A/N: I wrote this last night, and didn't finish until early this morning. The ending of season 4 pretty much as been on my mind since I first saw it and, let's be honest, I think it broke a lot of us. At some point, I'll write something that has a slightly happier outlook, but for now, have some angst.

Obviously, spoiler alert. So if you haven't seen the end of the series yet, I recommend doing that.

That night in the penthouse she had cried. Sat on the floor of the balcony, knees hugged closely to her chest, she cried as she looked up at the sky, hoping to see some sign, just something, that would tell her he was okay.

But there was nothing.

And she knew that there would never be.

As the sun had risen, so had she. Her tears had dried, but the emptiness in her soul only worsened without the distraction that crying had given her.

She had got to work on cleaning the penthouse in the light of the dawn; straightening the cushions on the sofa and picking up the shards of glass, clearing the evidence of the night before.

When it was done, the space felt emptier than it ever had.

Her mind had returned to the moment she had arrived looking for him, fresh out of hospital, only to find white sheets in every corner.

There were no white sheets this time. Nothing at all to suggest he wasn't coming back. But it made no difference.

She had left with one last look out towards the balcony. A part of her longed to see him standing there as if nothing had happened, and for a moment she could almost imagine it; finding him hiding in the shadows as the sun rose to its peak.

But she knew it was all her imagination.

She so left.

A week went by since their ordeal with the demons. A week since Lucifer had said goodbye. Linda came and visited her often, often when Trixie was out so they could talk properly. Sometimes she would bring baby Charlie over with her, and on those days, Chloe felt it easier to deal with everything. The simple presence of the tiny half-angel enough to keep her distracted from the numbness she had felt since the day Lucifer had left.

It wasn't long before the questions started by those who didn't know. At first it had been Ella asking why he hadn't been at the precinct lately. She hadn't known what to answer, so she had been vague, telling Ella that it wasn't unlike Lucifer to pull away for a bit, but Chloe knew that her friend didn't buy it.

Then Dan had started to ask. At first, he had apologised to her for his behaviour before admitting that he had been wrong about Lucifer. Charlotte's death hadn't been his fault, and he said that he wanted to tell him personally, wanting to own up to everything he had done. Chloe hadn't known what to say to that and just told him that Lucifer would be back when he was back.

Trixie started asking next. She knew that Lucifer had been through some things recently, but now Chloe could tell that her daughter was getting worried. Eventually, she told her that Lucifer had gone away in order to deal with some things. But when Trixie had asked when he would be back, Chloe had found herself unable to answer.

Eventually, the weeks turned into months and she couldn't deny the truth any longer. Any hope she had of him suddenly returning, telling her that everything was safe and he was able to stay, was slowly fading.

The hope was gone the day Lux closed its doors for good. Chloe had known that Lucifer had left without formally sorting out his assets, so the club had been left to no one. She had hoped that maybe Maze would have taken it up, or even Amenadiel, but neither did, both claiming that it was better that way and with Lucifer having been officially declared missing with no proof to suggest otherwise, the club remained empty.

On her darker days, Chloe would find herself outside the once proud building. When Lucifer had been here, even during the day the building had given off such life. Now, it was nothing more than a shell.

On some of those days she would even venture inside. At first, the place still smelt of stale alcohol and smoke. Before, the smell would have made her cringe, but now it just reminded her of him.

But, like all things, the familiar sent that she had come to associate with the abandoned club went too. And, eventually, Chloe stopped venturing inside the club's doors.

Not once, on those days she used to visit, did she ever head up to the penthouse.

There were just some things that would always be too painful.

Months slowly turned into years. Trixie became a teenager and Charlie became the most adorable toddler. When he was four, Amenadiel took him to the Silver City for the first time. The small boy had come back with a wide smile, telling both his mother and anyone else who would listen about the rest of his family. He told them about all his aunts and uncles; about how cool it was to watch them fly around. Chloe had smiled as she watched him excitedly talk about it all, trying to picture his child-like descriptions of the home of the angelic side of his heritage.

Her smile had dropped, though, and the tears returned when she overheard Charlie ask his father about why his Uncle Luci hadn't been there and why he was the only one he hadn't yet met.

Chloe hadn't waited for Amenadiel's answer, not wanting to hear something that would make Lucifer out to be some kind of hero. She knew he would hate that. Because, despite what he wanted her to believe, she knew that when he had left, he still hadn't completely forgiven himself. She knew that, some part of him deep down, still hated the man he was, and it hurt to know, and have the reminder, that he was stuck, alone in a place he hated, without anybody by his side to help him through the dark days she knew he would have.

That night, Chloe found herself back in the abandoned penthouse for the first time in over four years.

She stood, at the edge of the balcony, and looked up at the darkening sky, watching as the sun set over the city and the stars lit up the sky. Her fingers fondled the bullet that hang around her neck. The necklace Lucifer had given her so long ago now not having found its way off her person since the first day she had put it back on – the day he had left.

As she felt the wind blow around her, she closed her eyes. When it dropped she imagined that he was standing beside her, watching the sun set on the balcony together. If she thought hard enough, she could even feel the warmth of his presence on her left side – but only for a second. And if she really concentrated, when the wind picked up again for a moment, the phantom presence at her side blowing away, she wondered if she could hear his voice in the whispers of the wind, calling her name.

When the wind died down again, she opened her eyes. A single white feather flouted down in front of her gaze. She gasped and stuck out her hand, letting the small feather fall into her palm.

Gently she grasped it, careful not to crush it, as if it was the most precious thing she had ever held. And to her, it was.

Carefully, she opened her palm and inspected the feather. It was small and soft, a soft light surrounding it. She sobbed, a sound made partly from a relieved laugh and a despaired sadness. It was his feather.

It didn't help the hurt that he was still gone, and that her chances of seeing him again were slim, but it reassured her one thing: he hadn't forgotten her. And for that she was grateful.

Her fingers tightened around the feather once more, her hand bringing it to her chest, her other hand tightening around the bullet. She held them both close to her as the tears fell down her face as she let herself be consumed by thoughts of him: memories of their time together; the cases they solved, the moments they shared, the man she loved.

A man who just happened to be The Devil.

But a man who would always remain Her Angel.