Lucifer took a long sip from his whiskey. He closed his eyes, wearily holding the cold glass against his forehead, and sighed. He'd had a week from hell. And he should know. Their last case had been simply gruesome. He saw every day how it affected Chloe, draining her energy, darkening her mood.

Something about the victims had affected her more than usual. Maybe it was their young age. And when they'd finally caught the bastard, it was him who had to hold her back in the interrogation room for once. He had seen it coming, the moment when she readied herself to stand up and probably punch the suspect in the face. And he would have been totally fine with letting it happen, had he not suspected that Chloe would regret it later, berating herself for letting her emotions get the better of her.

And so he'd stopped her, simply putting his hand on her arm. She'd given him a grateful look, and continued questioning the murderer. Lucifer had left his hand there for the remainder of the interrogation. At one point the scumbag had started to gloat, gleefully telling them the horrendous details of the last murder and Chloe had grabbed a hold of his hand on her arm, holding on so tightly that her knuckles turned white, obviously trying to restrain herself from hurting the man. Not that he wouldn't have deserved it. And much, much worse.

When they left the interrogation room, Pierce had materialized out of nowhere, crowding them. Lucifer had tried very hard to just walk away, or at least not listen to their hushed voices, but couldn't make himself do it. Pierce put his hands on her shoulders, the gesture somewhat possessive, asking her if she was alright. Chloe nodded, giving him a tight smile, walls up full force. She didn't shake his hands off exactly, just retreated from the embrace, walking away quickly. She picked up her coat from her chair and all but fled the precinct. Lucifer had looked after her, concerned, wondering if he should follow and make sure she was okay, but it didn't seem like that was what she wanted right now.

Which is why he was sitting alone at the piano in his penthouse now, trying in vain to drink himself into a stupor. Not that is was having any effect. He'd have to consume much larger quantities of alcohol much quicker, which seemed way too much effort at the moment, so he just continued sitting there, sipping whiskey, feeling miserable.

The elevator doors opened, drawing him out of his gloomy revery. Chloe entered the penthouse, looking distraught, taking him completely by surprise. Some of it must have shown on his face, because she immediately took a step backwards after entering.

"Sorry, it's late, I shouldn't have come." She turned around in one swift motion.

He stood up from the piano hastily. "Detective! You're always welcome here."

She turned around again, hesitating, one foot already in the elevator. "Sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not. Please come in. Do you want a drink?"

She surprised him again by nodding. He poured her a whiskey and she downed it in one go. He'd already suspected that something was wrong, but this set off all the remaining alarm bells. He refrained from asking her if she was alright, knowing the answer full well. He considered asking her if she wanted to talk about it, but discarded that idea as well. She looked like somebody who wanted to forget about something very badly, not discuss it.

"Do you want to watch a movie?", he asked, surprising them both. Choe gave him a grateful look.

"As long as it isn't Hot Tub High School." She smiled at him, but it did not quite reach her eyes.

He almost made a joke, but stopped himself. "I'm sure we can find something else. Have a seat", he said, indicating the couch, feeling strangely out of his element. He wasn't sure why exactly she had come here, tonight. Why she wasn't with Pierce instead. But he'd make sure to help her with whatever it was she needed.

He had to search for the remote, as he didn't use the thing much. After uncovering it, he brought it, the whiskey bottle, and two glasses with him to the couch, sitting down next to Chloe. He made sure to keep a small distance between them, to not make it to intimate. He turned on the TV, switching through the channels, picking the first thing that seemed watchable, a light comedy with no depth, exactly what they needed.

He leaned back, getting comfortable. Chloe surprised him yet again by closing the small distance between them, leaning her head against his shoulder. Neither of them commented on it. The movie went on for a couple of minutes, neither one of them paying attention. Chloe's position was a bit awkward, leaning against him with his arm in the way, so he moved slightly, drawing his arm around her instead. She all but melted into him, moving her head to the crook of his neck. They sat like this for a while. He felt Chloe slowly relax against him, the tension bleeding out of her.

He looked down and found to his surprise that her hand was fisted in his shirt, holding on tightly to the fabric, and if he hadn't already been well aware that something was very much wrong with her, this would have been the final straw. Chloe turned her face toward him, closing her eyes, giving up any pretense of watching the movie. She tensed again, drawing in a ragged breath. She started to tremble slightly, and on impulse he put his free hand on her head, stroking softly over her hair. She made a noise that was suspiciously like a sob.

"Hey", he said softly, "We got him. He won't be hurting anybody ever again."

For a moment, he thought that she was going to cry and he felt helpless, unsure what to do. But then she took a couple of deep breaths, calming down again. She let go of his shirt in favour of drawing her arm around his waist. Slowly, her breathing got more even. He kept drawing his hand through her hair. He should have seen this coming. She'd barely gotten any sleep in the last week, being one of the first ones in the precinct every morning, staying until late in the night, hell-bent on catching the killer as quickly as humanly possible. The dark circles under her eyes had grown steadily darker. He was very grateful that they catched the killer when they did, because he'd been afraid she was nearing the point of collapse.

Her arm dropped from where it had sneaked around his waist, and she seemed to be in a deep slumber.

Lucifer glared into the darkness. He was pathetic. He should have carried her to the bed in the guest room hours ago, but he hadn't been able to make himself do it. Every time he meant to get up, something stopped him. Chloe stirred a little in her sleep, burrowing her head into the crook of his neck, shifting even closer to him. And for a second, he let his guard down. He let the sensation of her, her smell, the feeling of her hair, the weight of her in his lap, her presence, sink in completely, drowning in it. He dropped his head to rest it on top of hers, drawing his arms around her more tightly. He felt an overpowering urge to keep her safe, to protect her, to hold her close. And for once, he allowed himself to feel it. Something shifted, some heavy weight in his chest dislodging slowly.

He must have made a noise, because Chloe stirred again. He felt a wetness on his cheeks and realized to his surprise that he was crying. He made another small noise, a desperate, pathetic noise that he would not dignify with a label. He bit his tongue, hard, drawing blood, in an effort to stay silent, but it was no use. He had to get away, get himself back under control. Chloe moved against him, waking up. Shit. He tried to remain as still as he could, taking deep breaths, reigning in his emotions. Even half-asleep she immediately tensed, sensing that something was going on.

"Lucifer?", she asked, voice slightly muffled, still heavy from sleep.

"Everything's fine. Go back to sleep." He realized as soon as the words were out of his mouth that it had been a mistake to speak. His voice was trembling, revealing much more than he would have liked. Chloe was fully awake in an instant.

Her hand came up to his face, stroking over his cheek, and he sensed the moment she noticed the tear trails.

"Hey", she said, the word impossibly soft. And suddenly something shifted in their embrace. His head dropped to her shoulder, and now it was her holding him, her hand coming up to draw soothing traces through his hair. "Hey", she said again. He needed to get away, get away now, because he couldn't handle this. All the things he'd carefully locked away, shut out from his conscious thought, broke free, threatening to take him under. And he couldn't allow it, because she was with Pierce, because she was a miracle, because he didn't deserve her.

He should pull away, but just like before, he couldn't find it in himself to do it. And so he just held on tightly, trying to retain what was left of his composure. He took a couple of deep breaths, narrowly avoiding turning into an undignified sobbing mess.

After a couple of minutes he had himself under control enough to finally pull back from her. Their eyes met for a moment, both of them open, unguarded, their walls down completely for once. They both looked away at the same time, embarrassed. Chloe stood up, clearing her throat.

"I- um- I probably should be going. It's really late." She ran her hand though her hair nervously.

"Of course. Yes." He stood up, brushing past her towards the bar without meeting her eyes.

He grabbed a new glass and a bottle, facing the bar. He heard her footsteps behind him, loud in the silent penthouse, walking quickly towards the elevator. Once she was there, she hesitated.

"Lucifer?"

He steeled himself, turning to meet her eyes again.

"Thank you. For tonight- everything. I- um- thank you."

He gave her a weak smile. "As I said, you're always welcome. And- I-", he hesitated, unsure how to address what had happened. He wanted to apologize for losing control of his emotions like that, but didn't know what to say. In the end he settled on the most straightforward thing he could think of. "Thank you", he said simply.

Chloe smiled at him, then retreated towards the elevator and was gone. He stood there, staring after her like an idiot. She had come to him, not Pierce. Maybe there was hope yet. Maybe he could be this for her, a good friend, somebody she knew she could always count on. And he was grateful that they could have this, even if he had to fight down this longing for something else he couldn't quite define, this ever-present fear of losing her.

He sighed, filled his glass, and went back to the piano.