"I've never felt better."

Those words kept echoing around in her head. Granted, Lucifer had been completely out of it when he said them, but somehow, something about it rang true. Being here, in the hospital... maybe it was actually good for him. The right thing for him.

Because this case, more so than any other, had been a real eye opener for her. It had taken Lucifer past the realms of 'quirky' and far closer to crazy than she'd ever really wanted to admit. To the outside observer, a man talking about how God was his Father and he was the Devil, they would undoubtedly conclude that an institution was the best place for him. And perhaps they wouldn't be wrong. Had she let their partnership blind her to that?

She watched the man lying in the bed next to her chair, his body uncharacteristically still as he slept off the last of the pills he'd been given. He looked younger when he was asleep, less full of the pain he tried to keep hidden so far under the surface. Sometimes she wondered if anyone else even saw it, other than her. Maybe Linda? She hoped so. He needed to talk to someone about it, and despite her repeated offers to be that person, it was clear she was never going to be.

It was one of the many lessons she'd learned during their time together. Lucifer, his feelings, and her, they didn't mix. He didn't deal with his emotions when they were together; he only ran away from them.

But what if that was what he'd been doing in therapy as well? After all, he'd been seeing Linda since almost the beginning of their partnership. And while she had no doubts about the therapist's skill, Lucifer himself, well, he hadn't exactly changed much, had he? Not where it was important.

Emotional growth was all well and good, but not when you still believed you were Satan.

The next day, he would be out of here, and while part of her would be glad to have him back by her side, the larger part wasn't sure it was the best choice for him at the moment. If he were to stay… what would become of him? What could become of him? Might they be able to help him? Guide him into changing how he felt about himself, provide him with ways to cope with whatever had happened in the past that had left him this way?

She didn't know, but it felt wrong to rob him of the chance to find out.

If he wanted to find out at all, that is.

Lucifer's eyelids fluttered as he began to stir. "Detective?" he murmured. "You still there?"

Without knowing exactly why, she found herself leaning over to briefly press her lips against his cheek. "Still here," she replied softly. He rolled over towards her, a lazy smile upon his face.

"You should wake me up like that every morning," he said, the words slightly slurred, his mind not quite out of the grasp of sleep yet.

She stood up from the chair, rolling her eyes fondly. "Yeah… I bet you'd just love that. Unfortunately for you, it's evening, and I need to get home to Trixie."

He continued to smile dopily at her, and she had to bite her lip in order to keep herself from laughing. "I would love that," he stated, a fact as plain as the sun rising in the east.

Lucifer doesn't lie.

Before she could think any further on it though, he started to push himself up from the bed. "Woah, there," she said, touching a hand to his chest and stopping him in his tracks. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm coming with you, aren't I?" There was a certain innocence to his voice that tugged at her heart strings. A normal, fully aware Lucifer would have brushed off the idea of staying here as preposterous, striding out of the door before she had a hope in hell of stopping him.

This Lucifer, however, he sounded saddened by the very idea that she would leave him behind. It was moments like these she was reminded of just how much faith he placed in her. Sometimes too much, she felt. He'd put her on a pedestal so high that she worried how he would react the day she inevitably tumbled from it.

"Your 72 hour hold isn't up yet," she reminded him, before gently encouraging him to lie back down on the bed.

"But we solved the case!" he protested. Despite that though, he went willingly, making no move to fight her.

"You're right, we did." His head hit the pillow once more, and he relaxed back into it. Unable to resist, she bopped him on the nose with her finger, as he had done to her so many times in the past. "But someone had to go and get themselves committed, didn't they?"

"Well, I—"

"And assault the receptionist."

"That was—"

"And punch another patient."

Finally, Lucifer closed his mouth, obviously considering any attempt to argue further a useless endeavor.

He managed to stay silent for all of 30 seconds.

"I did help with the case though, correct?"

She chuckled to herself. "Yes, Lucifer, you helped with the case. And managed to leave me with a ton of paperwork to deal with before I can get you out of here tomorrow."

A sly grin crossed his face, and suddenly the partner she knew and lov—knew and liked, was back. "Oh, well, if you have paperwork to do, Detective, don't let me keep you. I'll be a good Devil and wait right here, seeing as you insist." With that, he reclined even further back onto the bed, his arms behind his head.

And just like she did once a day, every day, she resisted the urge to punch him.

Shaking her head, she grabbed her things. "See you tomorrow, Lucifer," she called out behind her as she headed out of the door.

"Goodnight, Detective!" he shouted after her, his voice following her down the corridor.

With a deep breath, she tried to concentrate on the evening ahead with her daughter, and not on the mess she was going to have to deal with in the morning.

…

Unfortunately, it was a mess that turned out to be worse than she'd anticipated. In fact, it was nothing short of a shitshow.

Not only had Lucifer managed to bulldoze his way through any semblance of proper procedure twice on this case, but the news of his committance had reached much higher up the food chain than she. And they weren't happy.

It was one thing having an oddball for a consultant who still managed to get the job done. Their solve rate together easily topped anyone else in the department. But it was another thing entirely to have someone working in conjunction with the police who was actively disrupting cases and being diagnosed as mentally ill by psychiatrists.

She spent all day dreading having to return to the hospital, knowing that what she had to say was going to go down like a lead balloon. This isn't your fault, she kept telling herself. You weren't the one who rushed in headlong, just like he always does.

The whole thing was made worse of course, by the fact that Lucifer was waiting for her in reception. He rose as she entered, his usual jubilant welcome on his lips. Before he could speak though, she grabbed him by the elbow, tugging him out through the side door. "Just taking him out for a walk around the gardens!" she said hurriedly to the member of staff on duty, who merely nodded before turning their attention to the waiting room television once more.

"Taking me out for a what?" Lucifer exclaimed, completely aghast. "I am not a dog, Detective."

She sighed, exasperated with him already. "Just walk with me, okay? I need to talk to you."

His pace slowed. "Well that's never good."

It would be a lie if she told him otherwise. And she knew how much he hated liars.

"Come on," she said, gesturing to a nearby bench.

"Shouldn't we be filling out forms and securing my freedom?" he asked as they sat down, worry creasing the corners of his eyes.

"We will"—he visibly relaxed at her words—"but... not if you want to come back to work anytime soon."

He blinked, and for a moment the expression on his face was unreadable. "You don't want me to come back to work?" he said after a few seconds.

"No!" Upon seeing his horrified reaction, she quickly clarified. "That's not what I meant at all."

She took a long, deep breath. "Lucifer, you had yourself committed. Do you understand what that means?"

Looking at her as though she were the stupid one, his eyes narrowed, and he carefully replied, "Yesss… it means I've served my time, and now I get to go home, go back to work."

"Lucifer"—she moved closer to him, her hand on his arm—"it's not as simple as that. You were deemed a danger to yourself and others. You can't just waltz back into working with the LAPD after that."

She felt his muscles tense as he clenched his fist. "But I was undercover."

"Yes, and I can't prove that. And as far as I can tell, there's only one way out of this."

"There's always more than one way, Detective," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"No." Shaking her head, she tried to explain. "There's no talking your way out of this one, no deals to be made. There's a paperwork trail a mile long that started the moment you were admitted, and even Ella can't make it disappear."

Leaning back against the bench, he crossed his legs, the picture of nonchalance. She saw right through it though. "What do you suggest then?" he asked.

Now, this was the big one. "Stay. Get better."

Again with the eyebrow. "I already see a therapist, as you're well aware."

"Oh, and how's that working out for you? Still believe you're the Devil?"

His face grew sullen. Before she'd met Lucifer she never would have believed a man could pout so much. He was worse than Trixie when he decided to sulk over something. And this from a man who claimed to be older than creation.

"I am the—"

"Yes, I get it," she snapped, more harshly than she intended. She dropped her head into her hands for a moment, before sitting up again with a sigh. "Look, you have two choices. You can get up right now, and walk out of here"—he started to do just that, before she put her hand on his leg to stop him—"but our partnership ends today."

He immediately sat back down.

"Or," she continued, "you stay. It's the quickest way to get this sorted I can think of. You do what the doctors tell you, take what they give you; whatever it takes for them deem you fit to work again."

She turned towards him then, pleading with him to understand. "All you have to do is tell them you're not the Devil, Lucifer."

The look he gave her in return was grave. "I can't lie, Detective, you know that."

It was cards on the table time.

"It's not a lie. Surely, deep down, you must know that. The Devil is supposed to be, what, evil incarnate? That's not you."

"You're right," he said, all trace of joviality vanishing. "I'm not evil. But I am the Devil, and frankly it's about bloody time you believed that."

"I can't." She raised her hand to touch his cheek. "You're not a monster, Lucifer. I just don't see you that way."

He flinched away from her, standing abruptly. "Well maybe you need to look harder," he snapped bitterly.

For a moment, she thought he was going to walk away, away from this place and from her, but to her surprise, he picked up his things and gave a short, sharp nod instead.

"Very well, Detective. You have my word. I'll do as you ask and play this little game."

"And I'll see what I can do from my end as well," she promised, standing to join him and putting what she hoped was a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hopefully you won't have to be in here too long."

…

Three weeks later, and she was starting to see just how naive that hope had been.

As she'd suspected, her efforts to get Lucifer out of there were quickly met with a brick wall. Her superiors weren't interested in 'missing' paperwork and testimony from a suspended therapist; not when they had reports sitting in their hands from other officers who had witnessed his violent behaviour in the past. It would have been bad enough had he been an officer himself, but as a consultant, the department had no real need to work with him, despite their success together. The situation was clear; he was either declared mentally fit, or Lucifer Morningstar would no longer have a place in the LAPD.

It was all on her partner to get himself out now. And from what she could see, it wasn't going well.

The first week, he'd been amiable enough. His ability to charm the orderlies had earned him an almost endless supply of jello, his fellow patients provided him with plenty of interesting stories to hear, and he had been delighted to discover that playing the piano somehow counted as therapy. It was enough to keep him fairly entertained, especially the latter, considering the piano had pretty much always been therapy for him anyway.

By the second week though, he was starting to get frustrated. He would spend her visits stalking back and forth across the floor, endlessly complaining about what he now referred to as his "prison". Often the first thing he said to her when she arrived was an enquiry as to when he would be leaving. She had no answer for him. He was doing as she had asked, but from what he'd told her of his therapy sessions, the psychiatrists were getting nowhere with him. She felt sorry for them in a way; sometimes it was bad enough just working with him; she couldn't imagine what he was like as a patient. It hadn't exactly escaped her attention that Linda only ever ordered shots on tribe nights that fell on the same day as one of his sessions.

They were at the start of the third week now, and it had reached the point where he didn't even seem to be enjoying the drugs the hospital provided him with anymore. Drugs that, from what she could tell, seemed to change in quantity every time she set foot in the place.

It was a question she had decided to ask at the end of one of her visits, as the medicine cups were dispensed around the room. "I can't really discuss…" the nurse started to say, but when Lucifer smiled at her, Chloe literally saw her resolve fade away. "Mr. Morningstar appears to have an unusual resistance to medication," she explained. "The doctors are struggling to get his prescription right, without going beyond the maximum dosage limits, that is."

Lucifer swallowed his meds in one gulp, giving the nurse a wink afterwards. "Thank you, darling," he said, dismissing her with another charming smile. The woman blinked twice before shaking her head, as though coming out of a daze. With one nervous look at Chloe, she scurried away.

"See, Detective! I told you I had a supernatural metabolism!"

He sounded happy enough, but there was something in his voice that caught her attention. She watched as his pupils dilated before her eyes, the drugs he'd taken clearly having an effect. So either the doctors had it wrong, or they'd just this second magically stumbled upon a combination that worked, the very same day she found out there was a problem in the first place.

It wasn't long after that until it was time for Lucifer's next session, and Chloe resolved to take the issue up with his doctor before she left. They said their goodbyes, her partner unexpectedly drawing her into a hug, holding her much closer than he normally would as he sank into her embrace. She had to admit, there was some part of her that liked the softer part of him; it was just a shame it took mind altering substances to release it.

As it turned out though, there was no need for her to hunt down Lucifer's doctor. When she left the common room, she was taken aside by one of the staff and directed to an office, where the head psychologist at Westridge was waiting for her. There, he reiterated the problems they'd been having, albeit in terms that were much more vague than the nurse's had been, but with a new, added observation.

Things were different when she was there.

Apparently, they had surmised that something about her presence allowed the drugs they were prescribing to have their intended effect; Lucifer was calmer around her, more relaxed, and they believed that to be the key. His sessions following her time here, although still fraught by the end, found him far more receptive than on the days she didn't make an appearance.

The doctor informed her that, with her permission, they planned to request that the department allow her to visit more frequently. She would continue to spend time with Lucifer as she had been doing, but remain until after his therapy had finished, at which point she could help appease him if necessary.

Naturally, she agreed. She wanted to help, especially if it meant getting him out of here sooner.

And so, one month after Lucifer had agreed to stay, this is where they found themselves. To her amazement, her bosses had granted her the time she needed for visitation, in reverence to the good work their consultant had done for them during his time there. She spent at least a couple of hours at the hospital daily, even on the weekends, with Trixie more than willing to stay with her dad or Maze if it meant making Lucifer happier. Of course, her monkey begged to go herself, but Chloe insisted a mental institution was not the place for children.

Although sometimes, she had a nagging doubt that it was the place for her partner either.

The change had been rapid, once she started seeing him more regularly. At first, she thought it was a good thing. He no longer came back from seeing his psychiatrist in a temper, his body shaking with the effort not to rant and rave about whatever had been brought up in his session, the anger he felt easily overpowering whatever medication he'd been given beforehand. Instead, he went from that to quietly seething, and then eventually to mildly annoyed and frustrated. Yesterday though, and today, he was just quiet full stop.

"How did it go?" she asked, as the orderly left and he slumped down onto the sofa, his expression vacant. "Lucifer?"

He looked at her, but the ever present spark in his eyes was missing. When he spoke, his voice was unsteady. "Did anyone ever ask you something… something that made you question everything?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. Having thought about it for a few seconds, she added, "I guess, during Palmetto? With Dan? I certainly ended up questioning myself a lot back the—"

"No," he said sharply, lunging forward to grasp her wrist. "Everything, Detective. Your whole life."

Instinctively, she tried to pull her hand away, but his grip was too fierce. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a guard take a step towards them, but she surreptitiously shook her head. "No...? I mean, I don't think so."

His face twitched, and she fought the urge to gather him into her arms. That didn't seem to be what he needed right now.

"What happened, Lucifer? What did they ask you?"

He shook his head, tugging her towards him ever so slightly. "I want you to do something for me. I want you to imagine you are God. The same God that cast his favourite son into Hell for disobeying him, who banished him to burn for eternity for his sins, condemning him to torture those just as guilty as he was."

She nodded, her eyes wide.

He moved even closer, his eyes boring into hers, a darkness she could get lost in if she wasn't careful.

"Tell me, Detective. Tell me. If you could be that cruel, that unforgiving as to consider Hell to be a suitable punishment for your son… why would you ever let him leave?"

He let go of her, his pain and confusion evident, and when she didn't immediately answer, he got up and walked away.

All she could do was watch, as her partner left the room that day just a little more broken.

He had built this illusion of himself as the Devil around him like armour.

And that was the first crack.