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“But Lucifer! Why can’t I go?” Trixie demanded, standing in the midst of the living room with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face, a perfect caricature of Maze - if Maze had ever been small and non-lethal.
A lesser man, such as Daniel, would have yielded immediately beneath that furious stare, but Lucifer was unimpressed to say the least. He hardly glanced up from where he was perusing a cookbook, searching for something to make for dinner to celebrate the end of Chloe’s yearly performance review. For an entire week, she’d been going to the precinct without him as she suffered through enough interviews and forms to bury someone alive in.
“Because your mother said no,” he answered simply, turning the cookbook page. Maybe Chloe would like lamb chops tonight?
Trixie huffed and he raised a brow. He’d never had much dealings with teenagers in general outside of cases, and three years ago, he would’ve scoffed at the idea of Trixie ever becoming like they were. More stubborn, more emotional, more angry in general. But now she was nearly fourteen and already, there had been one or two fights between her and Chloe that had all but exploded the house with the scathing heat of their argument. For the most part though, things were peaceful, and Trixie was as well behaved as she’d always been. When she did argue or talk back, it was to Dan and Chloe, never Lucifer. Aging hadn’t done a thing to dampen their friendship, which relieved him greatly.
He hadn’t realized that by dating Chloe, he was also agreeing to taking a more invested roll in Trixie’s life. Of course, he didn’t mind the change, enjoyed it even, but there was always that niggling voice in the back of his mind that warned he would never be anything even approaching a decent parent. So, he left the father type things to Dan, more than content to play the part of fun boyfriend.
“Well, mom’s not here,” Trixie argued. “So why can’t I go? She won’t even know until later when she’s tired.”
Placing a finger on the page to mark his spot, he looked up properly. “Urchin-”
“Don’t call me that,” she complained, and Lucifer flinched like someone had stuck a thumbtack in his hand.
“Trixie,” he started over, wilting slightly at her vehement rejection of the nickname. It shouldn’t bother him, he knew. Children grew up. But even so, she’d never outright asked him to not use the name. “Your mother has made her expectations perfectly clear to you and I. You’re not to go and spend the night at Jessica’s house.”
She folded her arms. “Why not?” she asked.
“Because it’s a school night and none of us have even met Jessica’s parents,” he reiterated the major points Chloe had given him when she’d first said no last night.
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to meet the parents of everyone I hang out with.”
“As a matter of fact, we do.”
Whether it being their professions - current homicide detective and retired King of Hell - or an actual tendency to mollycoddle, neither Chloe nor Lucifer had never felt particularly comfortable taking Trixie to someone’s house unless they knew the parents. Days spent dealing with the worst of humanity only made one more cautious when it came to strangers.
Lucifer had sat in many a Hell Loop, had seen all manners of gristly acts carried out by seemingly ordinary people. He’d watched fathers awaken in the morning, dress for work, and then murder their entire family. He’d watched teenagers mistakenly kill another with a prank taken too far. He’d watched mothers bury their babies to gain some peace and quiet. He didn’t mind taking a risk and interacting with humans but Trixie was still so small. Not being her father didn’t mean he wasn’t to protect her.
“All my other friends are going to be there!” she protested. When Lucifer didn’t change his mind, she tried a different tactic. “Dad would let me go.”
His shoulders stiffened beneath his suit, pulling at the fabric. He loathed when she did that, trying to play him and Dan against one another. It didn’t happen often, but each time, it felt like a challenge, a demand for him to show her he loved her as much as Daniel did.
“Daniel’s not here right now, I am,” he said firmly, as Linda had taught him to do. Many of their sessions of late had morphed into inopportune parenting lessons. Apparently, the way he’d been treated in Heaven was considered abuse here on Earth. Who knew? “Urch- Trixie, your mother has already discussed this with you and has made her stance abundantly clear.”
Trixie’s dark eyes filled with tears. “You’re supposed to be the fun one!” she yelled, running to her room. At the door, she hesitated, shooting him a look of pure venom. “I wish you and mom weren't together! I hate you!”
Lucifer froze.
The door slammed hard enough to knock a picture frame from the wall, but he didn’t notice, staring uncomprehendingly even as his stomach twinged like he’d been sucker punched in the gut.
She didn’t hate him. She couldn’t! It had just been a mistake, that was all. A word spat out in a moment of passion.
He slunk to her closed door, raising his hand uncertainty before knocking. “Trixie?” he called, voice wavering.
“Go away!” she yelled and he jerked back, gaze sliding to the floor.
“Okay,” he said softly, a lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “I’m sorry.”
He waited hopefully for her to respond, but all he received was silence. A painful, rotting, quiet. The same sort of silence he’d so often garnered from his father, disappointing Him to such an extent, He refused to so much look at him or acknowledge his existence.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated dully, wandering back to the kitchen with heavy steps. Looking back down at the cookbook, he scanned each page without absorbing anything.
Hate was a strong word. A powerful one. In all the time leading up to the Fall, Lucifer had never dared said he hated his father. He couldn’t, because he didn’t lie, and hate was, first and foremost, an absence of love. And though he’d fought with his dad often, he’d never stopped loving Him. Instead, God had, somewhere down the line, stopped loving him, His son.
His insides froze like a bucket of ice had been dumped down his back, stealing the very warmth from his soul. Did Trixie not love him then?
He could detect lies in anyone and when she’d said it, she had wholly meant it. She did hate him. Hated him with every fiber of her being. She was a child, something innocent and designed to care about the world with her idealistic notion and he had inspired loathing within her.
His hand shook on the counter and he looked at it, half expecting the skin to turn raw and red. But it wouldn’t. Because he was the very worst sort of monster, tainted on the inside too…
Pushing back from the counter, he stumbled slightly, yanking his phone from his pocket and speed dialing a number. As it rang, he took a shaky breath, running his hand down his face.
“Hello? Lucifer?”
“Chloe,” he said, voice high and tight.
“What’s wrong?” She was immediately tense, able to sense his distress in that single word.
“I - I messed up,” he choked out, pressure building behind his eyes.
He knew what happened when someone stopped loving you. They left and never came back.
There was a faint humming of background noise on Chloe’s end that cut off as she changed locations. “What happened? Are you and Trixie okay?”
What if he told Chloe and she hated him too? She loved her daughter, probably more than she loved him. Which was how it was meant to be. If it came down to a choice, she would choose Trixie every time, like a proper mother should.
“She wanted to go to that party and I - I said no. Like you said.” Why was he shaking? “And… and she said… she said she hated me.” His vision blurred. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt her.” He rubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, sniffing heavily through his nose.
“Oh, no, Lucifer, no,” Chloe said softly, her own voice shaking. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She’s just angry and lashing out.”
“But she meant it! I c-can tell.”
What had he done? Broken another family?
“Hey, shhh, it’s okay. Trixie was wrong for saying that to you. You were just supporting my decision.” The background noise returned. “Listen, I’m coming home now. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“But your review!” he protested weakly. Chloe was being considered for promotion and getting through the entire review process without any hiccups was integral to that.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said simply. “I was nearly done anyway. The final interview is just a formality. This is more important.”
“I’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Please finish your review. It’s not a big deal.”
“No Lucifer, it is. I gotta go, okay? Why don’t you just… steer clear of Trixie until I get there? Lay down for a bit and watch tv.”
“I have to make dinner…” He needed to make this up to her and fix things. Dinner, it was pathetic, the worst of apologies, but he could figure out something better afterwards.
“Forget about dinner.” Her car engine started. “I’m not mad at you, okay? I swear, you’re fine.”
He didn’t answer, not believing her. People didn’t hate other people for no reason. It made no sense.
“Lucifer, I love you,” she said gently.
Tears overflowed from his eyes, running down his face. “I love you, too,” he managed, fighting against the lump in his throat.
Setting the phone down hard on the counter, he covered his eyes with his hand, leaning against the refrigerator for support. He felt sick, stomach rolling even as his head started to throb. His breaths whistled between gritted teeth, all that was stopping a sob from bursting forth.
Why did he ruin everything he touched? Why was he a poison?
He staggered to the stairs, instinct carrying him safely through the room and up the stairs, still rubbing at his eyes. Moving to his and Chloe’s room, he bypassed the bed and headed straight for the shower.
Living with other people had quickly taught him privacy was a rare thing. There was always someone around, bearing witness to his weakest moments. The shower was one of the few places he felt secure, a safe place to shatter in peace.
He wasn’t even sure why he was crying, something visceral and aching dug up inside him. Trixie had crashed through all his barriers, ones that had never been up for her in the first place. She’d accepted him so rapidly on their first meeting, showed him nothing but kindness. He hadn’t been prepared for her words or her anger, taking solace in the fact her love was unconditional.
He’d taken it for granted - he always took things for granted - and now he’d lost it.
Shrugging out his clothes, he turned on the shower head, dialing it to as cold as it would go. This wasn’t about pleasure, it was about pain.
Stepping inside, he gasped at that initial contact, the water needles stinging his skin. He refused to hesitate, shoving himself directly under the spray and welcoming the discomfort.
The cold was one of the rare things that affected him regardless of his invulnerability. It sucked the heat right from his body, left him freezing like his very soul had died. He sought the ache, the feeling of his divinity retracting beneath his skin. Until all that was left was him, not an angel, not a Devil. Just the monster.
His hair flopped into his face as he bowed his head, tears scalding him as they ran down his face and dripped from his nose, his chin, to join the puddle at his feet.
What was wrong with him? Everyone he had ever loved, everyone he had ever cared for, they all hated him in the end. The problem couldn’t be everyone else, not when eons divided them. His very existence inspired fear, his every friend had tried to kill him in some way. And Trixie was simply the next name on the ever growing list, a new scar sliced into his skin.
He didn’t want to make people hurt.
His feet were utterly numb. He tried to flex his toes but couldn’t feel them move. His legs trembled and, balancing with a hand against the tiled wall, he sank to his knees. Once, he had reviled bowing. Reviled remorse. But now, remorse was all he had.
So he bowed his head and waited for judgement. Not from God. Nor from the empty universe. But from the child he’d hurt.
There was a creak as the door opened, but though the sound vibrated in his mind, he could not make himself move. And the water cascading down on him, it began to warm.
He jerked his head upwards as a hand retreated behind the curtain and was replaced a moment later with an all to familiar head.
Chloe.
His vision was too blurred for him to make out her expression, which suited him just fine. He didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to know what she felt.
She left his view, the curtain falling back into place, a more resounding exclamation of her thoughts than her expression could ever be. He was shaking violently, the heat of the water making the cold even worse. His skin shivered with too many sensations and his insides were frozen over, that icy ache not able to thaw.
The curtain drew back again, this time behind him. He sensed her presence as she climbed in, stepping over the lip of the tub. He folded in on himself, hands wrapped around his stomach as he hunkered down into the smallest form he could manage. The veins on his arm stood out, twisting paths of blue.
Then different arms were also wrapping around him, her chest pressed into his back as she held him. “Lucifer, I’m sorry,” she whispered, barely heard beneath the spray of water.
They stayed like that for an interminable time. Until his shaking settled and the tears faded, leaving behind swollen lids. The shower turned off and she was guiding him out, setting him down on the closed toilet lid.
Her expression was pure sorrow. “You have to stop doing that when you’re upset. One of these days, you’re going to actually freeze to death.”
He ducked his head. “Sorry.”
She sighed, wrapping herself in a towel before draping another over his head. With care, she dried his hair, tousling it until his curls began to form. Pushing it back to hang around his neck, she grabbed another, drying the raw skin around his eyes.
“I’ll be right back.” She disappeared into the bedroom while he finished drying himself, returning a few minutes later now dressed in pajamas and holding a pair of his own.
He dressed beneath her watchful gaze, her hands lending aid where his failed. For all the shaking that had stopped, he could not stop the tremble in his hands.
When he was finished, he looked to Chloe uncertainly, a silent plea for her to tell him what to do next. She reached up, pushing back his hair so it feathered behind his ears.
“I’m sorry Trixie got so angry with you. Kids say stupid things. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, but it happens.” Her hand slid from his hair to his cheek to his chest, pressing over his heart. “It doesn’t change how she feels about you.”
“Some things… they’re unforgivable,” he whispered hoarsely.
She smiled sadly. “But not this. Believe me, her and I are going to have a chat about what language is appropriate.” Her smile faded. “Are you okay?”
His ears were buzzing faintly. “I don’t want to be my dad,” he said bluntly. “I don’t want her to hurt because of me. It’s horrific, that feeling.”
“Lucifer, I swear to you, you’re ten times the man your father is without even trying. You’d never do what he did. You don’t even punish Trixie when she misbehaves because it breaks your heart.” She tapped his chest. “Don’t deny that.”
“I wasn’t going to.” He enjoyed the touch of her hand. “I was afraid I’d broken us.”
Her hand fisted in his shirt. “You’ll never. Lucifer, this?” She gestured around him. “This is as permanent as it gets. No matter how angry any of us get, no matter how far we want to run, we’re always going to end up back here. That’s what love is. A home.”
He hugged her to him, tighter than usual. “Please, tell her to never say that again.”
“Maybe you should tell her how it made you feel?” she suggested. “Sometimes it’s not enough to simply tell them what they can and cannot do. You have to give reasons. But right now, I think everyone needs to cool down a bit first.” She gave him a critical look as she squirmed out of his hug. “Or warming up, as it so happens. You’re still freezing.”
“I’ll be okay.” His core temperature had definitely taken a nosedive, but already he could feel it slowly starting to rise.
“Yeah, I’m not convinced. I think you need cuddles.”
He sputtered at the way she’d worded it but even so, couldn’t help but follow her into the bedroom, where she folded down the comforter for them.
“You know,” Chloe said slowly, focusing on her task. “You’re never going to be your dad.”
“Chloe, please-”
“No, let me finish. That? In the shower? That was regret. Because you care so much about Trixie, about the way she feels. And I swear to you, it makes all the difference in the world.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that, but Chloe seemed to realize what he couldn’t voice. She climbed into bed, gesturing for him to join her.
His chest still hurt like someone was pressing down on his lungs, trying to pop his heart. But Chloe had soothed away that sharp edge.
“Teenagers are way harder than kids,” he told her, curling up into her side as he sought the warmth of her body.
She wound an arm around him. “Just wait until she starts dating.”
He blinked. “No, that’s not happening. Teenagers are all hormones and sex regardless of gender and I won’t have one coming within six hundred feet of her!”
Chloe laughed. “If only. But she’s growing up, you know. It only gets harder from here on out.” She kissed his forehead. “You take good care of us, you know.”
He felt his face heat and hid it against her shoulder. “‘M just the boyfriend,” he mumbled.
“No, you’re family. There’s a difference.” She settled back. “How about we take a nap and then go and talk to Trixie? Together?”
He nodded, face still hidden. “I’d like that.”
She turned off the bedside lamp, allowing semi-darkness to invade the room. “I know it hurts when she’s like this, but I promise you, one day you’re going to look back and be so insanely proud of the person she is. All these fights, they’re not going to matter.”
“Already proud of her,” he muttered. “Always going to be.”
Silence settled across the room in the wake of his words, that peaceful silence he’d grown accustomed to these past few years. A silence of belonging.