Epilogue: Lucifer

The first day of spring was over at long last. The sun set while Lucifer took refuge in the silent darkness of his empty club. The minutes and hours dragged on without him forcibly yanked back into a pile of cocaine. They'd finally broken the cycle.

It meant Chloe was safe.

He slowly swirled his glass of whisky, staring unseeing into the mirrored wall behind the bar. He had no plans to open LUX for the night and only his dwindling store of liquor to keep him company. The Detective left several hours ago and even thanked him for his help on her way out. Backup carted away the unconscious suspect carted after taking Lucifer's statement. The Detective soon took the half-aes sídhe spawn with her back to the station.

She wouldn't return. But he couldn't deny how good it was to see her, stand close to her, speak to her again. No matter how short a while. Time and distance did not lessen his affection for her. Seeing her injured or worse, dying, hurt worse than taking an entire armory to the heart. How was he supposed to proceed? Even without him, circumstances conspired to whisk her away early to his Dad's kingdom. But staying with her was no longer an option. They weren't partners. They weren't friends. They weren't anything to each other anymore.

A tide of fury rose inside him. He squeezed the glass until it shattered in his grip. Any satisfaction gained from that petty act of destruction was cut short by the stinging in his palm. Drops of red dripped into the growing puddle of whisky spreading across the bar.

Blood. He was bleeding.

LUX's front door swung open and a familiar voice called out, "Lucifer? Are you here?"

He stood hastily, knocking over a bar stool when he turned to gape at the Detective. The heavy clicks of her heels as she descended the stairs matched his heart pounding in his ears. There was no hiding the pure wonder in his voice. "You came back."

She furrowed her brow as she approached. The expression was so familiar and endearing, he itched to sweep her up in a hug. He didn't move though. He remained glued at the hip to his bar.

"I thought I should check on you."

The sudden caginess in her eyes and a nervous edge to her words stomped out any hope budding in his chest. He resettled the stool he knocked over and wiped the liquor and blood from his hand and the bartop with a stack of napkins. No reason for her to see how much of a mess he really was. Even with his vulnerability, he healed fast. After sweeping the broken glass into the rubbish bin behind the bar, he retrieved two clean glasses and a new bottle from the top shelf. "Can I interest you in one, Detective? Or are you still on duty?"

She hesitated upon reaching the bar. Then in a move that surprised him, she nodded and took a seat in the same stool he sat in moments ago. "Sure."

He poured two fingers for each of them. He set hers on a coaster before sliding it across. She took it with a murmured "thanks." He knew he shouldn't stare, but his eyes never left her face as she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip.

Humming in appreciation, her shoulders relaxed. "That's good."

Usually, he'd brag about the 50-year-old bottle of single-malt scotch. He took three deep gulps instead, draining his glass, and poured another two fingers. Damn his celestial constitution. He wasn't ready to tackle any conversation with the Detective while sober. She patted the seat next to her. Despite his apprehension, he was helpless to refuse the invitation. The warmth radiating from her was simultaneously a burn and its balm. Lucifer was too well-acquainted with the follies of hope. But she came back. Not only that. She stayed and accepted his offer of a drink.

"It's finally over. We did stop it, right?" She directed her words mostly at the amber liquid in her glass. The stress of multiple time loops visibly weighed on her.

"We did," confirmed Lucifer. "The sun's set, the equinox has ended, and the urchin's safe."

For now. Until the police had to release Robbie from custody or a judge granted him bail. The human justice system was flawed. He made up his mind then. Brigid, a local LA witch, owed him a favor. Her family line had some aes sídhe in the distant past. The urchin needed the guidance of someone who knew and understood what she was. At the very least, Brigid could teach the girl how to hide from prying spellwork.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw her sit up. When she angled her body to face his profile, her knees brushed against the side of his thigh. The touch startled him into almost destroying a second glass.

"How about a toast then?" she asked and raised her glass.

"To what, Detective?"

She thought about it for a second. "To teamwork?"

His reply rolled awkwardly off his sandpaper tongue. "Yes, to stopping the bad guy."

They clinked their drinks together and drank. The silence that enveloped them was a comfortable one. Tonight, he had her for company. They might have a long-overdue conversation, however nerve-wracking or stomach-twisting it might turn. They might not. And tomorrow? He'll contact Brigid. He'll pull strings to get Morgan placed with Brigid.

As for the two of them, who knows? Only time will tell. But tomorrow will offer new opportunities. Tomorrow will be a new day.

-Fin-