Chapter 7/7
And you take my hands and fill them with your brilliant light

The door creaks as it falls open to reveal her apartment's dim interior. Outside, the sun dips below the horizon. The day's last lights burn out in shades of orange and purple. Her apartment is as quiet as death, growing ever darker as night takes hold. She's been away for less than 48 hours. But without Trixie and Lucifer around, the space may as well belong to a stranger.

As reluctant as she is to leave Lucifer, she can't spend another night. If he has his way, they'd hardly sleep. She needs to do laundry. She needs to pick up around the house before Trixie comes home. Chloe still has work come Monday, and she can't roll into the precinct looking like she'd been fucked six ways to Sunday.

She kicks her shoes off, leaving them in a haphazard pile near the door she shuts with a faint snick. She reaches for the light switch and flicks it on. Squinting against the sudden brightness, she tosses her car and house keys in the tray's direction. The clang of metal and ceramic confirm she's hit her mark.

"You're home." Maze emerges from the kitchen swirling a can of her favorite green tea coconut water like a glass of fine wine.

Chloe jumps, groping for the sidearm she's not carrying. "Maze! You scared me!" she scolds. "What are you doing here?"

"I dropped by to see you and Trixie. Thought you might want more help with your insane arts and craft project, which I noticed wasn't in your room. Did you finally get rid of it?"

"Trixie is at Dan's. She'll be home tomorrow." She deliberately sidesteps Maze's question.

Maze narrows her eyes. "You're acting funny."

Chloe draws her arms up and hugs herself. If she had expected company, she would have showered at Lucifer's. She fixed her hair and clothes as best as she could before she left. Chloe's wearing day-old clothing, and she probably reeks of sex. Maze's gaze sweeps up and down her body, sharp enough to slice apart the fabric and reveal the love bites tattooed into her skin. In an unexpected show of consideration, Lucifer left no marks above her neckline. But that won't fool Maze, who is every bit a sexual creature too.

"You fucked him." Her eyes fall as flat and dead as her tone, absent of the usual glee she uses to rib Chloe about her (lack of) love life.

Chloe squirms. Yes, she slept with Lucifer, but to hear it put in such crass terms... They were both looking for more than an orgasm or three. They wanted to connect with each other.

Maze's limbs swing jerkily as she tears away from the breakfast bar. She slams her drink on the countertop, dropping the crushed can on its side. The beverage spills out and drips over the edge. "Congrats, Decker. Hope you two are happy together," she spits venomously.

The demon shoves past Chloe, nearly throwing her into the adjacent wall.

"Maze, wait, don't leave," she calls. When she reaches for her friend, her fingers grasp only thin air when Maze twists out of reach in a lightning-fast move.

"Why not?" she snarls. "You don't need me now that you have him. He must be over the fucking moon."

The image of Lucifer right before the elevator doors closed springs to mind. He had been unfalteringly gracious about her departure. No whining or pouting. She wouldn't be surprised if a part of him expected to never see her again. Hell and its associated trauma left scars she can't begin to comprehend. It left him unable to accept the good because that must never have lasted long. Watching Maze growl and stalk about like a hunted animal suggests that Lucifer is not alone in that regard. In some ways, Maze has always been more forthright about it by seeking to return to the only norm she's ever known.

"Maze," she says soothingly. "I want you here. Because you're my friend and hopefully my roommate again soon. Trixie adores you for good reason."

Maze throws her a suspicious look, but the severe lines of her shoulders round in response. "You really want me here? Even knowing what I really am?"

Chloe nods eagerly. They might have met through Lucifer, but they didn't become friends because of him. "We're Tribe, remember? And honestly? A lot more things about you make sense knowing you're a demon. It explains why you're so bad at housework."

"No water in Hell to do dishes," Maze supplies helpfully. "Ash's all over the place. No point in trying to keep anything clean."

She squints at Maze, trying to determine how much she's joking versus telling the truth. It's always harder to figure out with Maze compared to Lucifer. For the sake of her tired brain, Chloe files her questions away for another day. "Right, the past few months have been rough for all of us. It may take a while, but I'd like to repair our friendship if possible."

Maze studies her in return, scouring for any hints of deception or weakness. Chloe can't deny it's disconcerting. But like Lucifer, she has no reason to fear Maze for what she is. Then Maze blinks for the first time in a minute, shattering the tension.

"Hos before bros?" she asks in confirmation.

Chloe laughs. "Sure."

Maze offers a fist which Chloe bumps dutifully.

"Look, Decker, I don't care who you sleep with." Maze shifts her weight from one foot to another. "I won't deny he's a good lay. I just don't want to talk about him right now."

"Gotcha, you're still mad at him. Can't blame you for that. God knows he's infuriating even at the best of times."

Chloe won't interfere. This is something Maze and Lucifer will have to work out between them. She hopes neither will try to put her in the middle. Hope is a kindling, and there's more than a snowball's chance in Hell of them reconciling. She can give Maze the support she needs until then.

Maze folds her arms across her chest. "So what now?"

"First, I'm gonna shower," she muttered, fighting the blush rising in her cheeks. But at least Maze flashes a dirty smile in return. "But why don't we hang out afterward? Watch a movie and get some takeout for old time's sake?"

"Cannibal Holocaust. Mexican," demands Maze. Her eyes and expression gleam like Trixie anticipating chocolate cake.

The latter request is doable in Chloe's book. But the first... Her stomach churns at the memory of the last time Maze tried to show her that particular movie. She bites her lips and considers agreeing anyway. Cannibal Holocaust is Maze's self-professed favorite. Chloe is a seasoned homicide detective. She can stomach a little fictional gore. Maybe Maze won't mind if she brings the iPad to the couch for some well-timed distractions.

Maze rolls her eyes so hard it's a shock they don't fall out of their sockets. "Fine, you wimp. From Dusk Til Dawn then. You like young George Clooney."

Chloe gives a relieved smile. "Great. You mind calling in the order to Junior's and picking it up while I get cleaned up?"

"Sure, you want your usual mole?" Maze digs her phone out of her tight leather pants.

Chloe nods and heads toward the stairs.

"I'll pick up some tequila while I'm out!" Maze shouts after her.

"I'm not drinking, Maze. I have work in the morning."

"Pshh, who says it's for you, Decker?"

Chloe laughs as she jogs upstairs to the bathroom. She can't wait to shower and to have a girl's night in with Maze, who is a comfy body pillow when the occasion arises.

-x-x-x-

It's past midnight by the time Maze slinks out the door, just as surefooted as she had been before finishing two bottles of tequila by herself. Chloe never got around to doing laundry, but her night was well spent. She does a quick sweep through the living room, collecting the empty tequila bottles and depositing it in the recycling. She stows the remaining leftovers in the fridge next to the Chinese from Friday.

Slowly, she turns off the lights on the first floor and heads to her bedroom. Her closet doors remain open from yesterday morning, clothes shoved to one end so she could wrestle the corkboard out of its former hiding place. She takes several moments to rearrange her closet, smoothing out the wrinkles in her clothes before shutting the doors.

She won't miss the board. It's served its purpose.

Her body operates on autopilot, taking her through the routine of preparing for bed. Change into her pajamas. Brush her hair and teeth. Apply some moisturizer to her face, neck, and arms. Turn down the covers and crawl beneath them. Turn off her bedside lamp.

Through the break in her curtains, moonlight paints a silver strip across the right side of her bed. Her bed has never felt more empty. She fumbles for her cellphone she left to charge on her nightstand. By habit, she navigates to her music app and pulls up Lucifer's voicemail.

Chloe freezes. Why settle for a recording when she can have the real thing now? Still, she hesitates before calling him. This time of the night is early for Lucifer. Is he at home in the penthouse? Has he ventured downstairs to LUX? Swallowing the newly formed lump in her throat, she dials his number before she can second-guess herself further.

It rings twice before he picks up.

"Detective?" he greets breathlessly. "What's wrong?"

His voice soothes her psyche's ragged edges. "Nothing's wrong, Lucifer."

"Then why are you calling?" His confusion will never cease to be adorable even when it saddens her.

"I... I just wanted to talk to you." She almost says "I miss you," but she strives not to sound clingy. They last saw each other mere hours ago.

He has no such qualms. "I miss you too, darling."

She didn't know how much she wanted to hear him say that until it happened. "You home?" She can't hear any thumping beat or voices in the background on his end.

"Indeed, it's a quiet night in for me and a 21-year-old Macallan."

She falls silent, hating the way her heart races. She licks her parched lips before asking, "Whiskey?"

"Scotch," he corrects her. The familiar sound of glass clinking crystal rings over the call.

The invisible hand squeezing her heart releases her. She sinks into her pillow and cradles her phone close. "Sounds expensive."

"You didn't complain last night."

She flushes at his teasing tone. Ugh, she can't take drunk Chloe anywhere. "Shut up."

He hums in response. It's a quiet but pleasant sound that curls at the base of her spine. "I thought this is the hour where all good detectives should be in bed."

She wiggles under the covers and pulls her duvet tighter around her neck. "Where do you think I'm calling from?" she retorts.

"Oh, perhaps you're hoping for some phone sex then. I'd gladly accommodate you. Though I'd prefer video chat if that's the case."

His glee is infectious, and she smiles despite shaking her head at the same time. Then remembering he can't see her, she replies, "No way, Jose, I'm still sore from earlier."

"The best cure for your aches and pains is more orgasms," he wheedles.

He pitches his tone low and husky, the very voice of temptation. Damn if she's not rubbing her thighs together for relief. There's no doubt he can talk her into a mind-blowing orgasm with his sinful voice alone. But what she yearns for is the weight of his gaze, the way his fingers tremble when they caress her jaws, and that hitch in his breath when she kisses him back. It's not only the sex, amazing as it is, but his steady presence and his larger-than-life personality she craves.

"I'd prefer we were together." She stares at the dark ceiling overhead, matte and bland unlike the polished one over his bed.

He gulps over the phone. "As would I." His response is plainly heartfelt, mirroring all her longings. She can imagine the soulful and tender expression he wears, the one reserved for the rarest of moments.

They listen to each other breathe for what seems an eternity. The peace and serenity of this shared moment almost lulls Chloe to slumber. Her phone slips from her limp hand and bumps her collarbone, jarring her back to wakefulness. The timer on-screen shows the call has been going for about 15 minutes.

Shit, she dozed off.

"Lucifer, you still there?"

"Course, darling," he replies immediately.

"You didn't have to stay on."

"It's a moot point now that you're awake again."

She sighs. "I should let you get on with your night."

"If you insist." His affected casualness doesn't fool her.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" she asks. Her stomach churns while waiting for his answer.

"Name the time and place. I'll fly right to your side." He pauses for a beat before finishing, "Literally."

She laughs. He's a dork, and she adores him for it. "Good night, Lucifer."

"Sleep well, Chloe."

She sleeps better than she has in weeks, if not months. Come morning, she lingers in bed refreshed and in no hurry to leave her comfy nest. The mood differs from waking next to Lucifer yet relaxing all the same. But work and the rest of the world demands her attention. Her Folger's coffee from her $30 machine tastes like mildly flavored brown water. What she wouldn't give for another taste of Lucifer's French-pressed brew. Cradling her disappointing beverage to her chest, she fumbles with her phone and pulls up her text conversation with Lucifer.

She composes and deletes several messages ranging from the mundane to borderline racy. In the end, she settles for Wanna have dinner with me and Trixie?"

After setting her phone on the counter, she gets dressed. With each layer, she slots herself further and further into her professional demeanor. She gulps and examines her neat appearance in the mirror: a somber gray blazer hanging over a muted blue blouse with her hair pulled into a tight bun. The reflection staring back belongs to Detective Chloe Decker: collected, level-headed, and dedicated.

Except it's only in appearance. Those qualities she usually holds fast to in her work life? They elude her today. Today, she is less Detective and simply Chloe.

With her mind made up, she digs through her nightstand. It takes seconds to locate what she's looking for: her bullet necklace. She'd put it away months ago after Marcus needled her into parting with it. She clenches a fist around the pendant. The metal bites into her palm, a cold sting to contrast to her burning anger.

Breathe in. Breathe out. The anger passes.

She unfurls her fist, choosing to admire her necklace instead. She still can't believe he'd given her such a thoughtful gift. He could have gone for something prettier or more expensive, and she might have turned it down. The repurposed bullet falls between her clavicles. A pop of color and flair to complement her outfit; not unlike his pocket squares. Her reflection brings a smile to her face.

His reply is waiting when she returns downstairs.

It would be my pleasure. 😈

Compared to the weekend that flew by, the workday passes at a snail's pace. She takes lunch with Ella, letting her dominate the conversation with what the forensic scientist did for the weekend. She helps Dan with an active case under the table. He's grateful for the fresh perspective. Several times, Chloe catches herself on the verge of bringing Lucifer up. She can sense Dan's curiosity even as he bites his tongue to keep from asking. Ella would probably be ecstatic to receive any news on Lucifer. But the words shrivel on her tongue. Having taken on a new otherworldly quality, part of her still fears the mere mention of his name might banish him from her mundane world. She'll hoard him to herself for a while longer.

But there's one good thing about working cold cases: no overtime. Banging her head against the wall won't solve these cases any sooner when they're already years old. When the clock strikes five, she waves goodbye to Dan, who is pulling OT, and leaves to pick up Trixie from her karate classes.

"Hi! Mommy!" Trixie screeches as she catapults into the backseat, still clad in her karate gi.

"Hi, monkey, now buckle up."

Through the rearview mirror, she catches her daughter rolling her eyes. God, her baby girl will be a teenager before she knows it. Before leaving the parking lot, she fires another text to Lucifer.

I'm on my way home now. ETA 40 minutes.

His acknowledgment comes in the form of a single devil emoji: 😈

There's no point asking where he is. There's also a more than significant chance he's already broken into her apartment. The thought fills her with equal measures fondness and exasperation.

For most of the drive, Trixie regales her with tales of the weekend, school, and the new kick she learned today. Chloe lets her daughter talk through her excess energy even though Trixie will probably repeat everything to Lucifer later. Speaking of which...

"Lucifer's joining us for dinner tonight," she says during one of the rare moments when Trixie's run out of things to share.

The seat belt stretches as her daughter slides forward in her seat, sticking her head in the space between the two front seats. "Really?"

She risks a glance at her phone mounted on her dashboard. Lucifer has sent no further messages after his emoji. He'll be there. "Yeah, baby."

"I missed him!" Trixie gushes, before sobering. "You're not fighting with each other anymore?"

"We weren't fighting," she protests.

Her daughter shoots her a skeptical look that reminds Chloe far too much of Maze.

"But things have been..." Strained? Complicated? "Different lately. What I mean to say is you should take it easy on Lucifer. Maybe don't ambush him off the bat?"

Trixie nods sagely. "Don't scare him, got it."

Chloe smothers her laughter, covering it up with a cough.

Trixie jettisons out of the car before Chloe has the engine turned off. Bouncing from one foot to the other, Trixie whines, "Hurry up, Mommy!"

Had Chloe not been eager to see her partner too, she might have slow-walked to tease Trixie. Maintaining a brisk pace, she leads them to their apartment door and promptly unlocks it.

Trixie slingshots through the open doorway, screaming, "We're home!"

Lucifer, who was leaning casually against her breakfast bar, startles and almost drops his phone. Straightening, he tugs his sleeves and greets, "Detective. Spawn."

For several beats, they remain at a standstill. No one moves from their spot. Trixie hangs back with poorly disguised glee but mindful of Chloe's earlier warning. The sight of him in her home again and by the early evening's rays illuminating his face blindsides her. And Lucifer... Lucifer stands stiff as a board, growing increasingly tense when no one moves or speaks. His gaze flickers between her and her daughter with an expectant light that quickly dies.

With a sinking heart, Chloe realizes she's miscalculated. She takes Trixie's bookbag before gently nudging her in Lucifer's direction. "Forget what I said before," Chloe whispers. "Go for it."

With a delighted squeal, Trixie sprints across the room and throws herself at Lucifer's right leg. He yelps, stumbling two steps to the side before steadying himself and then Trixie with a hand on the back of her head.

Winding her arms around his leg like a determined barnacle, Trixie beams. "Hi, Lucifer. I missed you! Where did you go?"

"Nowhere, urchin. I was...busy."

Chloe's eyebrows shoot up. She guesses it's not lying if you're super vague to the point of being meaningless. "What? Moping?" she snarks.

"You're not wrong," he huffs, eyes falling to the child plastered against him. He does a half-aborted shake before sighing and settling against the breakfast bar again.

Crossing the room, Chloe deposits Trixie's bag on the couch and slots herself against his free side. She shares a smile with her daughter. He freezes at the initial contact but thaws as she runs a soothing hand up the length of his arm.

"Hey there." Springing up on her tiptoes, she plants a chaste kiss on his finely stubbled cheek.

At their feet, Trixie gasps loudly. Chloe and probably Lucifer are in for an interrogation later.

He slips the arm she'd been caressing around her waist, pulling her flush against him. "Welcome home, Chloe."

She can't help but recall being tucked under his wings. But it's not his wings, something she's only recently learned about, that make her feel safe. It's him with all his hidden depths, including the complicated pain he wields either as a fine blade to cut down wrongdoers or as a truncheon of unrealized kindness that few foresee coming. It's his unexpected humanity. Slowly, the glass wall between her mundane world and the fantastical one he's offered a glimpse into dissolves. Lucifer's here to stay, and he's a Devil of his word.

-Fin-
Part 2 of Faith is half the battle
Continues in Part 3: Our lady of (dis)grace