Archive of Our Own ^beta

He hadn’t seen her since that day in the coffee shop. They still texted a lot, but she hadn’t called and he wasn’t quite sure the sound of his voice wouldn’t be a… trigger, Dr Linda had called it. She’d said getting better was not linear. She’d said sometimes things would be good, sometimes not, she’d said it would take time.

So he waited, patiently, for two more weeks; until he thought maybe he should try something else. The spawn had decided Maze – freshly returned from hell – was her new bestie, and even through the grumbling and eye-rolls he was well aware his demon had a soft spot for her and enjoyed their occasional phone chats. At least it was another source of intel on the detective… and maybe not a very reassuring one, given what the child reported.

He called Dr Linda, enrolled Maze and called in a favour from an old friend. He may or may not have entirely followed Linda’s advice…

Maze and Clarissa rang the bell and waited patiently until a curtain twitched in the kitchen window, and finally the door opened.

So, here was the detective, Clarissa thought. She looked tired, shadows under her eyes and her skin pale. Her daughter had been right when she’d told Maze she wasn't getting out at all. She looked like she hadn’t seen the sun or felt fresh air on her face in ages.

“What do you want?” She sounded like she vaguely aimed for gruff surprise but didn’t actually care enough to pretend she felt anything.

Maze took a deep breath – they’d rehearsed in the car – and said, “I promised Trixie I’d visit, so. Need a baby sitter?”

“Um, no. I’m staying home tonight.” She eyed Clarissa warily.

“But you could go out tonight if you wanted to. I swear I won’t give her any alcohol.”

From behind her mother, the girl was grinning up at Maze, thumbs up and eyes twinkling.

“That's… good to know, but…”

Time for her to intervene then. “Hi, I’m Clarissa,” she said.

“You’re so biiig!” The kid could clearly not contain it anymore.

It made Clarissa smile, but the detective shushed her daughter, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Oh, that’s fine. I’m used to this kind of reaction; and it’s true: I am big.” She got down on one knee. “Hey kid, wanna see how strong I am too?”

“Come on, Decker, let us in at least. I’m thirsty.”

“Please, mommy!”

And that’s how Maze and Clarissa got invited into the house by the beach – when a tired mother capitulated.

Trixie – since that was her name, and what kind of people called a child Trixie? – immediately latched on Maze and her. Maybe she’d been cooped in too long, Clarissa thought.

“Nice house,” she said.

“My mother’s.” Decker frowned at her. “I’m sorry, but who are you? Why are you here?”

“A friend of Maze’s and Lucifer’s. She wanted to see your daughter, and we thought you might like some company too while she stole Trixie for a while.”

The detective pursed her lips. “A friend, huh. Did Lucifer send you to check on me?”

“Not really. Well, he wanted to see you but he said he couldn’t come, so… here I am.”

“You’re a… substitute?” She looked like she wanted to laugh, but it might also have been the sight of the girl dragging Maze to her room babbling about a Molly McDowell person and Maze’s horrified face.

“Oh, no! But I must admit I was curious to meet you both after all I’d heard.”

Her gaze snapped back to Clarissa. “What did you hear?”

“Well, that you’re stubborn, good at your job, hot with a gun, and that your daughter is really, really grabby.” She counted it a win when that last made the detective smile.

“With him she is, yes. I think she does it because of his reaction.”

“Probably. He can be surprisingly awkward sometimes.”

“He sure can.” Decker opened her fridge and zoned out for a moment, the cold white fridge light washing her face out. “Huh. I don’t have much. Beer ok?” She got a few bottles out at Clarissa’s nod, and another of juice. “Have you known him for long?”

“A few years. Mind if we sit outside, detective?”

She shrugged. “Chloe’s fine. You know, he never says it.” She rapped on her daughter’s door, stuck her head in and asked her and Maze to join them outside.

“Hm, nice view. He never calls you by your name?”

“Nope. I think he enjoys saying ‘detective’.” She took a swig from the bottle, then frowned. “Well, he did use it – anyway. Almost never, is what I meant.”

“I do hope he darlings you, though.”

“Oh yes, but he darlings everyone.”

“He Clarissadarlings me. One word. I’m special.” She winked at Chloe, whose shoulders relaxed a bit – something was not quite right, though. Lucifer hadn’t said anything, but his simply asking had put her on alert. The detective was listless and uneasy and already on her second beer. She also watched her daughter like a hawk, but seemed to approve of Maze demonstrating some self-defense moves on her doll, then on her. Something was eating her up. “You know, he was really grateful when you found Delilah’s killer.”

“Hm. I was shot on that case.”

“Yeah, heard about that. Hurts like a bitch, doesn’t it?”

Chloe raised her eyebrows. “Been shot before?”

“Years ago, yes. When my baby brother found our uncle’s shotgun. I was lucky. Also, Lucifer bitched a lot about the time you shot him.”

“Oh god, did he tell everyone about it?” Her eyes left Trixie for a moment.

“I don’t think so, but I work at Lux sometimes and I was there that night, so…”

“What do you do? I’ve never seen you around.”

“Size notwithstanding, I can be pretty invisible.” She smirked. “I’m a, well. Ladyguard, he calls it.”

“Ladyguard?”

“Yeah. There’s a whole team of us, and Maze helps too of course. We keep an eye on ladies, especially those who come on their own, and want to have fun without fearing someone’s… interference. We’re here for all those who need us, really. We provide safety in the club, walk them to their cars or taxis, that kind of thing. Sometimes we throw people out. We’re all big or scary enough to scare the creeps away.”

“Hm. Maze is certainly scary.”

Clarissa grinned. “And – you can say it – I look the part too.” She got her phone out. “I might give you some of our flyers for your precinct, maybe? My day job is in a women’s association. We help those who need shelter, legal counsel, support, therapy… and Lux is actually one of the places we recommend for women who’ve gone through trauma but need to get out, and – what?”

“What did he tell you?” Decker looked furious, the beer sloshing in the half-empty bottle she was holding.

“Honestly, nothing. I do believe what I’m doing is good work, and I try to leave flyers and posters everywhere women in need might be, such as a police station. But I don’t need to be told anything to see you’ve gone through something recently. It’s my job, Chloe.” She gestured at the bench where the detective had been sitting until just a few seconds ago. “I promise, I won’t pry. I won’t report anything to him either; although I think he knows something. He’s been cagey about you lately, and before he couldn’t shut up about his favorite police officer. But your daughter looks worried. Sit down, at least for her.” She wasn’t lying, Trixie had stopped mock-wrestling Maze and was staring at her mother. Finally, she sat back down.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then don’t.”

“I already have a therapist.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m fine.”

“You will be.”

“Yeah.” She drained her bottle and hesitated before grabbing a third one, then finally didn’t. “How’s he?”

“Lucifer?”

“Yeah.”

“From what little I’ve seen, he’s fine. Maybe a bit subdued. Haven’t been much at Lux this month.”

“Oh.” She looked down between her knees, her fists clenching for a moment. Clarissa waited. “He was there, you know.” Deep breath. “He… I shouldn’t – sorry.” She turned to look at the beach. “Hey, Trix! What about ordering some take-out?”

The next day, Clarissa went to Lux early. She found him trying new songs on his piano, a tumbler and a half-empty bottle open on top of it. How he could drink so much and never be drunk – and not be dead yet – she’d never know.

“Clarissa darling! Are you on the team tonight?”

“Yeah.” She took a swig from his glass – purely to decrease his alcohol intake, of course. “Did you see Maze today?”

“Nope.” He made the p pop and grabbed his drink back. “You went to the detective’s yesterday.” She nodded. “How… how is she?” His hands kept starting a song – a few chords, the first bars of a melody – then moving to something else, again and again. She didn’t answer. He was slowly switching into another territory – ditching pop rock songs, then leaving jazz, then blues behind; veering into discordant and tuneless music, broken rhythms. Sounds aimed at jarring you out of any comfort zone you might have built for yourself. She shuddered.

“Lucifer, stop it.” She put a hand on his wrist. “You’ll make people flee.”

“No one’s here yet.”

“No one’s going to come in if you keep at it.” He sighed and stilled his hands, finally resting them on his thighs. He looked at her. “I don’t know what happened exactly, but something did, right?” He nodded. “She only said you were there.” Lucifer looked away and poured a generous serving into his tumbler. “Do you still see your therapist?”

“I don’t want to talk about me,” he said, and downed his drink in one gulp.

“You wanted my opinion and sent me blind. That’s a bit of a jerk move, you know.” It was very like him, really: needing to know, not caring about the process of getting there.

Sometimes, he did things out of a strange assholish, misplaced kindness you didn’t quite know whether to strangle or hug him for; but now – now, it wasn’t him throwing a billfold at a kid to get her away from him, or giving a bottle of expensive gin to a homeless vet because they asked, or stripping naked in the middle of the day to see if gifting his bespoke suit away made him feel good or not.

“How is she.”

And sometimes, he decided he wanted to help someone, and had his eyes set on his goal. He’d done it for Delilah. He’d done it for her, a long time ago – and she’d never forget it, even if he said she didn’t owe him anything. And now… now, it was Chloe Decker. He liked her, she knew. In a way he hadn’t liked anyone else before. Clarissa wasn’t sure he even realized it. “She’s doing as can be expected, I guess. Her daughter helps.”

“Ah yes, the spawn. She of the hooker name.”

“Don’t tell me you told her that.” He had. He totally had, given the way his lips quirked. He was impossible. She shook her head. “You do realize I’m not going to be your go-between, right? And Maze won’t either.”

“I know. I just…” He set his fingers back on the keys, stroking them silently. “I just want to know she’s doing well.”

“She’s not there yet, Lucifer.”

“I know. It was…” She saw his teeth clench, his eyes narrow; then his deliberate slow grin at her, his shoulders lowering. “Ah, Clarissa darling – I’m glad you’re here tonight. Any song you’d like me to play? You always have the strangest ideas!”

And he always knew how to play them, even without rehearsing. She let him change the topic, and decided there and then to learn more about Chloe Decker.

The next week, as the afternoon was turning into early evening, she showed up at the precinct, flyers under her arm.

“Hello, Chloe.”

The detective raised her head and did a double-take. “Clarissa?” She waved a hand at the chair in front of her desk. “Can I help you?”

“I brought those flyers I talked to you about. Where can I put them?”

“Ah. Yes. Um.” She looked around, doing her best to not look at Clarissa or the flyers. “Over there is probably best.” She gestured at a table between the entrance and a few doors where they must have both private conversations with witnesses or victims and much less nice and tactful interrogations.

“Good choice. Do you have a table in the toilets?”

“The toilets?”

“It’s more private, and female-only. Can feel like a safe place where you can grab one discreetly.”

“Oh. Er. Yeah, there’s a little rack there.”

Clarissa spread the flyers in those locations, and left little stacks on the desks of those detectives who didn’t mind a bit more mess. When she got back to Chloe’s, she raised her eyebrows at the detective, who nodded, and left the rest of her stack next to her computer.

“Lucifer says hi,” she said.

“Oh. Well, hi back, then. Lux doing well?”

“Yeah. He said to remind you of your standing invitation there, and that he’d make himself scarce if you’d rather. If you go early or late, there shouldn’t be too many people.”

The detective was chewing her lip. “And there would be Ladyguards.”

“There’s always some of us.”

“He doesn’t need to, ah, hide. I mean, he didn’t… you know.” She finally looked into Clarissa’s eyes. “I’ll consider it. Thank you.” She shuffled some files around. “I should get back home, I guess.”

“To your daughter?”

“Ah, no. She's staying with a friend for the weekend. When you came the other day… she was happy to leave the house a bit, even if just to go on the beach. Thought she might need to really get out of the house, and I had paperwork to deal with. So, here I am.”

And so she’d rather work than consider staying home by herself. “Want to grab a drink?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I probably shouldn’t.” She stood up, and once again Clarissa was struck by her her small size. She was the kind of woman who made you forget she was tiny, even now when she was obviously subdued and tired. Lucifer was almost as tall as Clarissa herself; he must really tower over the detective.

“I’ll walk you to your door then.”

“You don’t have to. I’m a cop, I’m not a delicate flower, I – ”

“I know. But everyone needs to feel safe, too – rational or not. It’s my lifework, Chloe. I’ve been where you are. There’s no shame in feeling good about not walking alone at night.”

“You? You… you?”

“Yes, me. As much as it pains me to say it, size isn’t everything.” She quirked her lips. “Come for a drink, this is no place for a chat.”

She finally dragged the detective away from the precinct, telling her outrageous stories about Maze and drunk patrons, making her laugh with Lucifer’s antics, telling her about Delilah and Duke and all the musicians he’d invited to his club over the years. She waited for the questions, sipping sparkling water and letting Chloe imbibe just enough alcohol to relax, nothing more.

After a lull in the conversation, they finally started. “How tall are you, really?” Hah. An easy one.

“I’m taller than Lucifer.”

“No way.”

“Way. I’m 6 ft 8. He’s only 6 ft 3. Obvious when you see us together.”

“Huh.”

“He’s rather thin though, people think he’s taller than he actually is.”

“He’s tall enough.”

“Nah, you’re just tiny.”

“Am not.” Her indignant face made Clarissa snicker.

“So are.”

Chloe lowered her eyes on the table between them. “And yet, it wasn’t enough. For you.”

Clarissa let a few moments pass before answering. “No, it wasn’t.” She gestured for another round. “Would you like me to tell you about it? I don’t mind. It’s, well. Therapeutic, in its own way. And it might give you another perspective.”

“I… yes. I don’t want to intrude, but…” She fidgeted, and the waiter arrived just in time to set their drinks in front of them and prevent Decker from leaving. She’d looked just about ready to bolt.

“It’s all right.” She clinked her bottle to Chloe’s glass. “It was almost five years ago. A… well, I thought he was a friend. Stayed at my place for a few days, then one night… you know. I didn’t fight back. I couldn’t. It couldn’t be happening, I thought. I’d always believed it happened in the streets at night, with strangers.” She licked her lips. “I’d always thought I was big enough, strong enough to stop any attacker. But it simply made me a challenge for him, and I was shocked enough to be unable to fight him off. It took me a long time to accept it. Months later, I even started self-defense lessons to feel better, safer; but then I realized – even with those I couldn't have done anything, because I was in shock.” She breathed out, slow and long. “We’re not machines. Sometimes our brains shut down to protect us. It’s restarting it that’s hard; or it was for me, at least. Afterwards… I couldn’t go out, couldn’t go to work, lost my job.” Her mouth felt dry, and she wet it with some water. “Still, those lessons came in handy. I met good people from the association, got a new job there as an attorney, started giving self-defense lessons myself. It’s still a great confidence booster, and handy when I’m on Ladyguard duty.”

The detective remained silent for a while. “Did you report him?”

“That’s my greatest shame. No, I didn’t. At first I was just unable. Then, I was afraid I’d ruin our circle of friends. When I tried to talk about it, they all refused to listen. And then he died in a car accident, a few months later.”

“Are those people still your friends?”

“Ah, no. It certainly opened my eyes.”

“I bet.” Chloe had almost drained her third scotch. “You know, it wasn’t the first time someone tried to… do that. But this time… this time, I couldn't do anything, and it was…” Terrifying. Humiliating. Crushing. Clarissa could fill in for her. “Lucifer tore him off of me. He just kept pummeling his face into the ground.”

“He is freakish strong.”

Chloe did a weird thing with her mouth she didn’t know how to interpret. “That he is. I know he called an ambulance, watched over me. He paid for everything. But seeing him…”

“Bad memories?”

“Yeah. And.” She finished her scotch, looked into the empty tumbler. Her lips quivered a bit. “It was the middle of the night. A dark street, broken streetlights, couldn't see much. The real cliché thing. And the guy who attacked me… he wore Lucifer’s clothes. He imitated his voice. He pretended to be him. I believed it.” Her voice broke, and Clarissa's heart too.

She drove the detective back to her house with her car before calling a taxi to get back to her own – paid by Ladyguard, she reassured her – and kept rehashing what she’d learned. No wonder they were avoiding each other. She didn’t know how Chloe had felt about him before, but she knew he’d been smitten. Maze had complained enough about it.

She could understand the appeal, now she’d met her. She was good-looking, yes; but also smart, strong-willed – almost stubborn – and clearly dedicated to her job and her kid. And sometimes, just sometimes, she had that little glint in her eye that said I am so on to you that reminded her of all the times Lucifer had moaned she’d sassed him. She definitely liked her.

Clarissa was quite surprised the week after to see Chloe Decker stalk through Lady’s Own offices, then slam the glass door shut behind her.

“Did he send you to protect me?”

“Hello. Have a seat?”

“Did. He. Send. You.”

“Seriously, Chloe. Have a seat.”

She eventually fell into the chair like her strings had been cut, head falling against the hard plastic back and hands lolling over the too-lightly padded arms. “I need to know.”

“I gathered. Coffee?”

“Hmm.” Clarissa walked to the little table by the window, turned the kettle on and busied herself for a minute, waiting. “He texted me this week. Asked about you several times.”

“About me?” It would be instant coffee, sadly.

“What did I think of you. Would I like to come to Lux with you. When was I seeing you again.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. So?”

She let a long breath out. Only the truth would do, but the truth was not as clear-cut as she’d like. “In a way, yes; he did send me. Not so much to protect you, because he’d have asked Maze and she’s more than capable if that's what he wanted; but… he knows what happened to me. He knows what I do, what I believe in. I think he hoped I could… be a friend to you, maybe. Be what he can’t be.”

“But…”

“From what you told me and what I’ve seen of his behavior, I think he feels guilty.”

“He’s avoiding me.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you avoiding him?”

“What? No! I was the one to ask him to meet last month.”

“Because your therapist said so?”

“…yeah.” The detective looked small in the big chair, her eyes on Clarissa’s desk and her foot tapping an irregular tattoo in the air. “But she was right. We… we both needed it, I think.”

“And now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you need, now?”

“I don’t know. I’m still afraid I’ll react badly to him. It would be bad. For both of us.”

“I’m on Ladyguard duty tonight. Do you want to try and come to Lux? I can even pick you up. You can see how you react to him among other people, from far away. Work from that.”

“Who are you doing this for? Him? Me? You hardly know me.”

“Hm. I like you, but no. I’m doing it for me.” Chloe looked up sharply from playing with a mangled piece of paper that must have been a grocery list at one point. “Someone was here for me. I need to do the same.”

“You do it everyday. It’s your job.” Finally, she took he coffee mug in front of her.

“Yes. But you’re not my job.” A car honked outside. “I remember how it was back then. How I was. A friend dragged me to Lux because she knew one of the dancers and she’d said they didn’t tolerate some… behaviors, that it was safe. And I needed to get out, I was turning into a hermit. I wasn't even working like you are.” She had been so… drifting? Numb? “And that’s how I met Lucifer. A guy approached me when my friend went to the restroom, Lucifer scared him off. He saw I was ill-at-ease, showed me to the dancers’ changing rooms. I was terrified of everyone – every guy, really – for a while, at the time. Even him. But I came back on another night, and I thanked him, and we got to talking. That’s when the idea of Ladyguards emerged.”

“And you became friends?”

“We did.” Clarissa slowly grinned. “Also. He’s a really good lay. I mean it’s not all bragging, let me tell you right now.” She guffawed at the detective’s part horrified, part curious, and entirely flummoxed expression. “That was months later, and I asked him; not the other way around.”

“But… I thought…”

“What, that I’m a lesbian?” She poked at a little rainbow flag on her desk. “I look butch, but I’m… open. And I didn’t want to be scared of guys forever. With him, it was… easy. No strings, a friend helping another one. Oh, I don’t mean that’s what you should do.” Chloe looked really disturbed. “But it’s what I needed, and he provided. Reminded me of the good things there can be in sex, too.”

“I don’t think I could do that. Not with my ex, not with him.”

“As I said. You’ve got to figure out what’s right for you. Still, I wouldn’t recommend doing the same with someone you are more than friends with.”

“Lucifer is – ”

“I don’t know what you are to each other, but there’s something there. At least on his side, and I suspect on yours.”

“We… know things about each other, I guess.” She looked pensive, and Clarissa was reminded of an earlier conversation when she pursed her full lips. After a long silence, she finally set her coffee back on the desk. “I can’t tonight, but I can get someone to babysit Trixie on Friday night, I think.”

“I’ll pick you up at nine, then. Should still be quiet then.”

“Okay.” Once she was at the door, she stopped and turned around. “Thank you.” She didn’t leave Clarissa time to answer before hurrying away.

She’d come in the middle of the day; the sun was finally out after a few days of grayish smog. Everyone was breathing again. She had waited for sunlight and clear skies before coming here.

And on Friday, Clarissa was right on time in front of Chloe’s door. When she rang, an older lady she didn’t recognize opened the door.

“Clarissa, yes? Do come in! Chloe's still upstairs, and – Trixie dear, don’t put lipstick all over your mother's friend!”

Well, she didn’t really mind the kid trying to climb her. She picked her up and put her on her shoulders, and the girl squealed in delight, her fingers skimming the ceiling.

“I see you’ve met my mom,” Chloe said from the stairs. She looked really nice, with her hair loose and a long red skirt and – oh, someone was good with make-up here. When the detective introduced her mother the actress, she understood who it was. Well, good for her – she deserved to feel as pretty as she wanted.

“How long is your mother staying with you?” she asked once they were in the car.

“I don’t know, a week maybe? Why, are you planning on kidnapping me every night for a girls’ outing?” She snickered. “I’m sure my mother would approve.”

“And Trixie?”

“Hmm. She might get fed up real quick with all the actress training thing my mother’s got going on; but then Trix always gets what she wants in the end, so I guess it would turn out well for her.”

“Sounds like it, yes.”

“Did you know that once, she took an Uber to go to Lux right after being all tarted up by my mom? I found her just as she was about to down Maze’s idea of a light drink.”

Clarissa often wondered if Maze and Lucifer were as clueless about people as they sometimes seemed. Ah well, nobody’s perfect, she thought as she slowed down in front of Lux.

And that’s when they saw a man run to the bouncer, gun in hand and clearly out for blood. Chloe jumped out of the car and yelled, “LAPD! Gun down, hands on your head!” She’d gone from mildly amused mother to hard-as-nails cop in a blink, and wow did they get lessons on how to hide weapons in tiny purses at the police academy?

She got out of the car too and went into the fray; Jay – the bouncer – knew her and together they managed to get everyone in the club lobby, safe from the – oh no, armed men outside. And Chloe was on her own out there. Clarissa turned round to get back outside with Jay but they were yanked back inside by Maze.

“They’ve got guns! Are you insane?” she hissed.

“Chloe’s out there!”

When they finally took a peek outside, the street was mostly empty expect for the detective with a heel on the first guy’s kidneys, his hands handcuffed in his back and her gun aimed at him. Lucifer was a little away from her, on the phone with someone – probably more police, she assumed.

Chloe was carefully avoiding looking his way, and after a while Clarissa walked to her to stand between them. “I’m impressed by your reflexes.”

“Yeah, well. They get drilled into you.”

“I bet.”

“Thanks for getting everyone out of the way.”

They shared a grin and mouthed “Ladyguard” at each other. Police and paparazzi arrived at the same time, the officers cordoning off an area while clubbers and gawkers were just starting to flock en masse to Lux.

“Clarissa,” she heard from behind her. “Detective.”

“Hi,” she answered. She wasn’t looking at him, though. “Thanks for calling my colleagues.”

“Well, you had your hands full.”

“Yeah.”

“If… if you need anything. You and your colleagues. Just come in.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Such a stilted, awkward conversation, Clarissa thought. She watched him walk back to Lux, watched the policemen mill around the scene and start taking notes and talk to witnesses.

The guy they dragged in the club, and Maze showed them to a quiet office space floor where they established a makeshift HQ away from the press and the curious passers-by. They took Clarissa’s statement, Chloe’s, and then Lucifer wandered up and hovered hear the door of the big conference room they’d appropriated. The detective took a deep breath, looked vaguely in his direction, then gestured him in.

“I’m about to talk to our gunner. Join us?”

He got closer, settled himself with a hip against the table, and stared at the man. It was a bit creepy. Chloe started asking questions, plain boring ones about his identity, his address at first. Little by little, she asked more personal questions – family, job, friends. Lucifer remained silent all the while.

“Why did you and your friends decide to shoot people in front of Lux?”

At that, their perp raised his head. “Because of them.” He glared at Clarissa.

“Them who?”

“These… ladyguards,” he spat. “Can’t see my girls because of you bitches!” He started to stand but Lucifer put a hand on his shoulder and almost squashed him on his chair. He got into the man’s space, his black eyes boring into pale blue ones.

“Tell me. Tell me about your girls.”

“They’re mine!”

Lucifer’s voice got even lower, more soothing. Hypnotic. “What do you desire, Greg? Come on, let it all out, it’ll feel good.”

“My girlfriend?” he sounded a bit dazed. “My sweet Layla, she left me with our baby girl and I love them and I need them and...” he started sobbing and mumbling incomprehensible words, and Clarissa took both Chloe’s and Lucifer’s elbows to drag them away.

“I know this guy. Well, I know Layla. He hit them.” She thought Lucifer’s eyes flashed red for a second, and she didn’t miss the detective’s hand on his arm when he started to turn back to Greg. He stilled immediately. “They went to couple’s therapy, and he tried hard, but he’s just… unable to stop. Loves them, probably. But the wrong way. He’s got a crappy background himself, from what I understand. She went to Lady’s Own, we helped her get away from him, build a new, safer life.”

“He hit his girlfriend? And his child?” His voice was more of a growl now, and she’d rarely heard him sound like that. He had once, on her behalf, all those years ago. The memory had stuck.

“He couldn’t really help it. He did try to stop, but he remained a danger for them.”

“And then he tried to shoot you?”

“He couldn’t deal with what Ladyguards and your association do, I guess.” Chloe looked thoughtful.

“I still feel…”

They were interrupted by a high-pitched scream. Lucifer was glaring at Greg, and the man looked terrified, broken syllables falling from his lips in a hurried jumble. Clarissa wondered what Lucifer’s face was like to have such an effect. Maybe the heat didn’t help – it felt like the AC was broken in this room, the temperature seemed to have risen since they’d got in.

“Lucifer,” Chloe said. “Lucifer, stop it.” He didn’t move, but when she came next to him and grabbed his sleeve he sort of… shrunk?

“Apologies, Detective.” He turned around from their perp who collapsed on the chair like most of his bones had melted away, and finally looked at her face. “You’ve got a cut here,” he gestured at his own temple.

“I know.”

“You should clean it, I suppose.” He waved his hand to the ceiling. “Come upstairs when you’re finished, maybe? I’ve got a first aid kit,” He looked at Clarissa too.

“Maybe later, then,” she said. Chloe didn’t seem to want or know how to answer.

He walked away from them, hands shoved in his pockets and head held high as usual.

“I don’t need to get patched up here,” she said.

“I know. I think he gave you a reason to come up and see him if you’d like to, I think.”

“Yeah, but. I just… Can you come with? When this is wrapped up.”

“Sure.” That’s what she was here for – as a friend, and a Ladyguard both.

Semi-breve, half rest, quavers and crotchets and pianissimo, pianissimo. Pounding and stroking and hitting and caressing the keys, ivory white and ebony black and sound, sound. More sound to drown the voices in his mind. Would she come up? Would she tell him if she did? If she didn’t?

He couldn’t escape his memory of her right there in front of Lux; her cop instincts erasing everything but her duty to her fellow citizens, her gun and her hard eyes on the criminal, her small frame and her flawless skin… And her mouth was full and her hair looked so soft and even though her dress was rather loose around her body, he still knew her legs were long and beautiful and he still wanted to feel them around his waist. And that made him feel disgusted at himself. How could he? How could he?

He kept playing, playing; the ashtray in front of him getting as overflowing as the bottle was being emptied. Forget, forget – but you’re the devil and full of lust, you’re the devil and you want, you want. You want her. Pound, pound – the hammers were striking the strings, should he ask Amenadiel to pound his face? His father to strike him down? They’d love it. Stroke and glide on the keys – it wasn’t like her skin, it wasn't. Or could she shoot him again? Chords – B flat and C sharp and then sevenths because there was no answer, no answer. He couldn’t bring himself to conclude with a minor, he was realistic enough to know he’d never get to a major chord and he was stuck in the seventh… circle. Vicious circle. Hah.

The elevator doors swished open behind him and he turned around.

She’d put her gun away, and the little scratch on her head had already scabbed over. She was perfect just as she was, hair hastily tied up and make-up a bit smudged and a shoe strap broken and fluttering next to her littlest toe with each step she took. All because of putting her oath first.

“Hey, so where’s that first aid kit?” Clarissa’s voice shook him out of his trance.

“Ah, yes. Just a sec.” He hurried to the bathroom and found them at his bar when he came back. Clarissa was digging into the good stuff and pouring some into three glasses, and he slid the kit to her. “You’re probably better at it than I am,” he said. And less likely to spook the Detective, who was trying very hard to look relaxed but only managed to hit frozen, especially when he got nearer.

He slid behind the bar as Clarissa walked past him to sit on a stool. She opened the kit and raised her eyebrows – “this looks like you’ve never used it before,” she said.

“It’s brand new.”

“Hm. Lucifer, this is almost expired!” she waved some… aspirin, it was, under his nose. “It’s been brand new for a while, you should probably restock it. Don’t you ever use any of it?”

She started dabbing at the Detective’s temple, and he grabbed his tumbler and wandered away from them. “Hungry?” he asked. Maybe he could… do something? Not just hover there, useless and purposeless.

“Could you play us something?” He almost stumbled in his hurry to comply, something to do – finally. Clarissa’s mouth quirked up at his eagerness to do something, anything for the Detective.

What should he play? “I’m open to requests,” he said. Maybe he should have emptied the ashtray?

“Oooh, some Elton John!”

“Clarissa darling, you always want me to play Elton John.”

“You have a piano!”

“And more hair, and less kids, and I’m much prettier.” They were snickering at him, he was sure. “Fine. Elton John it is.”

He started the first few notes, and cursed Clarissa for her request, and Bernie Taupin for his words, and himself for asking what they wanted; and complying.

Damn, why did he think of this one first?

It was indeed funny, this feeling inside. His hands were all over the keyboard. I do have much money, he tweaked – and there was a snort behind him – and I’d like to buy a big house where we all could live. But no, I’m not a sculptor, no I’m not in a traveling show; and what I can do, it’s not much. Not enough. And yes, Detective, this is my gift to you, because you make life wonderful in this world. Laughter and teasing and fun and being… human, maybe.

She made him forget he was king of the damned, the first burned soul; and how did those verses make him cross! But her hair was like the sun, soft and kind; and her eyes – he hadn’t forgotten if they were green or blue; because they were green and blue, and surely the sweetest he’d ever seen, even when they laughed at him.

There was only silence after the last string had finished vibrating, and he stood up and fled to the balcony without looking back. He grabbed the cigarettes on the low table and groaned when he saw the pack was empty. With a last glare at the dark sky he collapsed on the sofa and closed his eyes, head falling back to rest against the leather.

“Lucifer?” It was her. “Clarissa's gone down to Lux for a while. It’s just you and me.” He heard her come nearer. “Can you open your eyes?”

He turned his head in her direction and slitted them open. “You don’t have to come so near.”

“I want to.”

“I make you uncomfortable. You tense up as soon as I get too close.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but. That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

“Wanted?” She probably didn’t want anything to do with his face. Maybe her therapist did, if she was still going there.

“Yes. I… couldn’t ask before, but now we’re alone. When it… happened. Your face. You changed.”

Ah, yes. Scary face by association with him, or scary face of the devil. Doomed either way. “I did.”

“Can you do it now?”

“What?”

“If, if you can. If you want to.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the face that took him off of me.”

“Detective, it’s the face that makes humans who see it go mad. I don’t want you to go mad.”

“Please?” She wanted to see his other face? She thought she would feel more comfortable with it? The face of the torturer, the punisher, the prince of lies; the face that showcased the darkness in him and his fall from grace; the face that – “it’s okay if it makes you uncomfortable. I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s fine.” Not. But it would be. She wouldn't lose her mind, would she? After all she hadn’t gone mad back then. He looked away and let his eyes turn red. “Tell me if it’s too much.” But as he let the face he was born with disappear, little by little, and the face he was cursed with surface, he could feel her relax. From the corner of his eye, he could see her shoulders slump down a bit, her fists unclench, her mouth part in a little smile.

“It’s perfect.” He glanced at her in surprise. “It is! I mean – thank you. Does it hurt? Do you feel pain?” She’d scooted closer to him, and she was clearly curious.

“No.” Not really. Well, it helped focus his anger. It was useful.

“Oh. Good. Can I touch?” He nodded.

And so for the pads of her small, strong fingers to finally skim his face, he’d only had to show her his ugliest, nastiest self. He didn’t think he’d ever felt such a soft touch on his burned away skin, soothing and gentle. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and carry her to his bed and watch over her sleep and chase all the nightmares away, all the monsters that lurked in the dark. He was, after all, the best and worst of them, the most monstrous of monsters; and they’d obey him, retired from hell or not.

She’d probably kick him in the nuts if he tried it.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You are.”

“Not really. It’s just… the memory, sometimes. I feel his hands on me, his breath, his words. It comes out of the blue, little things. And then I can’t get out of it and I…”

“And I remind you of it.”

“Yes. No.” She shook her head and sat back on her heels. “I’ve missed your singing.”

“Come to Lux another time. I’ll play whatever you want.” Just not this one, please, Detective. I can’t do it again.

“Maybe I will.” She let her head fall on his shoulder and it was his turn to suddenly freeze, not quite knowing what to do. Would she welcome his arm around her back? Would she jump away? Was it too intrusive or not good enough or what? What?

The elevator’s little ping startled him, and then she stood up and kissed his forehead and wished him goodnight before leaving with Clarissa. He felt… stunned.

He only remembered to send her a good night text an hour afterwards.

Linda watched him pace in her office, back and forth, back and forth on the carpet.

“Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about?” He stopped at the window, eyes looking straight up into the sun; but he didn’t blink. She could see the clench of his jaw in his profile. “Lucifer?”

He stalked to the sofa and sank in it, shoulders a bit hunched. “Doctor, I…” He frowned at his fists, hanging there between his knees. There were a bit knobbly, she remembered; a very human feature in a body that was otherwise suspiciously this-inspired-Michelangelo. She let him take his time. Not like he couldn't pay for hers anyway. “I’m no better than the demon who assaulted her,” he whispered eventually.

Well. “Why? Have you assaulted her too?”

“What? No!” He sprang up again, tense and angry. She wasn’t sure at all the fury radiating from him was directed at her. At the detective's attacker, yes. At himself, probably.

“Then why do you say you’re no better?”

“Because I – I still…” His eyes zeroed in on hers; and they were a bit wild, like those of a bird in a glass cage – bumping into an invisible barrier again and again and again and not understanding why it was hurting, why its beak was shattering, why its air-filled bones were breaking; trying again and again and failing again and again. He looked like that sometimes. She wouldn’t try and take him out of the cage, she’d only hurt him and he’d fight back; but she had to make the cage disappear. Turn the glass into air so he could fly on his own, maybe. He’d probably be amused at her simile.

Still, she waited.

“I still want her,” he finally said.

“Is that a bad thing?”

He looked at her incredulously. “She was… assaulted, Doctor.”

“Yes.”

And I want to do what he did to her.”

“You want to assault her?”

“No! Of course not!” She hoped he wouldn't punch another hole into her drywall; but then again she had to push it all out of him. “But I want… I want her, I want to touch her, I want to feel her, I want…” his hands fluttered in the air.

“You want to make love to her.”

Now panic was creeping in his eyes. “Ye – n – I. Doctor!” It could have been hilarious if not for what had sparked this.

“Why do you want to make – to have sex with her?”

“Because she’s… because I want to?”

Right. Maybe she should leave this for later. “And why is it a bad thing? Does having been raped make her unfit for this? Unattractive? Dirty?”

He flinched at the R word. “No, that’s stupid.” He went back to the couch with a long exhale.

“Then what is it, Lucifer?”

“That’s what he wanted too.”

“Rape is not sex. We’ve talked about it before.” And hadn’t that conversation been awkward, she recalled.

He sounded a bit defeated when he finally said, voice almost too low to be heard from behind his fingers, “I don’t want her to be afraid of me.”

So there it was. “You’re being tactful, then. That’s good.”

“I’m being lustful – and don’t think I’m not seeing the irony here, Doctor! – and she doesn’t need that.”

“You still find her desirable. That’s probably something she’ll need to hear at some point.”

“What, that people like him will still want to…”

“Lucifer. It wasn’t sex.”

He looked up at her. “It was because of me. It happened because of me.”

“It happened because of her rapist.” She looked at his bowed head, his hair so black, the rounded shoulders. “Why are you feeling like this today in particular?”

“She came to Lux yesterday.” Ah, that was good. “There was a shoot out when she arrived, and she’s a good cop, you know; she got one of them and she arrested him with her heels and her gun and her eyes and then we all went up and it was all I could think of. That I wanted her.”

“You like sex, Lucifer. It is not a bad thing. You want to share it with her because this is how you think you can show her your feelings.”

“Lust is not a feeling.” He sounded appalled.

“I’m not talking about lust.”

“What else is there?” He didn’t really make it sound like a question, so Linda let him stew on it.

But he didn’t answer, and he played with his lighter for a bit, and he made a few half-hearted, disparaging comments about his brother, and he left with a pensive frown on his face without looking back at her once.

She stretched her back when he closed the door behind him, subdued and quiet for once; and walked to the window. The glare of the sun made her look away quickly and lower the blinds. Unlike him, so much direct light blinded her.

It was early evening when Clarissa parked near Chloe’s house. She got out and grabbed the bag of food from her trunk, and rang the bell. Maze opened the door and let her in, and they stored things in the fridge while Trixie told her about Lucifer’s car and how Molly McDowell should have the same one and how she’d seen it on a toy website and that her Nana had promised her one for her birthday and the she simply could. Not. Wait.

Lucifer’s jacket was folded on the back of a chair, the fine matte stripes in the black fabric so very him.

“They’re outside,” Maze said.

“Should we set the barbecue up or wait a bit?” She looked down at Trixie. Kids shouldn’t go to bed too late, right? Maze shrugged, and so she decided to peek outside and say hello first.

They’d left their shoes next to the door, and gone barefoot on the beach. She could see them, her long blond hair floating in the cooler evening breeze and his long legs stretched out on the sand. He raised a knee as she was watching, waving a hand in the air and his voice mostly carried away by the wind. She must have made a sound; maybe they heard the wood creaking under her feet, or maybe it was Trixie’s squeal – she had probably spotted the chocolate cake hidden at the back of the top shelf in the fridge.

He raised his head from Chloe’s lap and – and – oh. Oh. His face. Lucifer’s – Lucifer. She suddenly remembered all the weirdness around him, and everything coalesced in her mind – his strength and the strange gaps in his understanding of people and the scars on his back and… Had she screamed? Maze was dragging her back inside and Trixie was looking up at her with scared eyes and Chloe was hurrying towards her. She couldn’t breathe. Was she friends with Lucifer? The Lucifer? Had she had sex with the devil, and made him play Elton John, and had she been cheering and fist-pumping in her mind when she’d seem him and Chloe on the beach just a few seconds ago? Her breath was stuck in her throat and she was panicking and what was happening? Someone pushed her down to sit on the sofa and thrust a glass of something in her shaking hand and she heard voices, but she couldn’t understand anything. There was too much oxygen in her lungs now.

“...issa? Breathe with me, Clarissa.”

She gasped and wheezed and gulped some water and almost drowned but, after long minutes, the red and black haze in front of her eyes dissipated. Chloe was crouching in front of her, looking worried and holding her hand. An anchor back to reality. She looked around, and she saw Maze alternatively glaring at her and looking anxiously outside.

“Where’s your daughter?”

“Outside with Lucifer.” Her eyes must have widened. “He’d never hurt her, and you know it.” Not the Lucifer she knew. Thought she knew? “I’m sorry, we’d forgotten you didn’t know.”

Damn right she didn’t know. “He’s… he’s… Oh hell. God. Fuck.” She felt a bit less like she was choking now.

“You’re not going insane, that’s… good. It tends to happen when people see him.”

“Only when they deserve it,” Maze ground out. “He’s still out there with the kid.”

“Does… does she know? Has she seen him?”

“Yeah. She thought it was hilarious when she saw it. He didn’t want to do it but I asked him to, so she wouldn’t react… well, like you, if she found out by chance. So we warned her beforehand, and she wasn’t surprised like you were.”

“That's… one word for it.”

The door opened and Trixie came in, dragging him by the hand. Dragging Satan by the hand, and he followed almost meekly. Quietly, at least. She went to her room at her mother’s prompting, and he avoided Clarissa’s eyes and latched onto the tumbler Maze handed him.

“I shouldn’t have screamed, maybe,” she said.

“Oh no. One should. It’s the point of it.” His voice was rougher than usual.

“But…” She looked at Chloe.

“When I was… attacked,” she said with an eye on Trixie’s door.

“You told me he was disguised as Lucifer.”

“Wearing his clothes, his voice, his face.”

His eyes flashed red.

Clarissa didn’t flinch this time. “And you got him off of her.” He nodded. “And you looked… very red?” Another nod. That certainly explained a lot. “Okay. Okay.” She set her empty glass on the floor and looked around. She could deal. She could. “I can’t quite get around the idea I slept with the devil.”

“Just the once, Clarissa darling,” he said.

Chloe snickered, Maze’s jaw unclenched a bit, and finally she could really breathe again properly; the air less heavy and thick and hot and stifling. She stood up.

“I guess we should really get that barbecue going. You must be really good at cooking meat, right?”

Come for dinner? she’d texted him this afternoon. He’d said yes, of course. Want me to cook? he’d asked, because while he was, just maybe, unable to say no to her invite, he wasn’t quite up to facing her dismal kitchen skills (and horribly stocked cupboards). And she clearly knew it too, because she’d sent a picture of her empty fridge with take-out menus in it, and added that Trixie would be with her father for the night and so chocolate cake was not mandatory.

He rang the bell because Doctor Linda had said surprises were not always welcome, and rocked on the balls of his feet waiting for the Detective to open the door. He fell back heavily on his heels when she finally did.

“...Hi,” he finally said. She looked tipsy already, a wide empty grin stretching her lips and too much make-up to be like her. She’d found a dress that looked about as covering as one of his dancers’s, so very not what she usually wore.

“Heyyy.” She slurred a bit.

He didn’t wait for her to ask him in, she was tottering on platform heels and had clearly drunk too much to walk with them. He took her arm and led her to the couch and knelt at her feet to remove them. “What has got into your head, Detective?”

She tried to put a foot between his thighs, but he caught it and set it back on the floor. “Don’t you want to have sex with me, Lucifer?” She was probably hoping to be seductive and it was, mostly, sad. “I sought. Thought. You diiid.”

He sighed and helped her lie on the cushions – “ooooh!” – and got her a glass of water. He saw red eyes reflected in the gleaming kitchen faucet. It seemed he shifted automatically when he was with her, now. He made her drink it, then a second one, all the while trying to get her hands away from his shirt buttons and his belt and his groin; then he got a blanket from her spawn’s bed to wrap around her, and waited for her to fall asleep. It was quick.

He checked the bottle of vodka on the coffee table; thankfully she hadn’t drunk much. She’d probably downed a few quick shots on an empty stomach, and hopefully she wouldn’t be too hungover. He sat next to her hip to watch her sleep for a little while, then felt like a creep and went into the kitchen. She’d need to eat when she woke up. He grabbed the bag he’d left outside when he’d come in and started peeling and chopping and mixing.

The little cakes he’d made were cooling when she groaned and moved and almost panicked until she realized it was only a blanket covering her and not someone holding her down. He didn’t dare approach her when she wasn’t yet entirely awake and he might spook her. “Urgh. What happened?” She twisted and finally sat up, doing a double take when she saw the bottle in front of her and the heels on the floor. “Oh. Oh,” she repeated when she saw what she was wearing.

“Indeed. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit. What did I do?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Did I… jump you?”

“That may have been your plan.”

Her face crumpled. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I just… I wanted…” Her voice broke, although her eyes remained dry.

He handed her some water and an aspirin. “Here, take this. The hangover shouldn't be too bad, you haven’t had that much.” She swallowed the pill. “I didn’t even suspect you had this kind of thing in your wardrobe.”

“I thought… I assumed you’d like it.”

“What did you hope to achieve?” He sat on the table in front of her. “You should probably eat something. I think it’s supposed to help.” He felt a bit lost – what was he to do? What was the right thing to do? “I made a salad and also those little cakes you like.”

She laughed a bit wetly. “You know very well what I wanted. I feel so stupid. I’m sorry. You don’t have to stay. I…” she hiccuped. “I’m a mess.” She hid her face in her palms.

“That you are, your make-up is everywhere but where it’s supposed to be, unlike me. May I remind you of who I am? No one tells me what to do, Detective. I’m right where I want to be.”

“I tried to jump you.” Her voice was muffled by her hands.

“Why did you feel the need for this… disguise?”

“I thought you’d like it…?”

“I like you, Det – Chloe. You, not what you wear, or don’t wear.” See, Linda? He could have grown-up conversations. Sometimes.

“But you don’t want to have sex with me anymore.”

“What?”

“You’ve stopped making innuendos and you avoid looking at my legs and you almost never touch me anymore.”

“That’s… not wrong. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” But oh father were those conversations painful.

She looked at him again – her eyes not quite focused on his own, darting from his mouth to his shoulder to his forehead. “Do you still want me?”

“Oh, yes. Very much.”

“Even after… after?” Her voice was so small.

“Of course. Although I'd rather you didn’t feel you had to get drunk for that.”

She sort of cried and laughed at the same time, and she tugged him to sit on the couch next to her, and she crawled into his lap and ruined his shirt with her tears and her make-up and snot and spit and all things human and perfect. He let her, an arm wrapped around her and his cheek on the top of her head. With his free hand, he got his phone out and texted the douche. Can you keep the child for a few more days? She needs some time off. A few minutes later, he got an answer – OK. He was surprised he didn’t protest more, but, well. Maybe he was happy to have the spawn for a few more days. What did he know about these things? Even less than he knew about what he should do know. He was considering texting Doctor Linda when she finally sniffled a last time and in a thick voice said, “I think I’m going to have a shower.” She raised her head from his shoulder. “Oh. Sorry for your shirt.”

“It’s fine.”

“Not really, but. I think I have some men’s clothes somewhere. I’ll get you a clean shirt.”

“Your ex’s?”

“We never lived here together. But there must be some left by one of my mother’s boyfriends.”

He tried manfully not to shudder at the idea. At least it was only for tonight, he always had a change of clothes in his car boot. He was covered for tomorrow morning, if he needed to. Would he need to? “Do you want me to leave?”

“No! No. Unless you’d rather? I don’t want you to feel you have to stay for my sake.”

He set her on her feet. “Go have your shower, I’ll be right here.”

“Okay. Um.” She wiped her face and made an even bigger mess of it, and when she realized it she looked disgusted. “Just… dig in that cupboard over there. You should find something clean to wear.”

He watched her hurry upstairs and listened to the sounds she made – water on and off, a knock immediately followed by a curse, glass doors sliding. He looked into the cupboard and extracted a red T-shirt that seemed to mostly fit, and waited for her to come back down, if she wanted.

When she climbed down the stairs she was wearing what looked like the comfiest pajamas he’d ever seen – he wasn’t sure her daughter had anything like that, even. “That’s quite the change. You look… less drunk.” She smiled a tiny little smile.

“I feel better, yes.”

He stood up to get some plates and cutlery out, and she watched him fuss over every little thing – more salt? Capers? Maybe some ice cream?

“Just – sit down, and stay there. I’m fine, the salad is fine, the cakes are fine, and I don’t need ice cream.” She pushed his plate towards him. “Finish your greens, Satan.”

He gave her a half-hearted glare. “Yes, mother.” Hah. Take that, Freud. He hated that bastard. Created a special place in hell for him, even.

…Maybe he shouldn’t tell Doctor Linda about it.

When they’d finished their late meal and loaded the dishwasher, she turned to him. “So. I'm sorry for earlier. And, thank you for, well. Everything.”

“I told you, I’m here because I want to.”

“Hm.” She stifled a yawn. “What would you like to do?”

“I don’t know. What do people do, usually?”

“Oh, well, we can watch a film, I guess.”

They settled back on the couch, and he felt he could fly again when she prodded him to move to her exact specifications and settled against him. Then sat up again. He felt the eyebrows this face didn’t have go up his forehead.

“Which one of your faces is real?”

“Both.”

“Can you change? Now?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She looked a bit impish. “I miss the hair.”

“All right.” Hopefully she wouldn’t have any flashback. It certainly was a relief to get back to his usual one on earth, and she tilted her head at his sigh.

“I’ve always wondered if it was uncomfortable.”

“Not exactly, but it’s not the one I was… born with, I guess. It burns, but then again I burn, too. It’s – me.”

She combed her fingers through his hair, scratched at his scalp a bit, and he felt his eyelids close in contentment.

“You look like a cat.”

“Hm.” Hmm hmmmm.

And then he felt her lips on his forehead, and he blinked his eyes open. She smiled at him, a sincere, happy, comfortable smile. He liked it. She bent again towards him, and this time it was a real, mouth-on-mouth, lover’s kiss, and he thought he made a little sound, surprise and joy and reassurance. Softly, he brushed her hair away from her cheek, and she flinched a little. He drew back a bit, but she grabbed his fingers and kissed them.

“I don’t know what I can or can’t do. Maybe I’ll never be able to… you know.”

“I don’t care.”

“Lucifer, you love sex. What if I… can’t?”

“It hasn’t been that long. I just – I only want you to… not fear me.” She looked conflicted. Did she believe him? Could she, what with all the people she’d seen him sleep his way through? He imagined she wouldn't be comfortable with him sleeping around, but then again he didn’t really want to these days. “What would you like?”

“Can you. Can you stay with me tonight? Just be there?”

“Of course.”

And so he sat on her bed cover, and she frowned at him and made him take his trousers off and slide in with her, and their legs tangled and their fingers too.

“You know,” she said in the dark, “it’s not so much the sex thing that hurt. It’s the violence. Being unable to fight back. Being powerless. Not in control. It scared me so, so much. Always has.” He squeezed her hand. He didn’t know what to say. “When we met, I’d never have thought we’d end up here. I’d never have thought I’d trust you. But now…” He felt her smile against his skin. “I’m keeping you,” she whispered.

And for the first time in aeons, he felt a divine grace suffuse his entire being, coil in his back, warm him through and through and he finally remembered then that he’d been so, so cold for so, so long. He curled a little more towards her. Now he knew he’d be able to be with her as long as she wanted him.

Father, hallowed be thy name.

Thy will be done,

on earth as in heaven and hell.

Forgive us our sins

as we forgive those who sin against us.

Save us from the time of trial

and deliver us from evil.

Oh, Father.