"No burden can equal the ache of emptiness." –Thomas Burnett Swann

Chloe dies ten years after Lucifer's return to hell. A grieving Trixie finds solace in a not so unlikely place. Mild Deckstar. Hurt/comfort.

I now have a greater appreciation for people who sketch Lucifer's personality so well. It was pretty tough.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

She breaks away from Penelope to step outside, claiming a smoke break.

Her grandmother knows better but gives her space anyway. Beatrice is grateful. She barely makes it out the back door before the weight crushing her chest chokes her up. However, she manages to stop it as quickly as it started. By the time she reaches the railing on the edge of the deck, she's prevented the tears.

There's still work to be done. The majority of her things have been boxed up somewhat (mostly) haphazardly in Rubbermaids to be loaded into the car to join the items from her dad's house for tomorrow's journey. The drive to school will be a solid five hours so it'll need to be an early start. Leave the house key under the mat, gas up, say goodbye to Dad at the station...the running mental checklist of to-do's is repeated to keep her from losing her mind. Her slim frame leans up against the railing, head turned skyward as the sunset's dying orange and red gives way to dusk over the crashing waves. Remembering her excuse, a cigarette is lit as Beatrice steps down the deck on to the beach. The only saving grace to an unusually scorching LA evening would be the feeling of the water on her toes. She makes her way over to the water, slipping off her sandals to be cursed at later while searched for in the dark.

The water doesn't feel nearly as good as it should. And speaking of should, she really should have seen that one coming. After all, it comes with the territory of constant numbness. The only feeling for the past three months has been mental exhaustion. She closes her eyes to the point of pinching to close her minds against the flashes of sergeants on her father's doorstep and 'I'm so sorry's and flowers. So many damn flowers. Another part of her mind is aware the heat is still stifling, but she can't bring herself to go in yet. So eyes still pinched shut, Beatrice huffs a sigh and plops down on the sand just beyond the reach of the seafoam. She takes a long drag as she lowers her back to the sand, legs splayed out in front of her. On her eyelids form her mother's ghost of an eye roll I-told-you-not-to-but-you-did-and-I-love-you-still smile. Probably something to do with the object currently lit in her ha-

"Hello, small human."

Trixie lazily opened an eye. He was sitting next to her in his usual impeccable black Armani, completely unchanged from the day she last saw him. Or course his human form wouldn't age.

"I don't think I'm so small anymore. Not feeling very human, either." Lucifer pivoted towards her head, eyebrows raised.

"My dear Trixie, grief is VERY human." Attempting to ignore the pain in her chest that the nickname invokes, she slowly sits up and brings her knees halfway to her chest while crossing her wrists over them. The Marlborough is pulled from her hand for a puff of his own.

"No one's called me that since, well, since Mom." She had managed to get everyone else in recent years to drop the title. It really was streetwalking sounding.

How are you back?"

"I've been given a little more leeway lately to roam the earthly plane now that...temptation..is gone. As long as I don't neglect my duties." Beatrice doesn't miss the pause but eyes lift to his with a twinkling of hope all the same. He doesn't need to try his mind trick on her (it wouldn't work anyway) to know her most desperate desire. He has to force out the words that he know will quash the dream.

"The pearly gates are still off limits, so no heavenly messenger service I'm afraid. I only knew because Amenadiel told me when she arrived." Her next question died on her lips as he gave a massive snort.

"Bloody hell! And pun intended, of course she's up there! If she had done any more sodding good in this city she'd be canonized. For your sake, I hope you aren't as recklessly noble as she." Beatrice fiddles with a stand of dark hair blown to her face by the breeze. Her dulled thoughts drift around until her mind forms a question for which she already suspects the answer. Her curiosity gets the better of her.

"Why are you here now?"

"Who knows more about missing a certain detective than me? I'm ten of your years ahead on that front. Wouldn't you say I'm best qualified to cheer you up?" His grin sparks her anger at the universe for its infinite unfairness.

"That's not possible."

His grin doesn't fade in the slightest. If anything, it acquires an edge.

"Then I suppose I won't deliver the message from our dear detective. Oh ho! So it is possible, hm?" Beatrice doesn't remember turning to face him but he has her full attention now. Anger unforgotten, she reaches out to grip his arm with surprising strength.

"Lucifer..."

"It was a one-time thing by way of Amenadiel as she passed through, but I doubt anything got lost in this game of telephone. It seems my tendencies for deals and favors rubbed off on her. It was her instruction to deliver the message in exchange for one thing." Her grip tightens as she leans in.

"And that is...Lucifer!" He's enjoying the suspense way too much for his claim to be making her feel better.

"Mum wants you to knock 'that nasty habit' " he quotes in a high pitched American accent, pointing to the Marlborough forgotten in her other hand. The air is broken with her bark of laughter.

"Oh god, that is so Mom."

The devil rolls his eyes at the mention, but continues onward. "So do we have a deal?" She knows going cold turkey is going to be awful, but she drops both his arm and the cigarette, nodding her head with a quiet "yes" anyway.

"She sends her love and says not to worry, she's perfectly fine. It's a bit boring there (could have told you that one) but she's in good hands. Grandpa says hello. She's sorry she missed your graduation. You need to take care of yourself and eat more." Both parties roll their eyes at that. "Call dad and grandma regularly at college. Don't do anything she wouldn't do, and she looks forward to seeing you later rather than sooner." He throws his trademark devilish grin her way as she processes what she heard. "You know, I'm not one to judge a vice here and there as long as you don't go on a spree, but you do need to eat darling or you'll be seeing her much sooner than you ought."

Who knew that the devil had a paternal streak? Beatrice said as much, to which he responded with something about avoiding the wrath of the detective. How ironic. Wrath...

"Why are you so calm?" It's been on her mind since the beginning of the conversation. His look of confusion makes her expand. "You traded returning to hell for all eternity for her. She was supposed to be safe. And then this happened. Why are you so calm?" Confusion turns to ire with a red twinge of his iris that says everything.

"You have no idea. The outcome of my...discussion..with Amenadiel was not pretty. I've yet to receive an answer from my father. Probably would have popped in sooner but there was a soul I spent some special attention punishing." His eyes returned to their normal shade to look at hers probingly. "But enough of that, you Decker females continue to intrigue me. I never told her about my deal with dear old Dad."

Beatrice remembered the vacant look on her mother's face in the years following Lucifer's departure. It probably looked similar to the one Beatrice wore now. The same childhood simplistic wisdom at 7 years old that had led her to immediately accept the truth of Lucifer for who he was also made his reason for leaving their lives obvious. Only one thing could pull him away. Her mother came to the same conclusion eventually. Beatrice could never bring herself to ask about the details though.

"You didn't need to." They lapse into comfortable silence.

She didn't expect it to last long with him. True to form, "You know, you really should be grateful you've grown into your mothers looks. Hair and eye color aside, I see no trace of sperm-donating Detective Douche. Looking at you could have been quite painful." The corner of her mouth pulls up at the second title she hasn't heard in a decade. She's debating whether or not it's worth admonishing him (she decides it's not) when a sudden intake of breath from him pulls her back to reality. A massive wave that was definitely not there a moment ago reaches far beyond its companions to loom above them, threatening to machine wash them both. Beatrice jumps to her feet and turns for the house but misses the sound of Lucifer doing the same. Instead she hears him good humoredly call out something that sounds like "Must not have liked that very much. Don't be too good!"

When the wave is gone, Beatrice is alone. She notices a dark lump in about the same spot on the wet sand where he had sat. Moving closer, the urge to laugh split with an eye roll ends up as another twitch at the corner of her mouth. In her former companion's place is a slice of sinful looking chocolate cake.

Fin

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading my first fic. It was cranked out at 2 am yesterday when inspiration struck, so forgive any silly mistakes.