1.
She knew the first time would be the last time.
Never again would she be with another man who made her feel the way he did. Never would she find someone who looked at her with such reverence, who touched her as though she were more precious to him than anything in this life, or the next. Never could she love another, not now she knew how if felt to be complete, to be whole.
For how could any man compare to the Devil himself, kneeling at at her feet as though she were the one divine?
He had entered her life like a hurricane, sweeping up everything in his path and changing it forever. Now, she couldn't imagine that life without him in it. She longed for the storm, for the rain, washing away the pain of the past and leaving her anew.
There was only him for her now.
They had crashed together like the waves upon the sand that night, inevitable and everlasting. Two souls so different and yet somehow the same. Destined to meet, able to fly, willing to fall. And fall they did, so wrapped up in each other it was as though they were one and the same.
Together at last.
There would be no happy ending for them, she knew. He knew it too. It was impossible.
But the beginning? The beginning was so overwhelmingly joyful that she had to believe it was worth it. Over and over, he told her he felt the same. To him, she was a spark, a flare within his eternal existence that would forever stand out among the rest. Even the Lightbringer could never have created a star such as her.
Together, they would shine so bright the future would pale in comparison.
For he was her light, and she was his miracle.
2.
She'd never expected him to say the words, not really. Gradually, over their first few months together, he had started to talk about his past, of the love he'd once held for his Father, for his siblings. A love he sometimes doubted they had ever returned. He spoke of the woman he thought he had loved, the first woman, the woman who had tempted him just as much as he had tempted her. He'd told her that for the longest time, he considered love to be the first step to his undoing.
Of course, she knew that he loved her. She'd known it since that kiss on the beach, since that day in the courtroom, since the night they had first danced together. Even if she had never been able to admit it to herself. Just like the evidence of who he really was, she'd dismissed it, squashed it down, tried to banish that knowledge to the corners of her mind.
It was easier than accepting that the man who never lied didn't want to tell her the truth.
And then, everything changed.
Now, she understood. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her, it was that he couldn't. For how do you tell someone a truth that you don't know yourself? He had been without love for most of his life; it was no wonder he didn't recognise it for what it was when he felt it himself. It was something that made her tell him how much she loved him as often as she could, so that he knew just how much he was wanted in this world.
She didn't need to hear it from him though, not anymore. It was there in the way he looked at her, in his touch when he held her, in his voice when he sang for her. He told her he loved her in so many ways that the words themselves were inconsequential.
At least, that's what she'd always thought. Until the day he said them.
There was nothing special about that evening. It was her weekend with Trixie, and with her monkey already in bed, Lucifer had been about to depart for his club. Despite the change in their relationship, their routine hadn't actually changed all that much, with the exception of them sleeping in the same bed every night. If you could call what they spent most of that time doing in that bed sleeping.
On the days her daughter was with Dan, she would be with the Devil. On the nights her daughter was home, the Devil would be with her. It was simple, and easy, in a way their partnership hadn't always been.
There was no domesticity though. Lucifer was Lucifer, and she didn't want, or need him to change. That wasn't to mean there were no surprises though, now that they were together. As it turns out, he was an excellent chef, and the quality of the food served in the Decker household had improved dramatically once she yielded control of the kitchen. The games nights continued, and even though he insisted he only tolerated her, Lucifer became more at ease with Trixie every day. Much like Chloe herself, she suspected he'd cared for her daughter for far longer than he realised.
After all, it wasn't just Chloe he had saved in the warehouse that day so long ago.
And so, he became part of their family. Dan even invited him to join them for taco Tuesdays, any trace of him being threatened by Lucifer's increased presence in their lives having dissipated long ago. The Devil was no step-father. He didn't want to be, and she didn't expect him to be either. There would be no parents evenings, no sharing of responsibility. Trixie already had a father for that.
What her daughter had in Lucifer, was a friend.
And so this was the bubble they'd created for themselves. A family of their own making. A family that she could tell, on evenings like these, he was reluctant to leave.
"How do I look?" he asked, slowly turning on the spot, his usual smug grin firmly in place.
"Amazing," she said, "But you already knew that."
He smirked, before bounding over and pulling her into his arms.
"I'll see you later?" She already knew the answer, but she liked to ask the question anyway. It thrilled her to know that she was the one he was coming home to. That she would always be the one he came back to.
"As soon as I throw the last straggler out through the door."
She thought he was joking. She hoped he was joking. Knowing exactly how he liked to wake her up upon his return though, she wouldn't exactly put it past him to try to speed things along a little.
He bent down to kiss her forehead, briefly leaning his against hers. "Have a good night, darling. I love you."
And with that, he was through the front door.
It took her a moment, to recognise that the warmth left from his lips was somehow more this time, as it sank into her chest and curled around her heart. The words had come so easily, without thought or fear. Without the hundreds of sessions with Linda she assumed it would take if it ever happened. She almost couldn't believe it.
A hesitant knock at the door saw her walking over in a daze. She opened it to find him standing there looking shell shocked, an unreadable expression on his face. He blinked, once, twice, and it was so owlish that she had to bite back laughter.
And then, a grin split his face, so wide and bright that she swore it could have lit up the night sky.
"I love you," he repeated. "I bloody well love you!"
He picked her up, spinning them both around until their combined laughter filled the air.
"I know you do, you idiot," she teased, and he just carried on grinning at her in reply.
She couldn't help but kiss him. He rubbed his nose against hers, and a whispered "I love you", fell from his lips once more.
"Don't wear it out," she replied breathlessly, and he chuckled.
"Oh darling," he said as he removed his jacket, carelessly throwing it to the floor behind him. He swept her up into his arms, kissing her deeply before heading towards the stairs.
"I don't think I'll ever tire of saying that to you."
3.
After their argument, she returned to find the penthouse in disarray.
Again.
The fires were out, the shadows that were normally banished to the edges of the room creeping towards the centre, threatening to engulf the lone figure that sat there.
Glass crunched underneath her feet as she approached him, carefully avoiding the broken furniture and torn books that had fallen foul to the force of his despair.
He remained motionless, his head in his hands, the picture of desperation.
Suddenly he stiffened, and slowly turned his face towards her. "You came back," he whispered, awed and unbelieving.
Her brow furrowed, and she moved to sit beside him. "Of course I came back," she said, covering his hand with her own.
"I thought…"
He thought she'd left him. Why wouldn't he? It was all he had known.
"Lucifer, we had a row. That's what couples do. They shout, they throw stuff, they say things they don't really mean."
She gently squeezed his hand. "That doesn't mean it's over."
"It doesn't?" he said, something a little like hope flickering behind those tear filled eyes.
"Look. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"
He nodded. Then he dropped his gaze to their entwined fingers. "I… I don't say things I don't mean," he said hesitantly, and she knew he was thinking of his refusal to lie. Especially to her.
She sighed. "I know you don't. But I do. I will. I'll try my best not to, but I can't promise that I won't slip sometimes." He looked at her and she smiled. "I'm only human after all."
…
Later, as they lay together in bed, she felt him bury his face in her hair and press a soft kiss to the top of her head, just before the tide of sleep pulled her under.
"That's what I'm afraid of."
4.
She begged them not to take him back to Hell. 10 years. That was all they'd given him as a reprieve. He'd fought so hard for his freedom, so hard for her, but in the end it was love that would bring him down, just as it had so long ago.
They wouldn't kill her. They couldn't. But, as the mirror image of the man she loved had proclaimed, they could close the gates to her, just as they'd done to him. And there would be nothing he could do, except join her in Hell. Either way, he would end up where they wanted him.
His fury that day had been unlike anything she'd ever seen. One by one, more of his siblings had appeared, all prepared for the battle it would take to force the Devil back to where he belonged. It was only her touch that had calmed him, just as it always had. As it always would.
It was him that she begged then. Begged him to stay with her, to let her be with him when her life was done. To her, it didn't matter where they were, as long as they were together.
He refused.
Her heart had shattered that day. All she could do was watch as he went willingly, leaving her to a life that was no life at all without him there. All for an afterlife that would be no better.
"You don't deserve Hell," he'd told her.
"And you do?" she'd replied.
He said nothing, but the look in his eyes had answered for him. "I'm sorry," was the last thing he said to her, as giant wings began to envelope him. "I lov-"
And he was gone.
It took nearly a year before she began to lose hope. For him, it had been millennia, and sometimes she wondered if he remembered her at all, in amongst all the screams and the bloodshed. Despite the void he had left behind, his presence still loomed large in her home. Their home. The whisky she hadn't been able to pour down the drain, the suits than still hung in her closet, perfectly pressed and waiting to be worn. Trixie prayed to him almost every night, but Chloe hadn't been able to bring herself to do the same.
He was being tortured enough, she thought, without her reminding him of what he'd lost.
It was on the anniversary of the night she lost him that she finally broke. Curled up around an empty space in their bed that would never be filled again, she closed her eyes, and reached out.
But not to him.
Please bring him back to me.
I need him. I miss him. I love him.
Let him come home.
And He did.
5.
She tried not to think about what it meant to be immortal too often. But sometimes, in the dead of night when she couldn't sleep, it proved impossible. Turning to the angel beside her, she would try to imagine what this world must be like from his point of view. To him, his time on Earth was nothing but the blink of an eye. It was easy to see why he'd spent the last couple of decades glued to her side; he simply didn't want to miss a moment as his time with her grew shorter.
Old age was catching up to her now, relentless in its pursuit. Her hair was more white than golden, her body less graceful than it used to be. He didn't care. She didn't think he that even saw it. To him, she was his Chloe, and her soul remained the same no matter what toll time had inflicted upon her. "It's what's inside that counts," he'd parroted back at her, the same words she had spoken to him the day she'd asked to see his face again.
Their time working at the station together was over. They'd stayed until the whispers started, the rumours about the consultant who never seemed to age outside of the silver he'd had added to his hair. When he left, she went with him. Setting up a private firm was easy, neither of them willing to give up the thrill of the chase quite yet. Eventually, when field work became too much for her, they both agreed she should stay behind, putting in the leg work while he went out alone.
It was a situation that didn't last long.
They didn't want to be apart.
After that, they spent their days travelling, Lucifer insistent that she should see as much of the Earth as she could. He left 'while she could' unspoken, and she was glad of it. When they weren't on a plane, or walking on some foreign shore, they were back in LA, in the home they had built for themselves, with friends nearby and grandchildren around their feet.
Or rather, wrapped around Lucifer's legs. He still pretended he hated that.
Life was good. It wasn't endless, but it was good.
And then she got sick.
There were doctor's appointments and hospital visits, days wasted in bed and nights spent lying awake, while he held her so tightly she thought he'd keep her with him through sheer force of will alone. No sooner had they conquered one problem than another one would arise, and although they tried their best, her body was always one step ahead.
One step closer to the finishing line.
It tore her up, watching him watching her fade. He only let it show when he thought she wasn't looking. Never had she seen such grief over someone still living. As soon as he felt her eyes on him though, it would vanish, the pain buried down deep, along with the rest.
He was always there. He would catch her when she fell, carry her when she tired. She was a burden, and she hated it.
This was killing him just as much as it was killing her.
Sometimes she wondered if that's what his siblings had meant when they said the gates would be closed to her when she passed. That she would be consumed with so much guilt at having to leave him that she would be driven down below, rather than on high. Part of her hoped that was true. At least that would mean they would be there together.
Inevitably, her time ran out. Weeks, they said, maybe months if they were lucky. They always knew it would happen, she had told herself. Given their professions, they'd had more time together than they could have hoped for.
It was worth it.
It was worth it.
He cried that night. She held him while he wept, until his tears subsided and his body stilled. "Don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice hoarse and pained. "Promise me you won't go."
"I promise," she said. "We'll stay together."
It was a lie.
+ 1.
She was gone.
He knew it from the moment he stepped foot back inside their home that day. The bed was empty, the house emptier still. All of her things were still there, but she wasn't, not anymore.
I'm sorry, the note said. I'm so sorry. But I can't let you watch me die. You've suffered enough.
My love. My light.
It's time to let me go.
He hated her then, just for a second. Didn't she know? After all this time, didn't she know that he would suffer far more away from her than he ever would by her side? He wanted to be there, to hold her as she took her last breath, to tell her again and again how much he loved her as she left him forever.
Nobody knew where she was, not even her own daughter. His search for her took him from town to town, city to city in the hope that she hadn't travelled far. Every time, there was nothing. Every time he tried, his skin refused to bleed, a useless compass that pointed nowhere.
It was no surprise, not really. His Detective had spent years tracking people down, of course she would know how to stay hidden herself. He spread his wings far and wide, but it was all to no avail. After a few weeks passed with no word, he began to fear the worst.
But the worst was yet to come.
Exhausted and without hope, he returned to LA, not expecting to find her there, but looking nonetheless. The house they had called a home was already a grave to him now, so it was Lux he retreated to, back to a penthouse unused and unloved for years at this point.
It was her he thought of as he slid between silk sheets, his mind filled with memories of her sat at the piano, bathed in amber and fire. As he slipped into slumber, he pictured her beside him, her body entwined with his, an unspoken promise between them that she would be there in the morning.
That she would always be there.
He closed his eyes, and as he dreamed, the light began to leave the world.
When he woke, it was to nothing. No sound other than the beating of his heart, no stars to be seen in the black. Just the emptiness.
He collapsed under the force of it, the grief and sorrow so great that he couldn't breath, couldn't focus on anything other than the ever-growing void inside him.
The anguished cry he made as her soul hit the threshold shook the building. Glass shattered to the floor, books toppled from their shelves, and he noticed none of it.
Because he could hear her voice.
"Lucifer…"
"Lucifer, I love you."
Her last words had been a prayer.
…
Earthquakes weren't unusual in Los Angeles. But the one that struck that day? It was unlike any other in recent memory. The epicentre was one of the most popular nightclubs in the city; a nightclub that was there no longer. The shock was felt for miles, and yet the damage was minimal, all of that energy and destruction solely focused on a once shining building that had imploded under the pressure.
By some divine miracle, there were no casualties, no bodies recovered from the wreckage left behind.
The owner, however, was never seen again.
...
An eternity later, when the entrance to Heaven finally opened, it was without fanfare.
There was no war, no blazing sword to shatter the foundations of a city made of silver.
One minute the gates were closed, in the next they were open wide.
And when the lost son returned, the loneliest soul in paradise was waiting.
Together they left, hand in hand, their destination unknown.
For what did it matter?
They were already home.