Chapter Text
Chloe crumpled to the floor, a dry, aching bubble building in her chest. The celestial wind from the angel’s departure rustled her hair. The empty void where he had graced the balcony seemed too quiet, too still and she felt the emptiness to her core. She hadn’t felt so alone since her father had died, and yet somehow this was worse. It was like her entire reason for existence had followed Lucifer to Hell, and it had only been a few seconds.
She heaved a few painful, empty sobs as she stared out at the LA skyline, trying to find a source of grounding, something to cling to in the darkness. Then her eyes caught a bright shining gleam. Drifting on the breeze, a single feather; long and white. So white that even the stars above seemed pale and grey. It danced and played in the air for a moment, seeming almost gleeful in its descent from the sky.
The wind ushered the feather closer to her and it came to land gently just before her hand. Slowly she stretched out her fingers and captured the soft blade. The silken threads shimmered in the moonlight, seeming to glow with their own inner light. She was surprised by how warm the feather felt.
She drew it in close to her chest and wondered at the smell of smoke. It was the only comfort she found that night.
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**** the next morning ****
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Chloe blinked back the harsh sunlight streaming through the window, blinding her even as she blinked and tried to reorientate herself. Her body felt stiff and heavy, and she somehow felt like she had slept for days. Like her life before this moment had been a dream, albeit a strange one. The fine leather sofa peeled off her skin as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her clothes dug uncomfortably into the creases of her body. She groaned and forcibly blinked.
The grand piano, backed by the beauty of the bar, sat silently. The warm sunlight gleamed on the polished wood.
“Lucifer?” she called, and suddenly felt foolish.
The empty feeling returned tenfold at the silence that followed her call. Suddenly the reality of the situation hit her. The bubble of emptiness caught in her throat and she found herself looking around the room, trying to ignore the pain that spasmed in her chest.
She noticed with natural attention to detail that the brandy glass Lucifer had left atop the piano was still there, untouched. Everything else was in its place. The bar lovingly polished, each shining bottle of brandy, whiskey, gin, and rye displayed to its best angle on varying pedestals. Beside her, sitting on the coffee table - that never held coffee - was the feather. It was just as vibrant as the night before.
She picked it up and felt a small inkling of calm enter her body. Chloe wondered at it for a moment, noticing that the feather shimmered with a rainbow of colours in the sunlight. She had never seen a feather like it. She breathed in. There it was again. The faint smell of smoke; not unpleasant, almost like burning oak at a campfire. The feather still felt warm.
She breathed in again and her nose wrinkled. The smell of sweat added to the aroma, unpleasant in its intrusion. She needed a shower. She didn’t feel like taking a shower, but she needed the task. Something to keep her mind busy and away from Lucifer.
With a sigh that turned into a groan, she stood up, muscles protesting from their awkward position on the couch. She could always go home and shower, but she didn't quite feel ready to leave Lucifer’s penthouse, and so she sought out the bathroom.
The room was perfectly “Lucifer.” It was just as elaborate as the rest of the penthouse. Marble floors, lights running the floor of the shower itself, handles in places that seemed odd for a devil with no mobility issues. Chrome jets lining the shower walls at varying angles. The chrome faucets buffed so that they gleamed. The bathroom mirror stretched the entire wall. The lighting was warm and inviting, a soft yellow that did wonders for hiding the imperfections of human skin.
Chloe stripped off her clothes and folded them neatly on the white marble counter, placing the feather at the top of the pile. She considered stripping off the bullet necklace, but her hands shook when she went to undo the clasp, and the sharp pain in her heart had her dropping her hands, leaving the jewelry in place. She dry heaved for a moment before she glanced up and was distracted enough by the full body reflection of herself above the bathroom sink to re-ground. She wiggled her toes, visible in the mirror. The floor felt warm under her bare feet. She released a shaking breath.
She stepped into the shower, sliding closed the perfectly see-through glass door behind her. It took a moment to study the impossible number of blue-lit buttons. She hesitated with her finger hovering over one near the top of the panel. Too bad not one of them was labelled.
She pushed one at random and the lights along the floor shifted to a deep, brooding red. Chloe frowned. She pressed another button and shrieked as a jet of icy water sprayed her in the back. She quickly pressed two more buttons at random and the jet turned off, replaced by another that bathed her shoulders and hair in warm water. The soothing heat enveloped her body and she laughed out loud as she imagined Lucifer’s smug delight at watching her struggle with his shower. She could imagine some smugly said comment about her naked and pushing his buttons.
The laugh turned to a sob in the next breath. She was glad for the water that camouflaged her tears and she looked up; intent to re-ground herself again. The reflection definitely proved a distraction. She was staring up at herself, water cascading over her curves, her blond hair plastered down her neck, her eyes circled by dark rings, lips parted slightly. Of course Lucifer would have a mirror on the ceiling. Suddenly awkward and shy, she decided to hurry up and finish. Trixie would be home tonight, and she needed to be put together by then.
Thankfully the shampoo and conditioner were easy enough to sort out from pumps along the wall, although she was fairly certain the third pump was sex lube. She didn’t touch it to find out.
Three buttons and an uncomfortable blast of water to her nether regions and she was out and drying herself on a soft grey towel so large that she could wrap it around herself twice.
She was patting herself dry when her reflection caught her attention. The red light was gleaming off her face, and the shadows under her eyes gave her a synyster, almost horrifying expression. The light even caught her eyes in a most peculiar way, making them glow slightly against the backdrop of her angry-red face. She thought with a sort of detached intrigue that she should be more disturbed by the image.
The ding of the elevator broke her revere.
“Lucifer!” The shout from outside the bathroom door could only belong to one. “You here?”
Chloe wasn’t sure why, but she stashed the feather quickly under her shirt a second before Maze burst into the bathroom, glaring.
“Luci-Decker?” Maze narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here? Where’s Lucifer?”
Chloe pushed down the stab of emptiness. “Gone,” she answered.
Maze scanned Chloe, wrapped in the towel and hair curling damply around her shoulders. “Was the sex that bad?”
Chloe rolled her eyes, “No!”
Maze was grinning, “I can give you some pointers. There’s this thing you can do with your tongue, drives men wild.... Even angels.”
“Maze!” Chloe growled, glad the red lighting hid her blush, “I did not have sex-” she hissed the word “-with Lucifer.”
Maze shrugged, suddenly bored. “Whatever.” Then Maze looked around the room and back toward the hallway. “Well when he comes back, tell him I’m looking for him.”
Chloe swallowed around the lump in her throat, loudly enough that Maze turned back a pointed stare at her. Her dark eyes glittered. “He’s not coming back….” Chloe whispered.
Maze’s expression tightened. “Why!” The word was harsh, bitter, hardly a question.
“He’s in Hell….” Chloe said it softly, and a sob would have followed had Maze not lashed out at that moment, her fist landing squarely into the mirror, sending spiderweb cracks along the length of it.
Chloe shielded her face against the shattering glass. Sharp pieces scattered, layering across the floor and the counter, including her bundle of clothes.
“Maze, I’m sorry” Chloe mumbled, and looked back at the demon who’s chest was literally heaving with each breath.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Maze growled and stalked from the room.
The ding of the elevator announced her departure.
Chloe released a breath she hadn’t thought she’d been holding and looked down at the new minefield of glass across the bathroom floor and her bare feet. She should clean it up. Carefully, she picked her way across the bathroom floor, managing not to slice her feet by some miracle.
The storage closet was surprisingly human, she noticed. A vacuum, a mop, some detergents, and a broom. She smiled for a moment at the mental image of Lucifer mopping the floor. Who was she kidding? He probably hired someone for that.
The smile faded, and she grabbed the broom and dustpan, battling the impending feeling of emptiness pushing up her throat. She went back to the bathroom and methodically began the task of cleaning the broken glass from the counter and floor. The crunch of glass clinking together reminded her of windchimes. She felt like she was moving in slow motion as she swept each piece into a pile and then gathered the loose shards off the counter. Like walking underwater. It was many long moments before the bathroom was to her satisfaction. Too bad about the mirror though.
Chloe paused, looking at the shattered image of herself in the red light. The reflection was truly startling. Her face an angry red, her eyes glowing and the irregular shards distorting her face so that she reminded herself of a halloween costume she had once seen titled “the Devil’s Wife.” Instinctively she recoiled from the thought, an icy chill creeping down her spine. Although a dark part of her mind almost longed for the idea. Almost.
With an angry huff she grabbed her bundle of clothes from the counter.
“Ow!” she hissed as a shard trapped in the fabric sliced her finger. She pulled her hand back, the thin line along her finger throbbing and oozing a thin trail of blood.
Did the Devil even keep bandaids? she wondered, glancing around.
Plan B it was. She stuck her finger under the faucet and turned on the cold water. The lighting hid the colour of the blood as it washed down the sink. She looked back at the pile of clothes and caught the hint of white peaking out. Did she imagine that it seemed to be glowing even now?
She felt a sudden yearning to reach for the feather…. To stroke its soft bristles. The smell of smoke grew stronger, almost as if the feather was calling to her. The blood rushed in her ears. She stretched out her hand.
It would have been easier to use the uninjured hand, but she felt compelled to use the injured hand… to reach out for it, to touch it.
She didn’t notice the bubble of blood that had rebuilt on her finger.