Sylar/Elle Fic: While Guardian Angels Watch
Title: While Guardian Angels Watch
Author: MrsTater
Characters & Pairings: Gabriel/Elle, Noah Gray
Rating & Warnings: PG for mild sexuality and religious references
Format & Word Count: one-shot, 2752 words
Summary: On Christmas Eve, they go to church. With them for parents, Noah could use a little of the grace of God in his life. But after church, Gabriel finds a little grace, too.
Author's Notes: Written for the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge at sylelle_chall. Tis the season for fluff and happy family fic, right? I've taken a few liberties with the alternate future timeline presented in episode 3x4, "I Am Become Death," most notably by setting this story in New York rather than Costa Verde. Gabriel's definitely a Petrelli in this one, because it's fun. ;) Hope y'all enjoy. Huge thanks to Godricgal for her awesome beta work, especially in helping me sort out some verb tense issues! Feedback is very welcome and much appreciated.
While Guardian Angels Watch
On Christmas Eve they go to church. Virginia Gray always took Gabriel to church when he was a child, and he thinks his son will love the Bible's stories of miracles and might as much as he did. Elle's father never took her anywhere, and she wants her little boy to experience everything. And both agree that with them for parents, Noah could use a little of the grace of God in his life.
He could probably use a little sleep, too. His sandy blond head resting on Gabriel's shoulder as the family makes their way out of the cathedral after the service. They've kept him up past the ungodly hour of midnight for Mass, trading the comfort of green fleece reindeer footie pajamas for neatly creased charcoal dress pants, shiny black shoes, and a festive red sweater over a crisp white shirt -- an ensemble that matches Gabriel's outfit exactly, right down to their black overcoats and side part. All Noah lacks is the glasses -- Elle had remarked on this with glee when they were all dressed and ready to leave the apartment for church, but Gabriel hopes that while his son has his eyes, he won't inherit his eyesight.
Carrying his miniature look-alike, with Elle, angelic in an ivory coat and hat, on his other arm, Gabriel thinks they look like the perfect Christmas card family as they walk the few blocks from Our Lady of Angels parish to their Brooklyn apartment. In fact, they are a Christmas card family, wearing the very outfits Elle picked out for the family portrait they sent to Peter, who wanted one; Claire, who didn't: Noah and Sandra Bennet, whom the jury was still out on, and, of course, President Nathan Petrelli and the First Lady. While pointedly not sending one to Angela. After four years of parenthood, five in a relationship with Elle that hasn't ended in one of them killing the other, Gabriel still feels as if this must be a dream, that he can't really have a normal life -- a shop, a family -- and still feel so special.
Noah's arms around his neck, however, squeezing with a strength that seems so beyond normal four-year-old capacity that Gabriel wonders if it's an ability manifesting, do not feel like a dream.
"I liked church, Daddy."
"Not so tight there, Champ!" Gabriel exaggerates choking sounds that make Noah laugh (but relax his hold, thank God), while Elle calls him a drama queen.
"I'm glad you liked church," Gabriel says. "So did I."
"Did you like it, Mommy?"
"Yep, I sure did," Elle says with an enthusiasm that catches Gabriel slightly by surprise. All night he's been afraid she'd find Mass boring, full of silly and meaningless traditions.
"What was your favorite part?" he asks them both, feeling that familiar sense of pride, of specialness, that swells in his chest whenever one of his plans has made his wife and son happy.
"Angels!" Noah lets go of Gabriel completely, flinging his arms up in the air.
"I liked the candlelight," Elle says.
Passing under the glow of a streetlight, her eyes gleam up at Gabriel with the same mischief as when she'd used her powers to discreetly light their candles before the candle lighters reached their pew. Her grin stretches as she shifts her gaze to Noah.
"But I really loved how good and quiet you were during the Bible stories!"
Gabriel chuckles. Of course that would be Elle's favorite part; every night when they read bedtime stories to Noah, she's exasperated by how many questions he asks -- and how many of them prove beyond the ability of two reasonably intelligent and educated adults to answer.
"Yes, you were a perfect little angel," Gabriel concurs. "I'm sure Santa will have an extra present for your good behavior. Unlike Mommy," he adds, casting a playful glare down at Elle, "who'll be getting a lump of coal in her stocking for playing with her powers in church."
She flicks her hair over her shoulder, looking absolutely unrepentant. "What? I've never been to church before. I don't know what's allowed. And don't tell me I didn't see you do a little wave of your fingers to stop that altar boy from doing a faceplant in the aisle after he tripped on his skirt."
"Cassock. And you didn't see me do that."
"What did Mommy see you do, Daddy?"
Gabriel's eyes narrow on Elle as he replies, "Nothing, Noah. your mother's just teasing me."
"Why?"
"Because your daddy's a guardian angel," Elle says.
Noah's mouth forms the perfect O which never fails to make Gabriel chuckle, though tonight his amusement trails away into a sigh. He's used to Elle's mockery, but he wishes she wouldn't do so at the risk of revealing too much about his abilities to their little boy, who still views this too-rapidly evolving world through the innocent eyes of a child who trusts only in his parents' love.
"You are?" Noah whispers.
They stop at a crosswalk, their breath steaming in the winter night air as they wait for the traffic signal to change -- an action not often observed these days, now that human flight is replacing walking and killing the New York City public transportation system.
"No," Gabriel says, as lightly as he can manage, which is difficult due to the lump balled in his throat, the guilt which tastes vaguely like the bitter, metallic tang of blood; yet it's also a taste that makes his mouth water, and creates such an emptiness deep inside him -- the hunger he can never quite put down. "I'm no angel. Mommy's just joking because my name is Gabriel, like a very famous angel."
The explanation seems to have the opposite effect as Gabriel hoped; Noah looks at him like the shepherds must have regarded the heavenly host after the Angel of the Lord told them to fear not.
"You talked to the shepherds?" Noah says. "Cool!"
Watching a few yellow cabs speed past through the mire of melted snow, Gabriel isn't sure where to begin setting his son straight. Of course clearing up any confusion about him being an angel is priority, but he should also explain that the Bible doesn't say which Angel of the Lord brought the shepherds good tidings of great joy; it might have been Michael as easily as Gabriel, But of course that information might confuse Noah even more. Will he think every boy named Michael is an angel?
In Gabriel's moment of hesitation, Elle speaks up. "The story about the angels and the shepherds happened a long time ago. Daddy can't travel through time like some people. Although I bet he'd like to."
Gabriel ignores her sassy grin as Noah's sandy eyebrows knit in momentary disappointment which he feels keenly, like a little shock of the electricity he acquired from Elle; he hates to let his son down for any reason at all. But, just as abruptly, the eyebrows shoot upward again, disappearing beneath Noah's side-swept hair, and he clutches Gabriel's collar in dimpled fists.
"Can you fly, Daddy?"
Gabriel chokes again, and out the corner of his eye sees Elle's grin stretch into an expression of pure wickedness. As a matter of fact, he can fly. It's one of the few abilities he's acquired empathically; he got it from Nathan, when they formed a truce. But even in this world in which powers can be given to anyone who desires them, Gabriel doesn't like to own up to how many abilities he possesses, no matter how he came by them. He could never bear to tell Noah that he killed for most of them, and dreads the day when truth will out him.
And thinking about his collection of powers stirs his hunger for more, to fill up that empty place inside.
"I can make you fly!" Gabriel sweeps the little boy high up over his head, and Noah's squeals of laughter ring out over the honking of cars and the cathedral chimes.
The light changes, and the family hurries across the intersection, Gabriel making concession with his longer strides for Elle's high-heeled boots. Their apartment building is just on the other side of the street, and by the time they reach their front step, Noah is begging Gabriel to fly him again, angels long forgotten.
Except by Elle, who says, "Daddy can shine like an angel."
Gabriel rolls his eyes. "I don't think the glory of the Lord shone round about the shepherds and made them sore afraid of radiation poisoning."
"What's radiation poisoning?" asks Noah, his forehead crinkling.
"Ask your mother," Gabriel says, shifting Noah to one arm so he can get the door.
Elle glares at him as she sweeps past into the lobby, and Gabriel can't resist a smug grin at getting the upper hand on her at last.
"Mommy?"
"It's something that makes people very sick," Elle says as they board the dark, narrow elevator to their third floor apartment. "But that's not nice to talk about on Christmas."
"Oh."
Noah is quiet as they make their way down the hall, once more laying his head on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel thinks his son is almost asleep, until they enter the apartment and Noah sits up, arms tightening around Gabriel's neck again as the wide brown eyes inspect the living room radiator warily.
"Do you get radiation poisoning from radiators?" Noah half-whispers.
Gabriel ruffles the boy's hair and kisses his head. "Nope. Our radiators are safe."
"Why?"
"Because I check them to make sure."
"See?" says Elle, tugging Noah's red knitted mittens off his hands. "I told you Daddy's our guardian angel. He knows how things work to keep us safe."
In spite of his earlier thoughts, Gabriel has to smile at this, feeling warm all over despite the fact that the apartment's like a refrigerator with the radiator off. Elle's face mirrors his happiness, but her eyes dart to the hall closet, where Noah's first bicycle with training wheels lies in pieces in a box, waiting to be assembled. No matter how Gabriel argued with her that the guys at Toys R Us put bikes safely together all the time and there was room to store and hide an assembled bike in the closet, Elle refused to budge from her stance that their son's health and safety depended on Gabriel's intuitive aptitude. She gave the ultimatum that Gabriel must put it together himself, on Christmas Eve, because that's what dads do --or else there will be no bike for Noah. But Gabriel scanned the instruction manual last night and balked at the idea of even intuitive aptitude making the very poor English clear to him. It's going to be a long night.
"Speaking of how things work," Gabriel says, I know how Santa Claus works, too, and a certain little boy who's been very nice this year should be in bed so Santa can come."
Launching himself from Gabriel's arms, Noah bolts through the living room to his bedroom.
"Mommy!" he shouts a moment later, and Gabriel and Elle stop peeling off their coats and scarves and boots to peer down the hall. In the light spilling out of Noah's room, they see Noah has already stripped off his church clothes, but other than his Power Ranger underwear, the only other thing he wears is a deeply serious expression.
"What is it, baby?" asks Elle.
"Don't forget Santa's snack!"
"Yeah, Mommy," Gabriel says, flicking on the thermostat, then placing his hands on Elle's petite shoulders and steering her toward the kitchen. "Don't forget Santa's snack."
"Are you sure you know about this snack thing?" Elle teases as she removes the foil covering from the pie she baked that afternoon. "I always thought he was into chocolate chip cookies and milk."
"That's what everybody thinks. But I happen to have it on good authority that Santa's favorite snack is actually peach pie." Sliding his hands over Elle's hips as she cuts a generous slice, he stoops to whisper in her ear, "Especially when he's got to put together B-I-C-Y-C-L-E-S."
He kisses her in that sensitive place beneath her ear as she shovels the pie onto the special Santa plate, and, squirming, Elle spills a blob of peach filling on the counter. Gabriel reaches around her to wipe it up with his finger, but Elle swats his hand away.
"That's for Santa!"
Gabriel pouts. "But I am Santa."
"Shh!" Elle's eyes dart to the hallway. "Do you want to ruin it for him?"
Leaning back against the counter, shoving his hands into his pockets, Gabriel says, "He'd probably just be confused. Like he is about the angel thing."
Elle stops pouring milk and approaches him, sliding her hands up over his chest. "But you are our guardian angel."
Gabriel leans in to her, accepts the soft and yet sensual kiss she presses to his mouth, which promises him another kind of snack after he assembles that bike.
But he pulls away with a sigh, his hair falling over his forehead as he shakes his head.
"Guardian angels do things like save people from terrible car accidents, or protect them from crimes. Heroic things. I don't do anything more heroic with my abilities than stop altar boys from tripping."
"I'm sure that altar boy would call you a hero if he knew you kept him from falling flat on his face and making a jackass of himself in front of all the girls," Elle says, pushing his hair back from his face as she arches up on the balls of her stocking feet for another kiss. "Anyway, you said that hero stuff is overrated -- just look at your brothers. One's created a super army for his police state, and the other's a wanted terrorist. Real heroic."
"And they've lost everyone who's important to them." Gabriel slides his hands out of his pockets to hold Elle, resting his head against hers. "I'm no angel, either, Elle..."
"Daddy! Daddy!"
As they move apart, a small green-glad figure blurs into the kitchen, skidding on the wood floor before crashing into Gabriel's legs.
"Whoa, there, Champ!" Gabriel kneels to be at eye level with his son. "Remember what Mommy and I've said about running in your PJs?"
"That I shouldn't do it because I could slip and get hurt," Noah answers, hanging his head guiltily.
"That's right." Gabriel feathers Noah's hair to show there's no harm done, and no one's angry at him. "Now what's up?"
Noah's round little face lights up with the curiosity that shone on it when he ran into the kitchen, and he bounces on his toes. "Is Santa Claus an angel?"
Gabriel looks up at Elle, who is equally at a loss.
"Why do you think that, son?" he asks.
"Because he flies, he's shiny, and he knows when you're sleeping and when you're awake!"
Laughing, Elle carries the milk and pie into the living room and sets them on the coffee table. "You're too smart for me, Noah. Come on, do you want to go read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas before you go to sleep?"
Noah doesn't budge, but tugs at Gabriel's sleeve, commanding his attention to those imploring brown eyes. "Is he, Daddy?"
As Gabriel looks around at his son and his wife and their apartment with its wall-to-wall bookshelves crammed with more Disney DVDs than books these days, aglow with the colors of the twinkling Christmas tree lights powered by the electricity he's figured out how to channel from his own body, he again marvels that this beautiful normalcy is his life now, that this gorgeous woman and precious child depend on him to check radiators and put together bicycles. All the abilities in the world couldn't make him feel the way this makes him feel. He'd only hunger for more, while Elle and Noah satisfy every longing of his heart.
Except maybe the longing for peach pie and making love to Elle. But Santa snacks at every stop, doesn't he, then goes home to Mrs. Claus?
Someday Noah will learn that the only thing his father has in common with angels is his name (and the ability to fly), but he'll also know that Daddy is Santa Claus, and stayed up all night to put together his first bike, and maybe that will make all the difference.
"You know what, Noah?" says Gabriel. "I think you might just be right about Santa."
The End
Author: MrsTater
Characters & Pairings: Gabriel/Elle, Noah Gray
Rating & Warnings: PG for mild sexuality and religious references
Format & Word Count: one-shot, 2752 words
Summary: On Christmas Eve, they go to church. With them for parents, Noah could use a little of the grace of God in his life. But after church, Gabriel finds a little grace, too.
Author's Notes: Written for the 12 Days of Christmas Challenge at sylelle_chall. Tis the season for fluff and happy family fic, right? I've taken a few liberties with the alternate future timeline presented in episode 3x4, "I Am Become Death," most notably by setting this story in New York rather than Costa Verde. Gabriel's definitely a Petrelli in this one, because it's fun. ;) Hope y'all enjoy. Huge thanks to Godricgal for her awesome beta work, especially in helping me sort out some verb tense issues! Feedback is very welcome and much appreciated.
While Guardian Angels Watch
On Christmas Eve they go to church. Virginia Gray always took Gabriel to church when he was a child, and he thinks his son will love the Bible's stories of miracles and might as much as he did. Elle's father never took her anywhere, and she wants her little boy to experience everything. And both agree that with them for parents, Noah could use a little of the grace of God in his life.
He could probably use a little sleep, too. His sandy blond head resting on Gabriel's shoulder as the family makes their way out of the cathedral after the service. They've kept him up past the ungodly hour of midnight for Mass, trading the comfort of green fleece reindeer footie pajamas for neatly creased charcoal dress pants, shiny black shoes, and a festive red sweater over a crisp white shirt -- an ensemble that matches Gabriel's outfit exactly, right down to their black overcoats and side part. All Noah lacks is the glasses -- Elle had remarked on this with glee when they were all dressed and ready to leave the apartment for church, but Gabriel hopes that while his son has his eyes, he won't inherit his eyesight.
Carrying his miniature look-alike, with Elle, angelic in an ivory coat and hat, on his other arm, Gabriel thinks they look like the perfect Christmas card family as they walk the few blocks from Our Lady of Angels parish to their Brooklyn apartment. In fact, they are a Christmas card family, wearing the very outfits Elle picked out for the family portrait they sent to Peter, who wanted one; Claire, who didn't: Noah and Sandra Bennet, whom the jury was still out on, and, of course, President Nathan Petrelli and the First Lady. While pointedly not sending one to Angela. After four years of parenthood, five in a relationship with Elle that hasn't ended in one of them killing the other, Gabriel still feels as if this must be a dream, that he can't really have a normal life -- a shop, a family -- and still feel so special.
Noah's arms around his neck, however, squeezing with a strength that seems so beyond normal four-year-old capacity that Gabriel wonders if it's an ability manifesting, do not feel like a dream.
"I liked church, Daddy."
"Not so tight there, Champ!" Gabriel exaggerates choking sounds that make Noah laugh (but relax his hold, thank God), while Elle calls him a drama queen.
"I'm glad you liked church," Gabriel says. "So did I."
"Did you like it, Mommy?"
"Yep, I sure did," Elle says with an enthusiasm that catches Gabriel slightly by surprise. All night he's been afraid she'd find Mass boring, full of silly and meaningless traditions.
"What was your favorite part?" he asks them both, feeling that familiar sense of pride, of specialness, that swells in his chest whenever one of his plans has made his wife and son happy.
"Angels!" Noah lets go of Gabriel completely, flinging his arms up in the air.
"I liked the candlelight," Elle says.
Passing under the glow of a streetlight, her eyes gleam up at Gabriel with the same mischief as when she'd used her powers to discreetly light their candles before the candle lighters reached their pew. Her grin stretches as she shifts her gaze to Noah.
"But I really loved how good and quiet you were during the Bible stories!"
Gabriel chuckles. Of course that would be Elle's favorite part; every night when they read bedtime stories to Noah, she's exasperated by how many questions he asks -- and how many of them prove beyond the ability of two reasonably intelligent and educated adults to answer.
"Yes, you were a perfect little angel," Gabriel concurs. "I'm sure Santa will have an extra present for your good behavior. Unlike Mommy," he adds, casting a playful glare down at Elle, "who'll be getting a lump of coal in her stocking for playing with her powers in church."
She flicks her hair over her shoulder, looking absolutely unrepentant. "What? I've never been to church before. I don't know what's allowed. And don't tell me I didn't see you do a little wave of your fingers to stop that altar boy from doing a faceplant in the aisle after he tripped on his skirt."
"Cassock. And you didn't see me do that."
"What did Mommy see you do, Daddy?"
Gabriel's eyes narrow on Elle as he replies, "Nothing, Noah. your mother's just teasing me."
"Why?"
"Because your daddy's a guardian angel," Elle says.
Noah's mouth forms the perfect O which never fails to make Gabriel chuckle, though tonight his amusement trails away into a sigh. He's used to Elle's mockery, but he wishes she wouldn't do so at the risk of revealing too much about his abilities to their little boy, who still views this too-rapidly evolving world through the innocent eyes of a child who trusts only in his parents' love.
"You are?" Noah whispers.
They stop at a crosswalk, their breath steaming in the winter night air as they wait for the traffic signal to change -- an action not often observed these days, now that human flight is replacing walking and killing the New York City public transportation system.
"No," Gabriel says, as lightly as he can manage, which is difficult due to the lump balled in his throat, the guilt which tastes vaguely like the bitter, metallic tang of blood; yet it's also a taste that makes his mouth water, and creates such an emptiness deep inside him -- the hunger he can never quite put down. "I'm no angel. Mommy's just joking because my name is Gabriel, like a very famous angel."
The explanation seems to have the opposite effect as Gabriel hoped; Noah looks at him like the shepherds must have regarded the heavenly host after the Angel of the Lord told them to fear not.
"You talked to the shepherds?" Noah says. "Cool!"
Watching a few yellow cabs speed past through the mire of melted snow, Gabriel isn't sure where to begin setting his son straight. Of course clearing up any confusion about him being an angel is priority, but he should also explain that the Bible doesn't say which Angel of the Lord brought the shepherds good tidings of great joy; it might have been Michael as easily as Gabriel, But of course that information might confuse Noah even more. Will he think every boy named Michael is an angel?
In Gabriel's moment of hesitation, Elle speaks up. "The story about the angels and the shepherds happened a long time ago. Daddy can't travel through time like some people. Although I bet he'd like to."
Gabriel ignores her sassy grin as Noah's sandy eyebrows knit in momentary disappointment which he feels keenly, like a little shock of the electricity he acquired from Elle; he hates to let his son down for any reason at all. But, just as abruptly, the eyebrows shoot upward again, disappearing beneath Noah's side-swept hair, and he clutches Gabriel's collar in dimpled fists.
"Can you fly, Daddy?"
Gabriel chokes again, and out the corner of his eye sees Elle's grin stretch into an expression of pure wickedness. As a matter of fact, he can fly. It's one of the few abilities he's acquired empathically; he got it from Nathan, when they formed a truce. But even in this world in which powers can be given to anyone who desires them, Gabriel doesn't like to own up to how many abilities he possesses, no matter how he came by them. He could never bear to tell Noah that he killed for most of them, and dreads the day when truth will out him.
And thinking about his collection of powers stirs his hunger for more, to fill up that empty place inside.
"I can make you fly!" Gabriel sweeps the little boy high up over his head, and Noah's squeals of laughter ring out over the honking of cars and the cathedral chimes.
The light changes, and the family hurries across the intersection, Gabriel making concession with his longer strides for Elle's high-heeled boots. Their apartment building is just on the other side of the street, and by the time they reach their front step, Noah is begging Gabriel to fly him again, angels long forgotten.
Except by Elle, who says, "Daddy can shine like an angel."
Gabriel rolls his eyes. "I don't think the glory of the Lord shone round about the shepherds and made them sore afraid of radiation poisoning."
"What's radiation poisoning?" asks Noah, his forehead crinkling.
"Ask your mother," Gabriel says, shifting Noah to one arm so he can get the door.
Elle glares at him as she sweeps past into the lobby, and Gabriel can't resist a smug grin at getting the upper hand on her at last.
"Mommy?"
"It's something that makes people very sick," Elle says as they board the dark, narrow elevator to their third floor apartment. "But that's not nice to talk about on Christmas."
"Oh."
Noah is quiet as they make their way down the hall, once more laying his head on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel thinks his son is almost asleep, until they enter the apartment and Noah sits up, arms tightening around Gabriel's neck again as the wide brown eyes inspect the living room radiator warily.
"Do you get radiation poisoning from radiators?" Noah half-whispers.
Gabriel ruffles the boy's hair and kisses his head. "Nope. Our radiators are safe."
"Why?"
"Because I check them to make sure."
"See?" says Elle, tugging Noah's red knitted mittens off his hands. "I told you Daddy's our guardian angel. He knows how things work to keep us safe."
In spite of his earlier thoughts, Gabriel has to smile at this, feeling warm all over despite the fact that the apartment's like a refrigerator with the radiator off. Elle's face mirrors his happiness, but her eyes dart to the hall closet, where Noah's first bicycle with training wheels lies in pieces in a box, waiting to be assembled. No matter how Gabriel argued with her that the guys at Toys R Us put bikes safely together all the time and there was room to store and hide an assembled bike in the closet, Elle refused to budge from her stance that their son's health and safety depended on Gabriel's intuitive aptitude. She gave the ultimatum that Gabriel must put it together himself, on Christmas Eve, because that's what dads do --or else there will be no bike for Noah. But Gabriel scanned the instruction manual last night and balked at the idea of even intuitive aptitude making the very poor English clear to him. It's going to be a long night.
"Speaking of how things work," Gabriel says, I know how Santa Claus works, too, and a certain little boy who's been very nice this year should be in bed so Santa can come."
Launching himself from Gabriel's arms, Noah bolts through the living room to his bedroom.
"Mommy!" he shouts a moment later, and Gabriel and Elle stop peeling off their coats and scarves and boots to peer down the hall. In the light spilling out of Noah's room, they see Noah has already stripped off his church clothes, but other than his Power Ranger underwear, the only other thing he wears is a deeply serious expression.
"What is it, baby?" asks Elle.
"Don't forget Santa's snack!"
"Yeah, Mommy," Gabriel says, flicking on the thermostat, then placing his hands on Elle's petite shoulders and steering her toward the kitchen. "Don't forget Santa's snack."
"Are you sure you know about this snack thing?" Elle teases as she removes the foil covering from the pie she baked that afternoon. "I always thought he was into chocolate chip cookies and milk."
"That's what everybody thinks. But I happen to have it on good authority that Santa's favorite snack is actually peach pie." Sliding his hands over Elle's hips as she cuts a generous slice, he stoops to whisper in her ear, "Especially when he's got to put together B-I-C-Y-C-L-E-S."
He kisses her in that sensitive place beneath her ear as she shovels the pie onto the special Santa plate, and, squirming, Elle spills a blob of peach filling on the counter. Gabriel reaches around her to wipe it up with his finger, but Elle swats his hand away.
"That's for Santa!"
Gabriel pouts. "But I am Santa."
"Shh!" Elle's eyes dart to the hallway. "Do you want to ruin it for him?"
Leaning back against the counter, shoving his hands into his pockets, Gabriel says, "He'd probably just be confused. Like he is about the angel thing."
Elle stops pouring milk and approaches him, sliding her hands up over his chest. "But you are our guardian angel."
Gabriel leans in to her, accepts the soft and yet sensual kiss she presses to his mouth, which promises him another kind of snack after he assembles that bike.
But he pulls away with a sigh, his hair falling over his forehead as he shakes his head.
"Guardian angels do things like save people from terrible car accidents, or protect them from crimes. Heroic things. I don't do anything more heroic with my abilities than stop altar boys from tripping."
"I'm sure that altar boy would call you a hero if he knew you kept him from falling flat on his face and making a jackass of himself in front of all the girls," Elle says, pushing his hair back from his face as she arches up on the balls of her stocking feet for another kiss. "Anyway, you said that hero stuff is overrated -- just look at your brothers. One's created a super army for his police state, and the other's a wanted terrorist. Real heroic."
"And they've lost everyone who's important to them." Gabriel slides his hands out of his pockets to hold Elle, resting his head against hers. "I'm no angel, either, Elle..."
"Daddy! Daddy!"
As they move apart, a small green-glad figure blurs into the kitchen, skidding on the wood floor before crashing into Gabriel's legs.
"Whoa, there, Champ!" Gabriel kneels to be at eye level with his son. "Remember what Mommy and I've said about running in your PJs?"
"That I shouldn't do it because I could slip and get hurt," Noah answers, hanging his head guiltily.
"That's right." Gabriel feathers Noah's hair to show there's no harm done, and no one's angry at him. "Now what's up?"
Noah's round little face lights up with the curiosity that shone on it when he ran into the kitchen, and he bounces on his toes. "Is Santa Claus an angel?"
Gabriel looks up at Elle, who is equally at a loss.
"Why do you think that, son?" he asks.
"Because he flies, he's shiny, and he knows when you're sleeping and when you're awake!"
Laughing, Elle carries the milk and pie into the living room and sets them on the coffee table. "You're too smart for me, Noah. Come on, do you want to go read 'Twas the Night Before Christmas before you go to sleep?"
Noah doesn't budge, but tugs at Gabriel's sleeve, commanding his attention to those imploring brown eyes. "Is he, Daddy?"
As Gabriel looks around at his son and his wife and their apartment with its wall-to-wall bookshelves crammed with more Disney DVDs than books these days, aglow with the colors of the twinkling Christmas tree lights powered by the electricity he's figured out how to channel from his own body, he again marvels that this beautiful normalcy is his life now, that this gorgeous woman and precious child depend on him to check radiators and put together bicycles. All the abilities in the world couldn't make him feel the way this makes him feel. He'd only hunger for more, while Elle and Noah satisfy every longing of his heart.
Except maybe the longing for peach pie and making love to Elle. But Santa snacks at every stop, doesn't he, then goes home to Mrs. Claus?
Someday Noah will learn that the only thing his father has in common with angels is his name (and the ability to fly), but he'll also know that Daddy is Santa Claus, and stayed up all night to put together his first bike, and maybe that will make all the difference.
"You know what, Noah?" says Gabriel. "I think you might just be right about Santa."
The End