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Chloe woke up several times through the night when nurses came in to check on her, to take her vitals, to do whatever nurses do in the middle of the night.

 

The first time, the nurse side-eyed Lucifer, who was still sleeping soundly, before she raised a questioning eyebrow at Chloe as she checked her blood pressure. “Visiting hours ended at 10,” she said disapprovingly. “And only family can stay overnight.”

 

“He’s my partner,” Chloe responded. She didn’t explain what kind of partner, and the other woman didn’t ask, just nodded.

 

“I’ll mark it in your file,” she said. “We can bring in a cot for him, if you’d like. It might be more comfortable?”

 

Chloe shook her head, she didn’t want to be separated. Nor did she want to wake him up. He’d died, if only briefly, he needed the rest. “We’re fine, thanks,” she whispered, stroking his hair when the nurse released her arm, and smiling softly when he leaned into the caress before he shifted against her and let out a loud snore.

 

They were left alone for another few hours, and Chloe managed to drift for a while, her body relaxed against Lucifer. He continued to sleep, occasionally shifting to pull her closer, to bury his face against her neck, to lean into her affectionate touches. He was really, really cute when he slept. And cuddly. Who knew that the Devil was a cuddler?

 

The sun had just barely peeked through the curtains in her private room (and she was fairly sure that worker’s comp was not going to pay for a private room, nor was her insurance, but she’d deal with that hurdle later) when Lucifer started to stir.

 

“Good morning, Detective,” he mumbled against her neck. He breathed in deeply and tightened his arms around her, eyes still closed, a soft smile on his face. He was sweet and adorable and she really just loved him a lot, okay?

 

And then he froze.

 

“Detective?” he said, and finally opened his eyes. They darted around the room before finally landing on her, taking in her wide smile and warm eyes. One of her hands was back in his hair (the other was tucked into his still-unbuttoned shirt, and she wasn’t going to remove it until she had to, because he just had a really nice chest, and he was warm, and she just…she just wanted to be touching him as much as possible), and she scratched his head soothingly, her smile growing impossibly larger when he unconsciously relaxed, arching his neck to be closer to her hand.

 

“Good morning, Lucifer,” she replied, scooting up on the bed far enough to place a kiss on his chin. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

 

He scoffed, looking surprised at both the kiss and the question. “I’m fine, darling,” he told her, although the dark circles under his eyes and the bruises on his chest that she could see peeking out from under his shirt told her a completely different story. “But I should be asking you – how are you feeling? Shouldn’t you be resting, love?”

 

She shook her head, burrowing into his chest until he chuckled and pressed his face against the top of her head. “I slept all of yesterday, and I feel fine,” she assured him. “I just want to get out of here and go home. I want a shower. And food,” she complained.

 

“I could give you a sponge bath,” he teased her, and she leaned back far enough to roll her eyes at him, earning herself a delighted grin. “No?” He sighed dramatically. “Well, at least let me call in a favor and get you some food.” At her nod (and rumbling stomach), he pulled out his phone, and an hour later, a frowning nurse escorted one of LA’s top chefs into the room, waking Chloe from where she had been dozing against Lucifer’s chest.

 

“Breakfast and a basket of baked goods, just like you asked,” the woman said, putting a hamper of food down on the end of the bed.

 

“Thank you, Antonia,” Lucifer said, then removed a large basket overflowing with muffins, scones, bagels, and fruit, and handed it off to the nurse. “For all your hard work, my dear,” he said with a smile, and the nurse, now thoroughly charmed at the prospect of a gourmet breakfast, took the basket and left the room.

 

Both Chloe and the chef rolled their eyes. Chloe reluctantly disentangled herself from Lucifer, and he got up to unpack the food (which came complete with fancy china, real silverware, and linen napkins), sending Antonia off with a smile and a promise to call if he needed anything else.

 

“What favor did you grant her?” Chloe asked curiously as she dug into a plate of lemon crepes. Lucifer was eating biscuits and gravy, and there was fresh coffee and a plate piled high with bacon between them, everything still piping hot and delicious.

 

Lucifer shrugged. “I bought the land and helped her open her first restaurant,” he said. “And her second and third.”

 

“How does it work? She just asked and you said yes?” She took a bite of the crispy bacon and groaned with pleasure, blushing when Lucifer shot her a heated look.

 

He cleared his throat. “No,” he replied. “I happened to try her food, shortly after arriving in Los Angeles, and liked it enough to offer her a deal – she got a restaurant, I get meals delivered whenever I call.”

 

Chloe smiled. That seemed like a much better deal for Chef Antonia than for Lucifer. She was about to ask another question when the door crashed open and Trixie ran in, followed more sedately by Dan.

 

“Mommy!” her daughter cried, clambering up onto the bed to give her a hug. Chloe gathered her into her arms, holding her close and breathing her in – it had been just yesterday that she thought she may never see her daughter again. She laughed when Trixie squirmed around so she could reach the bacon, reluctantly letting her go.

 

Lucifer rummaged in the hamper and produced two more plates for Dan and Trixie, piling them high with food, and pouring coffee for Dan and orange juice for Trixie. Chloe watched him fondly – he was so distracted by being the perfect host (even in a hospital room) that he hadn’t even noticed Trixie climbing into his lap, holding her crystal tumbler of orange juice carefully with both hands so she wouldn’t spill it on him. When she’d emptied it, she handed it to Chloe, then twisted to look up at Lucifer.

 

“Lucifer?” she started, giving him a very serious look.

 

“Urchin?” Lucifer looked down at the little girl as if surprised to find her there, but met her steady gaze with his own.

 

“Daddy said you saved Mommy,” she said, and Chloe could hear Dan scoff irritably from his chair at the end of the bed (“I said he helped.”). Lucifer preened a little, not correcting Trixie at all, and Chloe was fine with it because, while he had told her it was a “team effort,” Lucifer’s part in that effort had been dying, and while she hated that he’d done it, she also knew how much he loved her because of it.

 

“Yes, child,” he said gently. “I would go to Hell and back to keep your mother safe.” The look he sent her way was so full of…longing and hope. Chloe just wanted to hold him and keep him close and never let him go.

 

Trixie apparently felt the same way, because she flung her arms around him, startling him and nearly upsetting the table of food with an errant foot. “Thank you!” she cried, hugging him tight, tears threatening to fall. He sat there, stunned, for a moment, before carefully putting his arms around her daughter and patting her back softly, his eyes falling closed as she burrowed against him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

 

They stayed that way for a few moments, until Lucifer began to look uncomfortable, and Chloe urged Trixie to sit and eat her breakfast. They were just finishing up, and Dan was cleaning up (Dan! Cleaning!) and putting everything back into the hamper when her doctor came in.

 

“Chloe,” she greeted, looking around at the assembled group, “and…?”

“Family,” Chloe clarified, reaching to squeeze Lucifer’s hand when he looked surprised at her declaration. He said nothing, but threaded their fingers together. His other arm was still loosely wrapped around Trixie’s waist, holding her securely on his lap.

 

Dr. Patterson nodded. “So, I looked over all your labs from last night and this morning. It looks like the antidote that was given to you is working.” She smiled at Chloe. “It really is miraculous. Anyway, as long as you have someone who can stay with you for a few days, we can get you checked out of here.” The doctor looked between the two men, but Chloe only had eyes for Lucifer, who had stiffened at the word “miraculous” and didn’t look as if he’d heard anything after that.

 

“Luce?” she prompted, causing him to startle and look down at her, his eyes briefly straying to where they were still holding hands. “Do you think you could…?”

 

He tilted his head at her in that way that he had, where he looked like an adorably confused puppy. “Could…what, Detective?” He had clearly been off in his own world.

 

“Could maybe come stay with me?” She knew Dan would do it in an instant if she asked, but they were finally getting to a point where they were kind of friends again (and Dan one-on-one tended to annoy the crap out of her), and besides, she really wanted to spend some time with Lucifer.

 

“Chloe needs someone around to make sure she rests,” Dr. Patterson explained. “And to keep an eye out in case of relapse.”

 

“Of course,” Lucifer said with a brittle smile to the doctor, then turned to look down at her, his smile growing warmer, but his eyes were wary. “You’re sure you want me?” he asked, and she could tell his question wasn’t just about whether she wanted him to watch over her. Was she sure she wanted him? Was she sure she wanted the devil in her home? In her life?

 

“I’m sure,” she told him firmly.

 

*

 

Two hours later, Chloe finally collapsed on her couch. Dan had agreed to take Trixie for a few days, until she was feeling better, and Chloe had agreed to FaceTime her daughter every night for a bedtime story.

 

Lucifer fussed around her – bringing her tea, blankets, pillows, anything at all that he could do to avoid sitting and talking. Finally, she got fed up, and the next time he walked by (to straighten the remote controls on the coffee table. Again.), she grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the couch next to her. “Luce, babe…why are you avoiding me?”

 

He frowned. “I’m not avoiding you, Detective,” he argued, and he wasn’t technically lying – he was certainly staying in her vicinity, as if he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. When she just gave him a disbelieving look, he sighed. “I don’t…I don’t understand how you’re taking this so well. The Devil. In your living room.”

 

“Fluffing my pillows,” she teased, shooting him a gentle smile. “So fearsome.”

 

He chuckled. “Yes, well…nobody’s ever taken the news quite like you.”

 

“How many people have you told?” she asked.

 

“Oh, oodles,” he said, then thought a moment. “Although, most were miscreants and criminals, but the Doctor knows, and she certainly didn’t take it well.”

 

She could remember him mentioning a while back that he thought he’d broken his therapist. “I guess Linda didn’t just figure it out?” she asked. “Or get visited by your slightly odd sister?”

 

He chuckled bitterly. “No, nothing so benign as that. I showed her my Devil face, darling,” he admitted.

 

“Your Devil face?” She knew he’d mentioned it to her before, and she thought, maybe, she’d seen a glimpse of it once, way back in the beginning of their partnership. “It’s…red, like burn scars? And your eyes are like fire?” she clarified.

 

He gaped at her. “You’ve seen it?”

 

“Once. For about half a second. Right before I shot you,” she said, and then frowned. “And then you bled, so I assumed I had imagined it.”

 

He just looked at her silently for a long moment. “And yet you’re still here,” he finally said quietly, a question in his voice.

 

“And I’m not going anywhere,” she added.

 

*

 

He had urged her to lay back against the pillows as they talked, and was rubbing her feet when she brought up “The Plan”.

 

“What was the actual plan to save me?” she asked.

 

“Oh, nothing complicated,” he said airily. “Stop my heart for a minute or so to get me down to Hell, track down the Professor, get the formula, and then have Dr. Linda shock me back to life.” His hands had stilled, and she nudged his thigh with her toes to get him to resume his massage.

 

“Uh huh. So what went wrong?” she asked.

 

“Detective! Who says anything went wrong?”

 

“Azrael.” Also the fact that he’d deflected instead of answering the question.

 

He frowned, muttering something unflattering under his breath about meddling little sisters.

 

“Yes, she had much the same to say about you last night,” she informed him.

 

He cleared his throat. “Detective…Chloe,” he said, voice soft, eyes pleading. “Is it alright if we don’t talk about this right this moment?” he asked.

 

Well. Shit. Now she felt terrible. “Lucifer, of course it’s alright,” she assured him. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” she said. “I’m sorry if I made it seem that way.”

 

His hands had stilled again, his thumbs resting warmly on the arch of one foot. “Darling, I want to tell you everything,” he said. “I just…this is too soon. Suffice to say, something went wrong, but not catastrophically so, and here I am, alive and well.”

 

They fell into a comfortable silence, Lucifer resuming her massage again. Between the warmth of his hands and the quiet, she found her eyes growing heavier, closing for longer and longer periods of time. When she pried them open several minutes later, she found Lucifer smiling fondly at her. “Would you like me to take you to bed, Detective?” he asked, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Not like that! Detective Decker, get your mind out of the gutter,” he teased her with a grin.

 

She laughed and nodded, heart melting a little when, instead of just helping her to stand, he shifted his arms and simply picked her up, carrying her easily up the stairs.

 

When they reached her bedroom, she realized it was not the first time he’d been in there. “Hey,” she said, looking up at him as he tucked her in. “Why were you so mad the other night when you came over?” She’d been panicking about the bloody nose, but she did remember him yelling about… “You asked me if I knew? If I knew what?”

 

He looked at her like she’d punched him in the gut. Anger and grief crossed his face, and he turned away from her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him back, tugging until he sat on the edge of the bed. “Lucifer, talk to me. Did I do something wrong? Did you…do you not want…this…anymore?” Her heart broke as she gestured between them.

 

He reached forward to tuck some hair behind her ear, and she leaned into the contact. “I’m not angry with you, darling,” he assured her. “I don’t think you had anything to do with what I found out that night.”

 

She stayed silent, hoping he would tell her what was going on, begging him with her eyes to let her in. He dropped his forehead to rest against hers, reminiscent of earlier that week when he’d asked if what they were feeling was real.

 

And then he told her she was a miracle. An honest-to-God, real life miracle.

 

Told her about his mother breaking the news, that God had created her to be put in his path. That her feelings for him, her free will, was all fake.

 

That no matter how much he felt for her, all her feelings for him were manufactured. Because nobody could ever love the Devil.

 

His face was a picture of anguish. The pain he must have been going through the last few days – thinking her feelings were fake, but still willing to die to save her? Her heart was still breaking, but now it was breaking for him. And what sort of mother would purposefully hurt her child like that? What kind of woman – all powerful or not – would do such a thing? Tell her son that the woman who loved him was being forced to do so?

 

“Bullshit.”

 

He blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”

 

“It’s all bullshit,” she clarified. “What your mom told you.”

 

He shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Detective. I saw the picture of Amenadiel and your mother. It was right there on the wall.”

 

Chloe waved her hand. “Oh, no, I believe that. My parents have told me I was a ‘miracle baby’ since I was a kid. It’s the lack of free will that’s bullshit.”

 

Lucifer frowned. “I don’t understand.”

 

She smiled, thinking of Azrael telling her ‘brothers are dumb.’ She would have to spell it out for him. “Well, first,” she said, ticking off a finger, “I had an entire life before I met you. Second,” another finger, “I’m immune to your little ‘mojo’ thing.”

 

“’Little mojo thing,’” he muttered. “Little mojo thing – that little mojo thing is a gift from God, I’ll have you know, and it works on everybody, except for you, you freak,” he said, the ‘freak’ sounding very affectionate.

 

“I’m not a freak,” she said, “and I’m choosing to not be offended by that.”

 

He snickered. “Fine.”

 

“But if I was made for you, wouldn’t it be a lot easier if you could mojo me?” she pointed out.

 

He paused. “Well…yes, that would have made things a bit smoother.”

 

She nodded. “Third,” she added, ticking off another finger, “if you’ll remember, I found you repulsive when we first met.”

 

“Huh.”

 

“Eloquently put.”

 

“But…”

 

“Fourth,” she spoke over him, holding up yet another finger, “I have been recently informed by the Angel of Death that I actually have “a lot of free will,”” she said, complete with finger quotes. “And finally, what does your mother have to gain by separating us?”

 

This, she thought, was her strongest point. She was not a detective for no reason. She had heard enough rants about Mum and Amenadiel wanting Lucifer to take them home to figure out that his mother was trying to manipulate him into something.

 

A smile broke out on Lucifer’s face, small and hopeful. “So what you’re saying,” he clarified, “is that I’m an idiot – “

 

“Yes.”

 

“Rude. And that this is…is really real?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Detec…Chloe?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

 

“Yes.”