had been left behind in the wake of Pierce’s death. For a month, she’d run, blindly, hurt, and terrified. No more.
“Thank you for coming so quickly. I know you’re busy.” There was a strangely genuine quality to Captain Colby, one Chloe had rarely encountered in the higher ups. He lacked the jadedness of Commanders, the falseness of Chiefs. How he had managed to get as far as he’d gotten in the ranks, she didn’t know. The LAPD should have eaten up his easy going attitude and gentle demeanor and spat him back out a broken man.
“Of course,” she said awkwardly, not bothering to remind him that, technically, it was part of her job to drop everything whenever he asked it of her. He was the ranking officer, after all.
Colby nodded, hands folded neatly atop the desk. “I saw you closed the Richmond case earlier today. That was some fine work.” His thin lips curled up into a smile. “Well done.”
“Thank you, sir.” What was it he wanted? No one invited Detective’s in to their office to congratulate them on nailing an easy suspect unless there was an ulterior motive. The only question was, what was his?
As if hearing the unasked question, his smile returned to something more business-like. “I’ve had an assignment sitting on my desk for most of the day,” he said conversationally. “It’s an important case, high profile, full of easily recognizable names, you know the drill. Celebrities may be a dime a dozen here but that doesn’t lessen the impact of one of them turning up dead.”
In spite of herself, Chloe leaned forwards a few inches, now interested. She hadn’t heard of any famous deaths today. Meaning someone was taking great pains to keep the incident out of the papers. For now. These things always had a way of slipping out, serpentine as eels, no matter the strength of the mesh net cast around the investigation.
Colby’s lips twitched at her shift her manner. “I thought that may interest you. Look, Detective Decker,” - he was one of the very few who used full titles when addressing subordinates - “you’re a fine Detective. Maybe one of the best currently in this Precinct. I know you had a major issue a few months back and the fact of the matter is, I don’t care. In the three weeks I’ve been here, you have accomplished all tasks assigned to you with perfect professional conduct.”
Chloe blinked, taken aback. “Oh. Thank you, sir.”
He waved aside her words. “Don’t thank me for speaking the truth. You’re a real asset to this department. You and your civilian consultant.”
And just like that, the warm bubble of pride growing around her popped, the dredges soaking into her shoes, her feet leaden.
Colby didn’t notice. “I’ve looked through your records, specifically the time you’ve worked with this Lucifer Morningstar. And while your methods can be… unique, I cannot fault the results.” He tapped a file on his desk, drawing her attention to it for the first time. “I want to assign this case to you. You and your partner, that is. I think the two of you are ideally matched with the case.”
“Sir, tha-” she cut herself off. Colby wasn’t one who appreciated being buttered up, even if it happened to be genuine. He asked for no thanks, expected no appreciation. He simply did his job. “That is kind of you to say, but as I’m sure you’re aware, Lucifer hasn’t worked with me for several weeks now.”
Not since I told him I couldn’t accept him, she silently added, wincing at the jagged shoot of pain which ran through her chest as she remembered his expression, eyes bright with unshed tears and so much hurt, his lips trembling as his walls had buckled. And beneath that, loneliness too.
Bleak, stark loneliness.
Colby drummed his fingers against the desk softly. “That’s true. But as we have never received a formal letter of resignation, I assumed his presence was simply unnecessary for your last few cases.”
Oh, if only that had been the case. Life would have been so much simpler than.
“Lucifer is going through… a rough time,” she settled on saying, wondering if it were true. For three weeks - technically twenty-four days but she definitely wasn’t counting - he hadn’t so much as texted her an emoji, nevermind called her. More than once, the urge had nearly overcome her to contact him instead. But something had always held her back.
So, she’d given him space and waited for him to come back to her, to set the tone of their relationship and interactions. But he’d been radio silent since that night in the penthouse. Since learning of her involvement with Father Kinley and what fate had nearly befallen him. Since he’d demanded she accept all of him. The good. The bad. The broken and damaged.
She was always going to regret her answer. Because there is nothing quite like absence to make the heart grow fonder. She missed him. With every breath, every heartbeat. And his Devil face, that tortured aspect of him, she was quickly realizing it wasn’t quite the deal breaker she’d thought it was.
But he never called, never texted, and her chance to tell him she wanted to talk and maybe try again had wilted like a flower left out on the highway to be bleached by the scorning noon sun.
Colby inclined his head. “My sympathies,” he simply said. He didn’t demand an explanation or press for details. “And normally, I would just assign you another partner for this case. But the fact of the matter is, I need two individuals who know one another well enough to pull off what is likely to be a rather intense undercover mission.”
“Undercover?” she echoed.
He nodded. “Yes. We have a young couple, both the children of public figures, murdered in their home along a stretch of mostly private coastline.” His gaze took on a hard edge. “Naturally, most of their neighbors have similar social standings. Which means lawyers. We haven’t managed to interview a single member of the community before they clammed up and demanded their lawyer be present. It’s becoming a nightmare. The Deputy Chief wants us to play along and be nice.” He scowled, slender features abruptly becoming wolfish. “I disagree. We have a very narrow window of opportunity and we’re taking it.”
Chloe’s arms crept from where they’d hung by her side to lock behind her back, fingers locking around her wrist. “I take it the manner of death was brutal?”
“Detective,” Colby’s steel grey eyes were unwavering, “they killed a baby.”
She flinched hard, grip tightening on her wrist. Murder was always horrific, even the most senior Detectives unable to completely cut themselves off from the emotions that always came with seeing a corpse and knowing an entire life had been stolen away. A past tainted, a future left to dreams. But children? That was a different matter entirely.
Her hands were shaking, but she couldn’t decide if it was from horror or anger. Maybe both.
“I would usually never send a consultant into such a situation,” Colby continued. “But Morningstar successfully worked an undercover case not six months ago. And you, Detective, I trust you to get results. I want whoever did this to be punished by the full extent of our laws, and your solve rate ranks amongst the highest of the nation, nevermind the city.”
“I understand, Captain,” she said, not even considering refusing the case. “But… I am not sure Lucifer will agree to work with me on this.”
“If he refuses, we’ll think of something. This is a case where I want those undercover to have a strong bond because investigating the murder of a baby, knowing each neighbor you pretend to interact with could have been the one to carry out such a heinous act…” He leaned back in his chair, looking unexpectedly tired. “I care about those I send into these situations. And while I cannot be there personally to ensure the safety of the detectives and officers I command into dangerous situations, I can at least make damned sure that you will have someone on your side through the entire investigation.”
A rush of respect swept through Chloe, cooling some of her rage. And though she knew he hated it, she couldn’t help but say, “Captain, thank you.”
“Think nothing of it. This is how it’s meant to be.”
Chloe’s mind ran asunder, one half already beginning to think about the case and her approach while the other braked hard. “Maybe it would be better if I paired up with Detective Espinoza?” she offered.
He shook his head firmly. “That, I cannot do. I don’t send family members or spouses into situations together. Bad things happen on cases and no family should lose one member, let alone two.” He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. “Speak to Morningstar at your earliest convenience and see what he has to say. Until then, you’re dismissed, Detective.”
“Captain,” she said, exiting the office.
The bullpen was it’s usual level of disorderly, two dozen investigations being carried out simultaneously. But none of it registered with her as she returned to her desk.
An undercover case with Lucifer. Lucifer who hadn’t even pretended he wasn’t avoiding her. Lucifer who she had nearly betrayed.
Lucifer who, if he was here and had heard about the case, would have been pacing around her desk impatiently, demanding they punish the guilty party.
As she opened her currenct case file, she wondered. What would be the harm in asking? Maybe this was what they needed to get back on track. Their last conversation… it hadn’t been right. If they worked a case together, one which put them in close proximity for a sustained period of time, then they could heal some of the hurts that lay them now.
She needed him to know, even though she was still scared, that she wasn’t giving up on him. They could work through this, just like they’d worked through every other catastrophe thrown at them in the past three years. It was terrifying, yes. But if anyone was worth it, it was him.
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Her resolve didn’t waver until she pulled up outside Lux six hours later. She knew something was immediately up when the guard for the parking garage refused to let her in, forcing her to park down the road. Then the bouncer had made her wait in line. She’d never before realized what unrestricted access Lucifer had given her to his life. She had always been allowed to go anywhere she pleased, his possessions hers if she desired them.
Having that taken away stung deeper than she’d expected. Because of course he was no longer allowing the woman who had nearly exorcised him to wander around his home. But even though it made perfect sense, he’d never shut her out before. Not like this. He’d run. He’d avoided. But never before had he been so far from her.
When she was finally granted access to Lux - after paying their exorbitant door fee - she found the club to be wilder than usual. There was a sense of uncontrolled danger it had never carried before, the lights sharper, the music deeper. And the milling crowd was all electricity, a summer storm threatening to break at any moment. She fought through the crowd, looking down below to the dance floor to see if she could find Lucifer. But it was nearly impossible to see, shadows swinging wildly and spots dancing in her vision from the strobe lights.
Descending the stairs, she went up to the crowded bar, trying to get through the tightly packed group without too much jostling. It made more sense to just wait her turn, but concern was making her edgy. She had seen Lux wild before, and always, Lucifer was at the center of that hurricane, a steady pillar to keep the room grounded with his own special brand of controlled chaos. That was long gone now.
It took her nearly twenty minutes to reach the front of the crowd ordering drinks. For the first time she could recall, the bartenders of Lux looked frazzled. Their suave grace, a compliment to Lucifer’s own, was gone as they functioned rapidly, trying to appease as many customers as possible. The banter and conversation was lost beneath the music, which was far louder than usual.
Chloe shuffled in place, wondering whether she ought to try and grab one of the bartender’s attention when they were so clearly overwhelmed. Before she could decide, she caught the eye of Patrick, her favorite member of Lux’s staff. Unlike the guard or bouncer, he gave her a small smile, eyes flickering upwards in an all to clear gesture.
Lucifer was upstairs.
She mouthed a thank you, before turning and fighting her way back out of the hot throng, bodies pressing against her impatiently. It was difficult resisting the urge to push back, claustrophobia pressing in on her before she bursted free and strode towards the stairs, taking a few deep breaths.
The area around the elevator was mostly empty except for a couple necking enthusiastically in the scant cover. She ignored them resolutely as she pressed the button to call down the elevator, the music thankfully mostly hiding the noises of the grinding couple. When the sleek doors before her slid open, she all but rushed inside, not relaxing until they closed again and the elevator was in motion.
With all her revoked privileges, Chloe had half expected to find the elevator passcode protected, as she had already told Lucifer to do a dozen times now. But the carriage was the same as always, taking her up to the penthouse level without fuss.
And then, the doors opened.
She froze, one foot extended to step forwards. What was she doing?
Lucifer had, for good reason, been avoiding her, and her course of action was to unexpectedly show up at his home? Why hadn’t she called or texted him?
But she already knew the answer. He could leave her texts on read, let her calls go to voicemail, and delete her emails. There was too great a chance he would never hear what she had to say. And maybe it was selfish, wanting a second go at this when it had been her who hurt him the first time, but she thought she deserved a bit of leniency considering everything that had happened.
The elevator doors automatically began to close, jolting her to action. She rushed forwards, stepping into the penthouse, and looking around. Her chest ached at its familiar-ness, everything looking almost exactly as it had the last time she’d been here. Though, with a few decided differences. And as she catalogued each one, her heart sank just a bit more.
There were take out containers on the bar, not necessarily alarming on their own aside from the sheer magnitude. It appeared that every meal Lucifer had eaten in the past three weeks had been delivered here to his sanctuary. As she stepped forwards, she realized most were nearly full, the opened lids revealing barely picked at food. A few containers were in advanced stages of decomposition, the food within barely identifiable given the thick carpet of mold growing atop it.
The back wall of the bar was empty - not so much as a lone beer bottle gracing the shelves. As for the bottles themselves, she didn’t see them. That was strange. Why would Lucifer clean up the bottles and not the food? Unless someone else had been bringing him meals and that was why he hadn’t cleaned them up. But that was besides the point. In three weeks, he’d drunk what appeared to be his entire stock. He may only be vulnerable around her - and that was yet another point that desperately needed more discussion - but surely such a hefty intake couldn’t be healthy.
The rest of the room was strangely spotless. No, not spotless. It was worse. Spotless implied clean, but this lack of even crooked pillows spoke of a strange sort of neglect. The couch hadn’t been sat on for quite some time. The television remote was left beside the flat screen, untouched. There were no miscellaneous items left out, no sign of inhabitation.
“Lucifer?” she called softly, tongue thick in her mouth.
Patrick had gestured he was up here, but what if Lucifer wasn’t? What if he’d taken off again? Even now, he could be driving off to some new city, leaving without a word.
“Lucifer!” she called again, her sharp tone echoing.
There was no response.
Beating back the panic rising in her chest, she gave the main room one last glance, confirming he wasn’t hiding behind the curtains or something. Only when she was certain he wasn’t there did she move to the next likeliest target - his bedroom. Even though it was only eight in the evening, he could have laid down for a nap or something. There wasn’t yet reason to assume he’d vanished.
She climbed the steps to his room tentatively, struck by the intense gloom. Only then did she realize another facet of the penthouse was amiss. Most of the lights were off.
Grasping onto the ornate wall for support, she blinked rapidly, waiting for her vision to adjust. When it did, she sagged in relief. Because the lump in the middle of his enormous bed was a familiar one.
Creeping closer, she looked down at her partner. Her friend.
Lucifer was dressed only in silken pajama bottoms, loosely curled up on his side in the fetal position atop his blankets. It was difficult to make out in the darkness but his hair seemed in wild disarray, his pants badly wrinkled like he had been wearing them for several days.
All of these details were almost endearing. But then the image of him sleeping peacefully was shattered, as Chloe’s eyes adjusted enough to make out the object beside his lax hand.
A bottle.
And any pretenses this was a simple nap were shattered. She had known Lucifer to drink in a thousand ill timed situations, but drinking in bed? Never. There was something desperate about it.
As she moved around the bed to see his face, her foot kicked something which rattled against the tiles. She stooped and searched the floor with her hand. She found another bottle. And another. And another…
Well, now she knew why the bar had been empty.
“Lucifer?” she whispered, straightening.
Why would he have been doing this? Drinking in bed until he either fell asleep or passed out - she was leaning towards the latter given how unaware he was of his surroundings, not that she was entirely sure he could manage to get properly wasted - was a terrible sign.
These past few weeks, she’d imagined him doing all sorts of destructive things. Sex, parties, drugs. But hiding alone in the penthouse with only alcohol for company? That wasn’t his way. Except when things were catastrophically bad, like during that period where he’d tried to get himself shot by that sniper. That was the closest she’d ever seen him to hungover and it had been unnerving to witness.
But this blew that out of the water. Because at least then he’d been trying. And this? Well, this spoke of giving up. Food uneaten, home largely abandoned, the bed the only bit of furniture that showed any sign of use.
“Lucifer?” She tried one last time.
But he continued to sleep, side raising gently with each breath.
This was so wrong. He should have been downstairs drinking shots when she arrived. Or up here hosting a more intimate party. Or even out in the jacuzzi, miserable but at least going through the motions.
Absently, she plucked the bottle off the bed and set it on the floor amongst the others. She ignored the empty clink as it hit the tiles, how all the bottles sounded empty.
And that was how she noticed the second object lying by him, completely invisible in the dark and easily missed aside for how her hand brushed it as she removed the bottle.
His phone.
This too she picked up, picking her way carefully to his bedside table, where she knew he kept his charger. The cord was easy enough to spot, dimly illuminated by his small digital alarm clock. It took three tries to plug it in properly and then the screen lit up, indicating the charging process had commenced.
The burst of light was as gentle as needles to her eyes and she squinted, hurriedly turning the device screen down. But not before catching a glimpse of the lock screen.
Hesitating, she hit the power button, and the screen again lit up to reveal a photo of her and Lucifer that she had never before seen.
Lucifer was the evident photographer, leaning over into sight of the camera and smiling cheekily. Behind him, was her, working at her computer and completely oblivious. She was the center of the photo.
Her eyes stung again, but for an entirely different reason, and she hastily turned the screen off. Turning back to Lucifer, she bit her lip and studied him for a long moment. The last time the two of them had been here, he’d been giving her the bullet necklace.
Her hand leapt to her throat at the thought and she was dismayed to find the necklace not there. When had she taken it off? After returning from Rome? After seeing his face? After accepting Pierce’s proposal?
Helplessness caved in on her. Because it wasn’t one hurt between them, was it? They’d betrayed one another in a hundred little ways, poked and prodded and ripped and torn until finally what lay between them was all but broken. She’d abandoned him when he had come to work, sick from not sleeping for a week and utterly wrecked. He’d run off to Vegas without a word after she’d nearly died and had awoken wanting only him to tell her everything was going to be okay. She’d denied who he was while he always knew too much about her, hiding things like how she made him vulnerable. He was the Devil and she was the one who had nearly betrayed him, sent him back to be a warden against his will.
How could they ever overcome all that? How could anyone?
Withdrawing from the bed, she stepped carefully around the bottles and went to his closet. It took a bit of searching for her to find a blanket, which she brought into the bedroom. Flicking it open, she covered Lucifer’s sleeping form, tucking him in carefully for fear of rousing him.
Her sight had strengthened and now she could make out more. Make out the way his curly hair flopped listlessly with grease. Make out the dark bags beneath his eyes. Make out how, even in sleep, he was frowning, brow pinched like he was in pain.
They’d wrecked one another, it was true. But even so, as she looked upon him, all she felt a need was to fix all that was wrong in his world. To drive away whatever had him hiding in bottles. Whatever furrowed his brow. Whatever had him so unhappy.
Reaching out tentatively, she traced his brow with the pad of her thumb. His skin was warm beneath her hand, and slightly tacky with sweat. He didn’t move as her thumb continued, following his brow to his cheekbones, his chin.
Everything about his face was all too human. The freckles. The scruff. The little divots caused by his bone structure. She wanted to accept the other one too. The angry, red one that, with hindsight, had looked like it very much hurt. But she didn’t know how. And maybe that was the whole problem. Because he deserved someone who didn’t have to learn to accept him but simply did. No questions. No hesitance.
But she had a lurking suspicion that even if a hundred people accepted him, it would be her denial that always burned worse.
Withdrawing her hand, she went to the main room and scrawled out a small note in the superior lighting. She leaned it against his phone, uncertain where else he might see it, before leaving the bedroom.
Reaching the stairs, she took a deep, shaky breath, wondering how they’d gotten here.
“Lucifer,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t answer. She didn’t mind. And as she drove home afterwards, window down so the wind played with her hair in a poor imitation of how it did when she rode in a different car - in a sleek black convertible while the man beside her chuckled - she cried.