"Gimme the keys," Chloe ordered. "I'm driving this time."

Lucifer grinned, and passed over the keys with a flourish and a bow. "The wheel is yours, Detective."

Chloe took them with her right hand, just because she could. Her whole right arm was sore and fragile-feeling, but the important thing was that the cast was finally, finally off. She could take her life back, at last, for real.

"Mom?" Trixie asked.

"Yeah, Monkey?"

"Your arm smells really, really bad."

Lucifer's face twitched a little bit, indicating that he'd been trying very hard not to say anything but was about to fail. "She is undeniably correct."

Chloe groaned. "Yeah," she agreed. "Well, let's get to the beach and see if we can fix that."

Trixie had begged for, and been granted, the day off school to be present for the removal of the cast and attendant celebrations. She had also dictated that the celebrations had to include the beach.

"Beach beach beach!" Trixie cheered as she bounded across the hospital parking lot toward the car. Chloe beeped the door locks open so Trixie could scramble inside.

"You do still remember how to drive?" Lucifer asked, his grin provoking. "I'm sure it will come back to you. Just like having sex."

"The typical expression is 'just like riding a bicycle'," Chloe corrected.

"Well, why would you ride a bicycle when you have a car?"

Chloe reached into the pocket of her blazer and pulled out the small box she had there. "Hey, um . . . I wanted to . . . to thank you. For everything. I know it's been a huge time suck, these last six weeks, me needing help with everything, rides and writing and typing and . . . and dishes. . ." She flexed her newly liberated arm. "So I, um, got you something."

Lucifer stared at her, looking genuinely bewildered. "You got me something?" He blinked at the gift box like he'd never seen one before.

"Yeah." As he took it from her, she hurried to explain, "It was Ella's idea. I don't really get it, but she said you'd think it was funny, so . . ."

Lucifer took the lid from the box and gazed down at the pewter lapel pin nestled in the tissue paper. It depicted a fist, closed around a ring that encircled it, with a long spike protruding down from where they joined.

"It's from, um—"

"Game of Thrones," Lucifer finished for her.

"Yeah. Apparently it means 'Hand of the Queen,' and since you've basically been my right hand through this whole mess . . ."

He wasn't laughing. Had Ella steered her wrong? Then she saw his throat work as he swallowed, and the ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.

"Detective, I am . . . honored. I honestly don't know what to say."

"Well, there's a first." Chloe took the pin from the box and stepped close to affix it to the lapel of his sport coat. At this proximity, she could smell the warm, sweet, faintly smoky scent of his skin, and tried to breathe it in without letting him know she was doing so.

"I'll wear it with pride," Lucifer told her, without a trace of facetiousness in his voice. "I always did fancy playing Ser Jorah Mormont to your Khaleesi Daenerys."

Chloe hesitated in her work with the pin. "Is that a Game of Thrones thing, or a Hell thing?"

"Oh, just the show. No worries."

Fastening the pin was a two-handed process, and her right hand was clumsy with atrophy, but she managed it after a bit of struggle. She had both hands back now, and things like this would get easier in a hurry.

Trixie rolled down her window and stuck her head out of the car. "Are you guys coming?"

It was a short, uncluttered drive from the hospital to the beach, traffic being scarce early on a Tuesday afternoon. Chloe was privately grateful; a low-stress drive was just what she needed to get the feel of it back into her body.

"Yeah," she assured herself, after successfully merging onto the freeway. "I've still got this. This is fine."

"Just think of all the things you'll finally be able to do unassisted now," Lucifer mused, smiling in a manner that seemed a trifle forced. "Get back and forth from work, and manage the laundry, and operate a can opener . . ."

"Yeah," Chloe agreed. All those little things she'd needed someone's help with . . . all those convenient little excuses for Lucifer to be hanging around her desk all day and over at the apartment every evening. "Yeah, it'll be great to have some independence back."

How had things been between them before? She'd seen him at work, of course, and the occasional invite for dinner and games at her place or a drop-in for a drink and conversation at his. Was that what they were going back to after this? Was she going to be able to wake up to a text from him every morning, or was that too intimate now? Would he still invite himself along on excursions like this one, or would he retreat to Lux, inside his comfort zone? She was happy to be driving again, but it might mean that tomorrow she was driving by herself, and the prospect didn't thrill her.

"This is the exit," Lucifer instructed, and Chloe snapped herself out of her reverie to follow his directions.

The specific beach had been Lucifer's choice, oddly enough. It was deserted, and a bright breeze sent the escaped strands of Chloe's hair dancing and itching across her face. The roar of the surf made every other sound seem muted and far away, even the shrieks of the gulls and the distant rumble of traffic.

"Why here, specifically?" she asked Lucifer, as Trixie took off across the sand like a bullet.

"Sentimental value. This is where I landed when I came up."

"Really?" Chloe asked, genuinely interested. "Right here?"

"A little closer to the waterline, but yes. Your progeny is going to cross the exact spot any second. No, never mind, she's taking evasive action."

Chloe turned around to look at the city behind her, all multimillion-dollar homes and palm trees. "Well, it's better than LAX."

"Immeasurably. Try flying from Hell to LAX and it's impossible to say whether you've gone anywhere at all."

"Lucifer!" Trixie shouted, trotting up into shouting range. "Can you take me flying here? Please please?"

"My insurance doesn't cover passengers," Lucifer shouted back.

"Hey Monkey," Chloe called. "Guess what else I can do now?"

"What?"

"You have to come close so I can show you."

Trixie jogged up, her whole face shining with excitement and exertion. "Yeah?"

Chloe bent down conspiratorially. She let the anticipatory silence drag out for a long minute, then lashed out and swatted her daughter on the shoulder with a triumphant cry of "You're it!"

She could run.

Without one arm braced and immobile, with her body back in balance, healed, free to move . . . .she could run. The recoil of the sand under her bare feet felt familiar, felt right. This was home . . . the sunshine, the surf, Trixie at her heels. When her daughter's hand slapped against her hip, she skidded to a stop and turned around to give chase across the flat, wet sand at the water's edge.

When the role of It had changed hands between them several times, Chloe jogged to a stop and bent down to turn up the cuffs of her pants. Then she waded into the water and splashed it up the length of her arm, scrubbing away the funk of weeks with the honest, murky tang of the Pacific. Trixie looped around, seeing that the game had changed, and helped the exfoliation with a couple small handfuls of dense wet sand.

When Chloe finally stood up, wet to the elbows and the knees, she saw Lucifer strolling down the beach toward them. He'd discarded his Louboutins and socks, and had his jacket slung over his shoulder in deference to the early summer heat.

Chloe could feel the urge, so intense it was almost instinctual, go flickering along her skin and through her blood. Run, it said. You know him. You know what he is . . . everything that he is. Run, and take your daughter with you.

And she thought about what her life was like with Lucifer in it, with him in her kitchen as he'd been last night, singing along to Nina Simone while he put away the dishes that lived on shelves too high for Trixie to reach. Oh, Sinnerman, where you gonna run to?

Chloe ran.

She pounded up the beach, the sand skidding and slipping under her feet, the wind off the water throwing her hair forward into her face, both arms pumping to keep her rhythm and her balance. She ran to the devil, unafraid, knowing with absolute certainty that he was waiting to catch her.

It was as good that he was, because the sand shifted underneath her as she reached him, and Lucifer had to grab her around the waist to prevent her from falling right past him. Chloe grabbed onto his arms for balance, laughing, and she could hear Trixie shrieking with glee somewhere behind her.

"I should be filming this," Lucifer told her as he made sure she was steady on her feet. "No one's ever going to believe me if I tell them that Detective Chloe Decker was downright giddy. And in public, no le—."

Chloe caught him around the neck, pulled him down to her, and kissed him.

It wasn't hesitant, unsure, as their few careful attempts at kisses had been, back before she'd understood what he was and when he'd feared to take advantage of her ignorance. It was determined and possessive and confident. It declared This creature is mine, and I claim him, and I will keep him.

For a long moment, Lucifer seemed unsure of what to do, as if he'd forgotten how kissing worked. Then it seemed to come back to him in a rush, for he hauled Chloe nearly off her feet in his eagerness to respond, his mouth answering hers with more enthusiasm than technique, as though he were talking very, very fast to tell her every detail of what being in love with her felt like.

Then Trixie hit them from the side in a tackle-hug, her velocity making up for her lack of mass, and all three of them went toppling sideways into the sand.

Chloe laughed and grabbed her daughter, squeezing her tight just for the raw pleasure of it. She couldn't protect Trixie . . . and yet, somehow, Trixie was safe. Safe and happy and absolutely gleeful to catch her mother kissing her favorite person in the world.

"That took for-EVER," Trixie complained, grinning. Turning to Lucifer, she announced, "She's been thinking about kissing you for ages."

"Really?" Lucifer asked with genuine interest, shaking sand out of his hair. "How can you tell?"

"Because when she's thinking about it, she tucks her chin down, like this, and looks sideways, and starts her sentences with 'Um'."

"Does she indeed?" The look on Lucifer's face was a blatant declaration that he was going to abuse this intel freely.

Chloe felt her head turning down and away by reflex, trying to not look at Lucifer, and rolled her eyes at herself instead. "Trixie Decker, God help the criminals if you ever go into law enforcement."

"Oh, please, that's the last thing we need. The criminals are enough trouble on their own without invoking divine assistance. Now, Decker Offspring, I appreciate the sentiment, but I was rather in the middle of something . . . that you are now in the middle of. Budge up a bit."

Trixie helpfully squirmed out of her mother's arms and out from between the two adults, the approving grin seemingly stuck on her face. Lucifer took Chloe's face in his hand, and his grin was wider and so full of awe that it made her whole chest squeeze tight. Then he was kissing her, and the skill was clearly coming back to him because she was already dizzy with the taste of him and it was difficult to properly reciprocate because she couldn't stop smiling.

The kiss only ended when Lucifer pulled away to complain "Oh, you're a paparazzo now?" at Trixie, who'd pulled out her phone and was snapping pictures.

"Do you want a copy or not?" Trixie demanded.

"Absolutely. I'm going to need to post it all over the precinct."

"You will not," Chloe ordered.

"Fine, just all over the penthouse then." He bent down and kissed her again, a quick peck at her lips that spoke of promises for later, when they no longer had an audience.

"You let anybody wander into that penthouse," Chloe complained. "It'll be in the tabloids inside of fifteen minutes. I want you in my life, not Celebrity Today."

"Do you really?" Lucifer asked, and there was no mischief in his voice for once . . . only wonder, like he didn't quite dare to believe it.

"Yeah," Chloe admitted. "Really."

He leaned down to her so he could whisper in her ear. "And what else do you desire, Chloe?" Though the words were heavy with promise and longing, there was no resonance to them, a silent acknowledgement that she was, as she had always been, free to trust him or to withhold her trust according to her own judgment.

You, just you, thought Chloe, and the warm flare in the depths of his eyes told her he'd seen the answer written on her face. But what she said out loud was, "Lunch."

"Well, then." He climbed to his feet and offered a hand to each of the Deckers, pulling them easily upright with more-than-human strength. There were a few brief moments of frenzied brushing as everyone swatted sand off of everyone else, and Lucifer paid possibly more attention than was necessary to the seat of Chloe's jeans, and Chloe stole another kiss, just to establish that she could, and Lucifer seemed perfectly amenable to the theft. Trixie took advantage of Lucifer's distraction to jump up onto his back, and Lucifer, after rolling his eyes and checking that Chloe wasn't upset by the arrangement, hitched her up to a more comfortable position. Chloe picked up his sandy jacket and swung it around her shoulders to ward off the breeze that was chilling her wet skin.

"Can we fly now?" Trixie demanded. "I'll hang on really tight. I won't even fall off."

"Of course not. In addition to its being broad daylight, you are sitting on my wings."

"No flying until you're fifteen," Chloe announced, threading her arm through Lucifer's and pulling him with her back to the car.

"And your mother says no. There you have it."

"Come oooooon . . ."

"No. You must always listen to your parents."

"You don't!"

"You have immeasurably better parents than I do. Honestly, this child . . . she thinks she can get anything she wants if she only asks adorably and persistently enough."

"Yeah," Chloe agreed. "I wonder who she could have picked up that habit from."

"Oh, Dan, most likely."

As they reached the car, Lucifer pulled Chloe to him and kissed her again—apparently sixty seconds was as long as he was prepared to go between kisses, now that they were permitted. Instead of drawing back, he rested his forehead against hers, as though he needed a moment to brace himself for so much as twelve inches of separation. Chloe pressed her palms to his chest and felt his heartbeat, rapid and frantic, just barely slower than her own. She inhaled the scent of him, shamelessly, greedily.

"I love you," said Lucifer.

Chloe tried to respond, but her voice failed her. Her lips formed the words, sure but silent. I love you.

Lucifer's eyes as he followed the shape of her words were transfixed, hypnotized, open and vulnerable as she'd scarcely ever seen them before. He leaned in and captured her mouth again, as though to grab hold of her I love you and swallow it, a devil's eucharist.

"You guys," said Trixie, from over Lucifer's head, "I'm still right here."

Lucifer's hand snaked into Chloe's pocket, extracted her keys with lightning speed, and offered them up to Trixie before he permitted the kiss to end. "You're driving, Offspring. The Detective and I have important things to discuss in the back seat."

"Ooh, important things. To discuss. I bet."

Chloe rolled her eyes, grinning. "Give me those," she ordered Trixie as the child slid down from her perch on Lucifer's back. "I'm driving."

"Spoilsport," grumbled Lucifer.

"Yeah," said Trixie.

"Will you two get your butts in the car?" Chloe swatted Trixie with Lucifer's jacket before tossing it back to him, and got into the car, and . . . with her partner at her side and her daughter at her back . . . turned them toward the City of Angels.