7 weeks, 5 days, 14 hours, and 23 minutes.

That's how long it took him to lose control.

...

There was nothing different about that night. No one particular thing that would lead to his undoing. Just an ordinary night like any other.

Until it wasn't.

Stakeouts with the Detective had always been tedious at best. Hours spent cramped in a car that was far too small for someone of his stature, forbidden to get out and stretch his legs for fear that they might be spotted.

And yet it was worth it, because it meant he was with her.

The silence, when he was able to stop talking for any length of time, had never been awkward. They were together, they were partners, and they had a shared goal in mind. Apprehend the culprit and bring him or her to justice, that was all that mattered. If that meant spending his evenings waiting for something to happen when it rarely ever did, then so be it.

Oh, but the nights when something did happen. The thrill of the chase, the times he would evade the Detective long enough to show these murderers, these sinners, what was waiting for them in Hell.

Then all too soon it would all be over, and there would just be her, smiling at him in that breathless way she did when they finally captured the person responsible.

It would do things to his chest he couldn't quite understand.

The hunt was different to how it had been before. More… fun. Souls in Hell that had somehow managed to slip through the net, well, they had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide from the Devil who knew the layout of his kingdom like the back of his hand. Sometimes he would close his eyes as he tracked them down, just to make things more interesting. Other times it was a race, his favourite demon able to provide somewhat of a challenge as they vied to see who could be the first to catch their quarry.

She was his favourite no longer. She wasn't his anything. Her betrayal had cut deeper than any and all of her past indiscretions. It was in her nature, par for the course for the creature she was, he accepted that. He was used to it. And he knew, that on some level, he had deserved it. Theirs was a partnership that had lasted millennia, longer than his with the Detective had or ever would. And yet he put his new partner first at every turn, because he didn't have a choice. To him, she was all that mattered.

And so he left Hell's best torturer behind.

Her apologies weren't enough. For the humans, yes, and perhaps for him too, before. Now though, he had no forgiveness left to give. Not for himself, not for her, not for anyone except for the woman sat beside him. He may have deserved punishment, but the Detective didn't. Mazikeen had endangered her life, and in his eyes that was irremissible. There was a line, and she had crossed it.

Just as he had.

He chanced a look at the Detective. She sat, her body strung tight, staring determinedly out of the window. To say the atmosphere between them was tense would be an understatement. There was no banter, no camaraderie, not even her usual admonishments when he misbehaved. And he had tried, oh how he had tried. But nothing was the same now, and she would just look at him with sad eyes before turning away.

There was no need for him to even be here, not really. She didn't want him here, not anymore. It appeared, however, that even her reaction to who he was had not dampened his desire to protect her at any cost. She still didn't know what he'd done that day. Didn't know the agony he'd endured, the hours spent drifting in and out of consciousness as he wrenched bullet after bullet from his wings, the fear that had consumed him at the thought that removing them completely might mean he would lose them forever.

Because as it turned out, he didn't want to. For without them, she would be dead.

No, all she knew was the outcome. He was a murderer, a monster. The truth he had been telling her all along. She would never say it out loud of course, but he could see it in her eyes. The knowledge that she no longer saw him the way she used to had hurt more than any bullet ever could.

On the day he received the call, he was still recovering. His wounds had almost healed, but he remained tormented by his wings, every inch of his skin itching as the feathers re-grew, taking the place of those shattered and torn. It was a torment matched only by the anguish he felt inside.

It hadn't been the Detective's voice on the end of the line. He'd never expected it to be.

"Chloe wanted me to ask you to come back in."

"Oh she did, did she, Daniel? Somehow I highly doubt that. I suspect you won't see me gracing the precinct with my presence for quite some time I'm afraid."

"Look, Lucifer, it's not a problem, okay? You're already in the clear. You don't need to worry."

He'd scoffed at that.

"I'm not worried. The only way a human jail could hold me was if I allowed it, and believe me, there are far more appropriate places for a creature such as myself to be held captive."

His answer was met with a sigh.

"Look, whatever happened that day, with Pierce, between the two of you… Chloe hasn't been the same since. She asked me to ask you, and so I am. I think she needs you, man."

He'd felt it then, that glimmer of hope. She wanted him there. Had she… could she have come to terms with it already? If that was the case, then why hadn't she called? Shouldn't he be speaking to her, not Daniel, right now?

"...C'mon, it's her career at stake here."

Oh. Of course. Work was everything to the Detective. And, he surmised, them not being seen together after what had happened wouldn't look good to the powers that be. She didn't want him there, she needed him there.

Just not in the way he had hoped.

"Very well, Daniel. I shall be there in the morning."

The last thing felt like doing in that moment was to deal with the pain of being around the Detective. He told himself he meant the physical pain.

He didn't.

And so the next day he found himself at the station, acknowledging the new lieutenant with a nod as he entered. The Detective wasn't at her desk, so he'd headed straight for the lab. He was accosted with a hug from Miss Lopez the minute the door closed behind him, which was no real surprise. The punch to the shoulder, however, was.

"Where've you been?! Everyone's been going crazy around here, what with Pierce, and the FBI, not to mention that completely nutso crime scene…"

"My apologies, Miss Lopez." He hadn't known the FBI had gotten involved. "Is… is the Detective okay?"

"Okay? Dude, of course she's not okay! Her ex-fiancé turned out to be the leader of a crime ring. Then he ends up dead. She got shot, and could've died herself. Her story doesn't add up, even to me, and they've been questioning her for days. She's basically been walking around looking shell shocked since the moment we found her standing over Pierce's body."

Pausing for breath, she looked out of the window into the bullpen, and Lucifer did the same. It was only then that he noticed the amount of eyes on him. He was used to that. What he wasn't used to though was the suspicion, the wariness.

"...And then, to top it all off, her partner goes AWOL! What were you thinking?!"

Another punch to the shoulder brought his attention back to the room. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his arm. The forensic scientist hit harder than one would expect for a human of her size.

At least he knew that meant the Detective was nearby.

"I was thinking, Miss Lopez, that Detective Decker might require some space, after what… happened."

After what I did, he'd nearly said.

"Detective Decker? Since when is she "Detective Decker?"

She pulled him closer, and hissed in his ear.

"What the hell happened between you guys?"

He drew back, opening his mouth to speak, but before he could, the door to the lab opened.

"Ella, have you got those-"

Pivoting on the spot, he knew what he would see before he even saw her. The blood drained from the Detective's face as she stood paralysed in the doorway. Much like he had in the loft that day, he slowly backed away from her, dropping his eyes to the floor. He didn't want to see the fear on her face he knew would be there, not again. He couldn't bear it.

"Lucifer."

Her voice was quiet, unsure. He risked a glance up, to find her expression a mix of shock… and relief? It was confusing, until he remembered that she needed him here to help keep up appearances. There was certainly no other circumstance he could think of within which she would be relieved to see him.

"Here as requested, Detective."

He tried to stay as formal as possible. It wouldn't do for her to see the hurt he was hiding, to notice the way his hand twitched as he fought back the urge to hold her, to reassure her that he was still the same man he'd always been.

Except he wasn't.

Not to her.

"Yes." She nodded shakily, looking anywhere in the room but at him. "Yes. That's... that's good."

"So if you'll excuse me…" he said, pausing momentarily before taking one single step towards the door, indicating that he wanted to leave and giving her the chance to move out of his way. Which she did, as far as the space would allow. With one last tip of his head towards Miss Lopez, he marched out of the room.

He made it as far as the vending machine before it hit him. The fierce, piercing ache around his heart was like nothing he'd ever felt before, as though his body were attempting to collapse in on itself. He sank onto the nearby chair, head in his hands as he tried to relearn how to breathe again.

After some time, the pain lessened, and he raised his head to find several officers staring at him through the glass, all of whom quickly started going about their business when they caught him looking.

Back to business. Back to normal. He could do that, even if it meant only having her in his life for a little while longer before she told him she never wanted to see him again.

Standing tall, he selected her favourite treat from the machine and headed to his usual spot beside her desk. She was still inside the lab, the blinds now closed, and he was glad of it, using the opportunity to peruse the case files of whatever "they" were supposed to be working on, placing his small token next to her computer ready for her return.

When she did, the snack went ignored; as did he.

That afternoon set the tone for their work together from that moment on. Namely, silence. He would sit for hours each day while she completed paperwork, all the while remaining so still that he began to wonder if she even knew he was there anymore. At crime scenes he hung back, making a nuisance of himself to everyone but her. Anything to distract him from her indifference.

Stakeouts were the worst though. To be in such close quarters, to have the memories of how things would have been only a month or two before… it was torture, and he would give anything for it to stop. He couldn't bring himself to leave her, but in the same breath, he wished she would send him away.

The days were long, and the nights even longer. Linda had told him to wait, to give her time, but he was growing tired. He spent every day looking for some sign, for anything that would indicate they were moving forward. But there was nothing. Only silence. That unbreakable, unbearable silence. Unless…

"Will they go to Hell?"

Unless she asked him a question.

They were few and far between, those sparks of interest and every time it caught him off guard. He wondered; were they whatever popped into her head at the time? Or did she spend hours agonising over how to bring the subject up, much like he did whenever he decided it was finally time to talk to her about where they stood?

Not that he'd ever had the courage to actually do it.

The answer, he suspected, might have shattered him.

"It's likely, yes."

He turned to look at her, and saw her brow narrow in confusion.

"Only likely?"

She was referring to their latest case. A human trafficking ring; specifically, one that specialised in children. It had hit close to home for her, he knew. It was in the tiredness in her body that spoke of sleepless nights, in the way she hugged her daughter just that little bit tighter when Daniel would bring her into the station.

For his part, he had been more diligent than usual, tracking down every lead he could, using contacts and calling in favours he hadn't dealt with in years. All to no avail, until a tip off led them here, to a warehouse near the docks.

Directing his attention back out of the window, he shrugged.

"It depends on their guilt."

They returned to silence. He could almost hear her mind working through the new information.

"You don't-"

"I have nothing to do with it," he bit out.

It was easy to cut her off, all too easy to know what she was going to say. In the end, she was just like any other human, who thought they knew who the Devil was.

In her case though, he had thought that she actually did.

He sighed, bored already with having to explain himself. To her, to anyone. Even his own siblings misjudged him, why had he thought she would be any better?

"If they feel guilty about the path they chose, they'll go to Hell. No guilt? Off they pop up to Heaven. Even Dad has bugger all to do with how it works now. It's all on you."

"But that's…"

"Unfathomable? Without any kind of sound reason or logic? You're right. But that's how it works. That's how it was designed to work. It might be a flawed system, but it's a system nonetheless."

"And you can't do anything about it?"

She sounded angry now. He almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all; that she could judge him for being a torturer, yet at the same time find it unacceptable that not all who deserved it would received their dues.

"I'm not God, Detective. I wanted no part in any of it, believe me."

And right there, was part of the problem. He wasn't sure if she did believe him anymore. It was beautifully ironic really, that she trusted him more when he was telling the truth, than she did once she knew it actually was true.

"So, how would you…" She paused, but this time he wasn't going to finish her sentence for her. Let her ask. At least this way she was actually talking to him. "...How would you torture them?"

"I wouldn't, most of the time."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, and when he turned towards her, she looked…

Horrified.

Right. Probably should have explained that one further.

"Hell deals with it, or rather, souls deal with it themselves. As it turns out, you humans have self-flagellation down to a fine art."

She looked relieved, and he watched as she closed her eyes, gradually digesting what she'd heard. And as the relief drained from her face, he realised.

"You thought I didn't punish them."

Her eyes snapped open, and panic took over. "No! I mean, I didn't. It's just, you… and kids... it was only for a second and I-"

She halted, then tried again.

"I-"

It seemed she couldn't find the words.

She exhaled slowly, defeated.

"I'm sorry, Lucifer."

His hand was gripping the door handle so tightly that he could feel it start to crack underneath his fingers.

How dare she. How DARE she.

"You think I would allow those who have harmed children to go unpunished?"

He spoke the words through gritted teeth, biting and sharp.

"No, of course not."

There was conviction in her voice now, but as she hesitantly reached her hand over towards him, he snatched his away.

Because there was still doubt there. It was barely detectable, just the tiniest sliver, tainting her belief in him. That shred of uncertainty which felt like a dagger through his heart.

"The lie is appreciated, Detective, but unnecessary. Humanity has held the same opinion of me for all their existence. I can't blame you for believing it."

And with that he opened the door and slid out of the car, taking care to close it as silently behind him as he could, despite the storm raging inside him longing to slam it so hard that the car itself would probably buckle. It wouldn't do to ruin her investigation.

Her investigation. Not theirs.

He was nothing but a tool now, a resource to be used when required.

I need the eggs.

He walked until he could no longer see the car, until he could no longer see her. Leaning back against the nearest wall, he lit a cigarette, the only sign that gave away that there was someone out there in the black. He looked up at the night sky, the stars more visible down here by the water. It was the thing he'd missed most, down in Hell. A reminder of what he'd once been.

Now, they served only to remind him of what he would never be again.

"Lucifer," a voice hissed in the darkness.

She'd followed him. Of course she'd followed him.

"Shouldn't you be watching the warehouse, Detective?"

As she moved closer, she accidentally strayed too far from the cover the shadows provided, and for a moment her face shone in the moonlight. His breath caught at the sight of her. She was so beautiful, it wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair.

"We should be watching the warehouse, Lucifer. Get back in the car."

He chuckled before taking another drag.

"I think not, Detective."

"Why are you doing this?"

She was stood in front of him now, hands on her hips, determination in her eyes as she demanded he spill his secrets. This was the most she'd spoken to him in weeks. Apparently, making her angry was the key all along. Who knew?

"Why am I-" He pushed away from the wall, drawing to his full height and looming over her as he tilted his head to the side. "Pray tell, what is it exactly that I am supposed to have done?"

Her voice was small as she lowered her head to the floor. "You said you'd give me time."

"And have I not?" He wanted to reach out, to tuck his finger under her chin and bring her eyes up to meet his, so she could see the longing there, the suffering.

How much he missed her.

But he daren't.

"It's barely been two months, Lucifer."

Dropping the cigarette to the floor, he ground the life out of it with his foot. "It took the doctor less than two weeks," he said bitterly.

He was being unreasonable, he knew. But he was tired, so tired of waiting. Patience had never been his strong suit, and he couldn't take much more of this.

She closed her eyes and sighed. "You and her… it's not the same as it is between us. You know that."

Laughter burst from him, cruel and acerbic. She flinched at the sound.

"There is no us, Detective, not anymore. You've made that perfectly clear," he spat.

And just like that, he'd finally reached his limit. He couldn't stand to stay here a minute longer. Not with her there, so close and yet so far away.

"Lucifer…"

"Enough."

His voice was a growl, and he felt his eyes flash with fire.

She backed away from him, jolting when she hit a dumpster behind her.

Two months. Two months of hoping she would remember who he was, who he'd been to her… before. But she still feared him. He'd never hurt her,would never hurt her. But she didn't believe that.

She didn't believe in him anymore.

"Goodnight, Detective."

He wondered then, as he strode away into the darkness, if she'd heard it.

He wondered if she'd heard the goodbye.

…

The minute he was out of sight he spread his wings, landing on the roof of the warehouse adjacent to the one they'd been surveilling.

Leaving wasn't actually an option; not yet. Tonight, for one last night, he was still her partner, and he wouldn't abandon her, not completely.

He watched as she returned to her vehicle, ever the diligent officer who refused to leave her post even when it was perfectly clear that nothing was going to happen, not tonight at least. Once inside though, she no longer focused on the warehouse. Even from here, he could see her brace her arms against the steering wheel before she buried her head in her hands, her body shaking with the force of her tears.

His instinct was to go to her, to pull her against him and comfort her as best he could.

But he'd caused that pain. All he did was cause her pain.

It was another reason he needed to leave.

Where he would go, he didn't know. There were plenty of options available to him; he owned property all over the world, although none quite matched up to the home he'd built here in Los Angeles. The home he'd built with her.

Lux would have to go. With it gone, there would be one less excuse to come back. For if he did, he wouldn't be able to resist returning to her, over and over, each time having to face the truth that nothing would be the same between them ever again.

His own personal Hell loop, here on Earth.

He'd had enough of Hell.

It was nearly time for their shift to be over. Already he could hear the rumble of a vehicle approaching, no doubt their replacement for the rest of evening. He breathed a sigh of relief as the car pulled up and Daniel exited. She was safe. There would be no need for him to return to her tonight.

Walking to the edge of the roof, he jumped, unfurling his wings again at the last second before he hit the ground, softening the blow as he sank to one knee, his fist smashing into the concrete. It felt good, the pain, and he relished in it.

Standing, he brushed off his trouser leg before heading for the water. Even the sea air did nothing to clear his head though, not like it usually did. He wandered aimlessly along the docks, the sound of the water lapping the only thing to be heard as the Detective and Daniel faded into the background.

A sudden noise snapped his focus to the warehouse up ahead. Immediately he backed up against the nearest form of cover, at one with the shadows as he rounded the corner. From there he could see a van pulled up to the loading bay, from within which a man emerged, carrying something that struggled in his arms.

A child.

They'd gotten the wrong warehouse.

He thought about the Detective. It would take him less than a second to go back to her. He'd report what he had seen only to then have to wait, his skin crawling with the need to do something while she insisted they wait for backup. Within the hour they would storm the building, putting everyone, including the children, including her, in danger.

And then nothing would change. Not between him and his supposed partner, not in the missing evidence and failed convictions, not in the shortened sentences for good behaviour and the jail terms that weren't long enough in the first place. It was reprehensible, it was unjust, and he was sick of it. He was so sick of all of it.

Slipping back out of sight, he looked back in the direction he'd come from. Quickly, he calculated the distance in his head. It was enough. It was just enough.

She thought him a monster now.

So he would be a monster.

…

The lookouts were easy. So easy in fact, that they brought shame to the name. He attacked from above, the very epitome of an avenging angel. One blow to the throat and they were silenced, one beat of his wings and they were on the roof, where their screams couldn't be heard even if they were able. He left them bound in restraints made of twisted metal, pipes and steel bars that folded like paper under his hands.

Outside of disputes with his brothers, he'd never been a brawler. As far as he was concerned, it was far more useful to be cleverer than your opponent than to be stronger, although he was often that as well. When he fought he was fast, vicious and deadly, like the snake they'd always claimed him to be. In Hell, he always used an opponent's strength against them, barely breaking a sweat as he dispatched demon after demon who coveted his crown.

He'd never needed Mazikeen to survive. She was a symbol; the most accomplished torturer Hell had to offer, kneeling at his feet. The mere sight of it brought other demons in line. On Earth, she had protected him, but mainly from himself. Against another angel, she couldn't hope to compete. It was true that they had fought here on the surface, but in reality he had always held back.

There was no need to him to hold back any longer.

For the guard at the door, he had no mercy. Not for this jailer of the innocent. The man was beaten beyond recognition by the time he had finished, a living consequence of the fire he felt surging through his veins. This one he had not silenced when they landed on the roof, oh no, this time hewanted to hear the screams.

He hadn't realised just how much he missed it.

The rest of his captives looked on in horror at the rasping shell of what was left of their colleague, a vision of the future they thought would soon befall them. But they were wrong. Slowly, he watched that horror turned to pure, unyielding terror as he let his skin burn away, and he delighted in showing them what really lay ahead.

When he left they were screaming without words, drenched in their own piss and sweat, prisoners as trapped in their own minds as much as they were by their bonds. It was of no consequence. The only thing important now was that finally, finally, he felt free. There had always been that voice in the back of his mind before. Her voice.

Lucifer, stop. Don't do this.

But when he'd killed Cain, he'd barely even heard it as he carried out the punishment that bastard deserved. And now, it wasn't there at all. There was no one begging him to stop, no hand on his arm attempting to calm him. She wasn't here, nor would she ever be.

As he entered the building, there was only one thought on his mind.

He was the Devil again, and he was glad of it.

…

Inside the warehouse it was almost as dark as it had been outside; the few lights there were seemingly reserved for those gathered near the front of the building, their voices echoing in the emptiness.

He found the children near the back of the building, surrounded by shipping containers, in a literal cage, of all things. There was no guard this time, but he soon identified at least 4 security cameras covering the area. It would be difficult, nigh on impossible to remove the children without discovery. That however, had never been his intention, and neither was disabling the cameras.

Not yet anyway.

Where would be the fun in that?

Silently he moved across the floor, nothing but a black shadow that had abandoned its brethren. When he reached the cage he softly tapped on the nearest bar, drawing the attention of wide, frightened eyes. He drew his finger to his lips, and his request was met by wordless agreement.

These small humans, they looked at the Devil as if he were their salvation. They gathered closer, moths drawn to a flame that may well provide their freedom. And that's exactly what he was, a flame. A flame that was about to become an inferno.

The crunch of gravel was the only warning he had. There was no time to be gentle, no time to provide comfort when he had none to give.

"Stay down, and close your eyes," he growled, and as the first child obeyed he was already moving, eyes turning to embers as he unfurled his wings, turning to face whomever had discovered them.

The first bullets hit, and he laughed as he advanced unscathed, the man in front of him staggering backwards in shock. What a sight he must have seemed; an angel come to rescue the innocent from the guilty. But their guilt, their sin, was nothing compared to his own, a fact he was all too happy to demonstrate.

Footsteps approached rapidly from the other side of the warehouse; reinforcements drawn in by the noise. Shrugging away his wings, he closed his eyes, and let everything else fall away. His face, his skin, his conscience. When he opened them, his first assailant was already retreating, his gun clattering to the floor as he raised hands in the air, as if his surrender would make any difference.

Voices shouted, nearly on top of them now, and he grinned, white teeth flashing at the thought of what was to come. With three long strides, he caught up to the first that would fall in this place, throwing him through the air as one would a paper aeroplane. The container the man crashed into did little to cushion his fall, but he was still conscious when Lucifer reached him, lying on the floor babbling about repentance and forgiveness.

He would be granted time for neither.

Lifting him by the throat, the Devil smiled at him kindly, the only lie he'd ever been willing to tell. With a flick of his wrist, the sound of bones snapping filled the air. His would-be murderer crumpled to the floor, the owner of a body rendered useless for the rest of his time on Earth.

There was no reprieve. He felt the impact of more useless bullets from behind, leaving his suit jacket in tatters, which would be enough to annoy him on any day. But this wasn't annoyance, this was fury, pure and brilliant. Curling his fingers around the edge of the metal box in front of him, he sent it skidding across the floor, watching as it ground to a halt in front of the cage, the perfect shield for what lay behind it.

A shield that would protect them from everything in this place, including him.

The sound of guns reloading filled his ears as he stripped off what remained of his jacket, folding it neatly and placing it on the ground. He caught sight of his reflection as he rose, the blaze that had once filled just his eyes now engulfing him almost completely. His body jerked as the gunfire started up again, and he shook his head at the foolishness of it all. All this time, and humanity still refused to learn.

So he would teach them.

…

There were no deaths; he was far too skilled for that.

Eons spent perfecting the art of torture in Hell. Millennia of training in his Father's army.

Wound, but never kill. Make them suffer, and let it be without end.

ENOUGH Samael! Do you want to hurt someone?

Yes.

Yes he did.

…

It quickly became a game.

How many bones could he break, how much damage could he inflict without stealing that last breath from their bodies?

They fell around him like dominoes, screaming, crying, trying to crawl away with whatever movement he had deigned to leave them.

No effort was wasted, each blow quick, brutal and precise. It was possible someone may have called in the firefight by now, and he didn't want the police to spoil his fun, not yet.

In days past, he might have wielded a sword, but right here, right now, his body was the blade. He almost wished one of his siblings would appear to stop him, not because he wanted to be stopped, but because he longed for an opponent that would provide any kind of challenge.

It had been far too long since he'd fought this way.

...

With one last sickening crack, it was over.

All with the exception of one.

Leave the best until last, wasn't that what they said?

He'd recognised the leader of the group almost immediately during the fighting, his picture seared into his brain from the hours spent poring over files with the Detective. Deliberately, he'd left him unharmed, a simple blow to the head that rendered him unconscious while he dealt with more pressing matters.

But above the groans and whimpers that surrounded him, he could hear panicked breathing, the sign of a man who had awakened to a nightmare.

Slowly, he approached, crouching down in front of this sinner not fit to be called human. Oh so gently, he drew a finger across his face, smiling as his final prey of the evening recoiled at his touch.

"I'm going to take my time with you."

…

7 weeks, 5 days, 14 hours, and 23 minutes.

That's how long it took him to lose control.

That's how long it took for him to become wrath once more.

He stripped out of his shirt, no longer sure where the blood ended and his scarred skin began. Twisting it within his hands, he wrung it out, watching with disinterest as the rivulets fell to the floor. Once it was done, he tugged the sodden mess back on, along with his ruined jacket. The container in front of the cage he chose to leave where it was. Those within had seen enough savagery to last them a lifetime by his reckoning.

By some undivine miracle, his phone remained intact within his pocket. Pulling it out as he reached the cage doors, he quickly fired off a text. Without even touching it, the lock fell open before him, chains sliding to the floor. The faces that met him inside were frightened, and he couldn't decide whether it was of him, or the situation within which they had found themselves. Perhaps it was both.

Whatever it was, he couldn't bring himself to care.

The bravest amongst them crawled towards him, stopping when she reached his legs. He sat down beside her and she took his hand, curling against his arm as she did so. "Thank you," she said quietly. "Thank you."

Something twisted inside his chest. He wasn't worthy of this, he never had been.

And now, he never would be.

…

Chloe sat, staring out into the black. Dan was talking about something, had been for a while now, but she wasn't listening. Instead, she was thinking about Lucifer. She always seemed to be thinking about Lucifer these days.

She'd hurt him. She'd been hurting him for weeks. Every night she went home and cursed herself for not being able to get past this. And now, she'd gone and made things worse, and she didn't have a clue how to fix it. Or even if she'd get the chance to. It had been clear, the goodbye in his voice as he left. He didn't intend on coming back.

And it wasn't relief that she felt at that, it was devastation. The Devil had made himself so integral to her life that she couldn't imagine it without him. Even during the worst days, when her mind would be racing with questions she would never ask, even during those times filled with a silence she'd created that tore into her soul, she would be glad that he was still there. That he hadn't run away.

Instead, she had driven him away.

"Chlo'?"

Dan's voice broke her out of her thoughts, and she smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry, Dan, it's been a long night, y'know?"

He smiled at her in return. He was one of the few people that got it. Once upon a time, it had been one of the reasons they worked so well together. Now, it was one of the reasons she and Lucifer did.

"Your phone went off."

He handed her the device, and her heart caught in her throat as she saw Lucifer's name upon the screen.

Please don't let it be goodbye. Please don't let it be goodbye.

She swiped it open, and two simple words shone back at her.

"Warehouse 27."

Shit.

They'd gotten the wrong warehouse.

How had they gotten the wrong warehouse?

And now Lucifer was there.

Alone.

She had to help him.

...

Everything happened in quick succession after that.

SWAT were there within minutes. Which was good, because Dan had almost had to physically restrain her from taking off after Lucifer once she'd called it in. The building was soon surrounded, but to the naked eye, it appeared empty. There were no lights, no sound, no activity at all.

It wasn't until they entered that the first calls came through on the radio.

"We need ambulances… lots of ambulances."

She'd never heard a member of SWAT sound so scared.

As soon as the warehouse was cleared, she went inside. She didn't know exactly what she had expected to see, but what she definitely hadn't expected was the sound. There was no shouting, no screaming, just an endless murmur of moans and whispers that rose and fell in volume like the tide.

She purposefully avoided the bodies, for now. So many bodies. They were something to deal with later. Until then, she looked for Lucifer. Nobody had reported seeing him, but she had to make sure. She had to check that he wasn't somewhere in the building… before she checked he wasn't lying dead on the floor.

The Devil had never been as immortal as he claimed to be.

When she finally found the cage, something broke inside her. The doors hung wide open, chains on the ground, but the children remained huddled in the furthest corner, all except one, who sat near the doorway.

"Did you…?" she asked the armed officer stood nearby.

He shook his head. "It was like that when we got here."

Lucifer.

Something tugged at her jacket, and she looked down to find the girl who had been on her own staring up at her.

"Are you the Detective?" she asked, courage shining out of her eyes despite what she'd been through.

Chloe knelt down beside her and nodded.

The little girl gave her a ghost of a smile. "He said you'd come."

"Who did?" Chloe asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"The man," she said quietly, at the same time one of the other children cried out, "The monster! "

Before Chloe could do anything, the child in front of her whirled around, facing the back of the cage where the cry had emerged from. "He's not a monster! He saved us! How can he be a monster?"

There was no reply, only a whimper. When she turned around again, tears had started to coat her cheeks, and she flung herself into Chloe's arms.

"I'm sorry. He told us not to look, but some of us did… and I know he looks scary, but he's not a monster." She pulled away a bit, enough as she could look Chloe in the eyes. "I promise. He's not a monster."

Chloe held her closer, wishing she could do more.

"I know. I know he's not."

…

The warehouse had been carnage. It seemed no one had escaped unscathed, physically or mentally. She could still hear the screams as the men were dragged away, begging for mercy as they about ranted the Devil with his eyes of fire.

It hadn't gone unnoticed, and neither had Lucifer's absence. Chloe's report that she and her partner had discovered the warehouse together had been met with suspicion, despite her ex-husband backing her up. It didn't help that Lucifer was nowhere to be seen, and that the only thing they knew regarding his whereabouts was that he'd stayed with the children, but left when the police arrived.

She watched the head of the organisation being questioned as they loaded him into the ambulance. They would have to take him to the hospital to be sure, but the initial assessment was that every bone in his body appeared to be broken, all except those with which he would need to speak.

To confess, said Lucifer's voice in her head.

"Who did this?" she heard another detective asked, one of those that still watched her partner with cautious eyes whenever he visited the precinct. "Was it a man in a suit?"

The leader opened his mouth, his eyes wild, and Chloe tensed, waiting for the words that would implicate Lucifer. But they never came.

"That… that was no man."

She didn't know whether to feel relieved by that or not.

…

Later that afternoon, Chloe finally made it home. It had taken hours to wrap everything up, especially without being able to officially question anybody yet. Those that were able to answer were still in hospital, and as for the rest… well she doubted they'd ever be able to answer a question again.

The image of Jimmy Barnes came to her, the one that had haunted her for months after her visit to him. But this… this was so much worse. Even Ella, who was more than accustomed to coming across horrific crime scenes, had been sickened by the photographs she had to take that were now lining the walls of the lab.

"I mean… I know they deserved it, but still… who could do this?" she'd asked.

Chloe knew exactly who.

It was then that she'd grabbed her phone, firing off a text to the Devil before she could think on it any further.

"Lucifer, what have you done?"

3 dots appeared as he typed his reply.

She waited for them to disappear like they always did, before reappearing again as he changed his mind on what to say, on how to appease her.

But this time, the response was immediate.

"Remembered who I am."

…

Chloe stood in front of the mirror, hair still wet from her shower, eyes red-lined and hollow from the events of the week. She'd given up trying to sleep, for every time she closed her eyes all she saw was Lucifer. But not the Lucifer from today, no, the Lucifer she'd come to know so well.

The Lucifer she had loved.

He'd changed so much from when they'd first met. The violence… the anger… over time it had dissipated until she had almost forgotten who he'd once been. A lot of that she'd put down to Linda, the good doctor's work having undoubtedly had an impact on him through the years.

Now though, with absolute surety, she knew the truth.

He had changed.

But he'd changed for her.

And she'd rejected him.

Rejected a good man, the best man she'd ever known. Who had always thought himself a monster, but now believed it to be true.

Because when she'd destroyed her faith in him, she'd destroyed his faith in himself.

It was then that she realised.

Earlier, she'd asked a question.

The right question.

But as it turns out, to the wrong person.

And as she pictured Lucifer, alone in that warehouse, punishing himself as much as anyone else, she looked herself in the eye and asked it again.

What had she done?