CHLOE AND LUCIFER

She hates lying to people, she really does. But there's no way they'll let her see him out of visiting hours. So she plays the distraught girlfriend and uses all her charms on a seedy balding doctor. The doctor – "Just call me Steve, my dear" - leads her straight to the door and leaves after casting her a sad glance. She pauses, takes a deep breath and turns the handle.

He is facing the window, so she can only see his back. Everything she wanted to say, everything she was preparing and rehearsing in the car evaporates, replaced by a jolt of fear. What if he turns and there's that face again? She forces herself to enter, step by step. Come on, get your shit together. Time to say something! She opens her mouth, takes a deep breath – and almost chokes when he beats her to the first word.

"Detective."

His voice is flat, and he doesn't move. Why won't he look at her? Her stomach turns. That's it. Enough with the silly drama. If she's about to see that face, so be it.

"Lucifer, look at me."

Fear isn't something he's used to; he doesn't have much of an experience. But as he turns to her, his knees betray him and he has to sit down onto the bed. Her relief at seeing his face lasted but a tiny fraction of a second, but it did not escape him. Of course. What did he expect? Somehow, he doesn't feel like looking her in the eyes – or looking at her at all, for that matter. He chooses to look at the door frame behind her – the top right corner, to be precise. He feels the urge to run. To flee. To generally disappear. He fights it, focussing on the door. What's the name of this colour? Steel? Platinum? Pewter?

"Lucifer."

"Detective?"

"Please. Look at me."

Right. Time to muster all he's got and put on a decent show. His lips start to curve up but stop mid-way. A fake smile feels too much like lying right now, and he never lies. She wants him to look at her? All right. He'll look at her left shoulder. No, that's too close to the… The hair line will do just fine.

"As you wish."

She can't believe her eyes. Did he just try to smile and failed? Oh, God. Coming here was a huge mistake. But leaving now will probably make things even worse. How… how can she start this conversation? What small talk will break this ice? She was never good at small talk. Think about something light. Something non-threatening. Something you both feel safe discussing… Literally, the first thing that comes to mind.

"Which of your faces is real?" Wow. That wasn't light; that wasn't safe. On the other hand, it made him look her in the eye. And now that he's finally doing it, she wishes he wasn't.

"Both," he says after a pause. And just as she thinks this is the only answer she's going to get, he adds, "But this face came first."

He expects another look of relief on her face, but there is none. Does that mean she's not happy with his answer? Although 'happy' is certainly not the appropriate word. How can either of them be happy right now? He knows he can't. He's afraid; he's sad; he's guilty – and oh yes, he's angry. Too many emotions at the same time and all of them wrong. It's utterly unbearable. It has to be got over.

"Why have you come here, Detective?" That sounded much harsher than he'd intended it to, but it'll have to do.

"I… I have questions."

Questions. He knows those questions all too well. She's already asked one from the usual riveting set that includes such gems as "Are you really the Devil?" "So, God is real?" "What is it like in Hell?" and so on and so forth to infinity. No. Not now. He can't do it now. But if she leaves…

"I will answer three." And he looks at the door again.

Three. This actually makes it easier. She's bad at small talk, but great at prioritizing. So, here goes nothing.

"Why are you here?"

"The detectives at the precinct did not quite believe my version of events and brought me in for evaluation."

"No. I mean, why do you stay here? You can leave whenever you want, right?"

"I've killed a man, Detective. I'm not supposed to ever do that. This is my punishment."

So he hasn't killed before! Phew. That's… that's very good. And he obviously feels bad about it. That's good, too! And also very bad.

"It was self-defence, Lucifer."

"But it wasn't."

"He attacked us, remember?" Damn, that was a question.

He looks at her. She's so serious, so concerned, so professional – as always. And her questions are… surprisingly good. Now, how can he explain?

"I am the Devil. He was a man. I returned to kill him fully aware that he couldn't hurt me."

"Nonsense. I saw you get hurt many times. I shot you."

"It's… complicated."

"And you have a bandage on your arm."

"That's also complicated." Ugh. He's frustrated. This is not a good time to go into all those details. They are so unimportant, so insignificant, so boring. Why are humans so fascinated with minutiae?

Is he… annoyed? With what? He's hiding something – that much is obvious. Now that she thinks about it, it does seem strange. He is really the Devil, so he must be immortal, invulnerable and all that. But she saw him get shot and stabbed… She saw him! What if he has two modes and switches them just like he switches faces? What if when he's in his immortal mode… Oh, God.

"What did you do to Dan?"

"Absolutely nothing! Trust me, Detective, I didn't move a finger. He hit me, and I simply failed to stop him."

She studies his face. He never lies, right? She feels she knows him like the back of her hand – and at the same time doesn't know him at all.

"Can I trust you?"

"I'm afraid your three questions are up."

"You said, "trust me", Lucifer. Can I?" This sounded much more desperate than she'd intended it to, but it'll have to do.

Can she trust him! He wants to laugh in her face. He wants to yell. He wants to break something. Why is he fighting this urge to get up and leave, again? This is the most ridiculous, absurd, moronic question she could possibly think of! How on earth could she…

"…be asking that, Detective? Now, when you know that I have never lied to you, when you know that everything I've ever told you was the truth – now you're asking me if you can trust me? I've literally been telling you who I am all the time, and now that you finally believe me you cannot trust me? I must admit once again, dear Dad has an exceptionally perverted sense of humour!"

"Lucifer…"

He falters, realizing he's no longer sitting on the bed. When did that happen? Instead, he's standing in the middle of the room facing the Detective who looks… positively frightened. Bloody hell, he's done it again. He touches his chin. No devil face, but that still doesn't mean he hasn't done it again. He takes a step back, giving her all the space there is in the tiny ward and takes his eyes off her.

"I'm sorry, Detective."

She doesn't answer, but she doesn't leave either, so he ventures a question of his own.

"What happens now?"

"I… I don't know, Lucifer. I understand that you want things to go back to the way they were—"

"But I don't, Detective."

"But I do! I do! Please, you have to understand. The fact that you're you – it's just… It changes too much."

"As I've been telling you, Det—"

"Can you stop making everything about you? Just this once? Can you at least try to imagine what I'm feeling? Your "Dad" is my "God" I never thought existed! And the place you call "home" is Hell!"

"Heaven, actually."

"Shut up, Lucifer! My universe is upside down. I don't know what's real anymore. Of course, for you, it's nothing. For you, it's a game and we're all toys, and once you're bored you just… fly away or whatever you do. But I have to live out my life and die!"

His face is unreadable. Is he hurt? Sad? Angry? The wall is back up, and she can't see through it. He isn't even looking at her. He's staring at something behind her – again! She turns to follow his eyes, but there's nothing there, only the grey door.

"Detective. What do you want me to do?"

"I wish I knew."

"Would you prefer it if I… disappear?"

"God, no!" He winces at the mention but looks visibly relieved. "Listen. Let's tackle one problem at a time. Right now, there's an ongoing investigation. They'll have my statement. They'll have Dan and Ella's. They'll crack that guy we caught. It'll all go away. Just… just sit here and hang tight."

"And then?"

"For the third time, Lucifer, I don't know! I guess I just need time."

"Luckily, time is something I have in abundance."

"And space."

"Ah. That sounds much less promising."

"I'm sorry I'm taking it so badly, Lucifer."

"You aren't taking it half as badly as you think, Detective. Two minutes ago, you ordered me to shut up."

Is he smiling? The smile is already gone, but it was definitely there. On impulse, she walks up to him, takes his hand, looks him straight in the eye and tries to speak as evenly as she can.

"Whoever or whatever you are, you are my partner. And I need the eggs, remember?"

Her touch sends a jolt through his body, but her words are killing him, and so do her "Goodbye, Lucifer" and her departure. She said "partner", not— Bloody hell. Apparently, they're firmly back at square one now. On the other hand, she would have probably gone to pieces even if he had shown her his face on his own terms. No human has ever kept calm and carried on. Still, things are better this way. They must be better this way. There's no turning back in any case. She had to know. And now that she knows, it's up to her to make a decision while he can only wait and hope. Free will doesn't feel all that alluring at times. Oh, Dad. This is mind-bogglingly evil. Congratulations. You're a first-class bastard and you know it.

She's sitting in the car looking at the setting sun. She could definitely do with a drink. She's already sent the text to Linda, but what will she tell her? She can't just say her partner is the real Devil. She'll sound… she'll sound exactly like him. So she'll have to talk in metaphors. Today – and every day from now on. It kind of seems like poetic justice. Well, at least, she's in on the joke now. Though she doubts she can ever pull that off as easily as he does. Coming from her, it'll probably just sound awkward and suspicious. And speaking of suspicions… There's no way Dan is fine with breaking his hand the way he did. She'll have to talk to him. Not today, though. Today, she'll get drunk. And then, she'll start moving on. Well, maybe not "moving on" moving on. She'll have to know that "other side" of him he's kept telling her about. Then she can decide. But right now, Linda's asking her to pick the time and the place. Great. In an hour. And anywhere but Lux.

She starts the car and drives off.

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And that's it!

Thank you for reading. I hope the ending didn't disappoint too much. I do appreciate every comment.