My Firefly, Chapter 5
by Creedog VanDrey
Summery: Gabriel and Elle deal with the loss of their son.
Spoilers: Up to 3x04, with some hints of 3x05.
A/N: This is the last chapter. It's more epilogue than anything else. I have really enjoyed delving into the psyches of Sylar and Elle, and how they went from enemies to lovers. I hope you will all stick around for the sequel. I promise it will be a lot less flowery montage and a bit more intrigue and mystery.
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Chapter 5: Rooting for Love
The end of Elle's tale was punctuated by Gabriel launching his mug into the far corner of the restaurant, using his telekinesis. Neither Elle nor Peter commented on it.
There were two charred indentions below his fisted hands where he had radioactively burned into the wood bar.
Peter finally broke the silence. "That's quite a story. You really love each other, don't you?" he asked, the surprise in his voice audible.
Elle grinned. "Well, let's put it this way: I'm a clinical sociopath with sadistic tendencies who had a histrionic dependency of my father. And he killed my father. And I don't want to kill him. That's gotta be love. Or Stockholm Syndrome. But I'm really rooting for love." She held up two sets of crossed fingers. Peter noted the glint of her golden joint.
Then her hands started shaking uncontrollably. Her eyes stared past Peter and tears welled up. Her mouth moved, as if trying to speak, but no sound came out. Gabriel grabbed one of her hands and she all but collapsed onto his shoulder. "He's really gone," she whispered. Gabriel wrapped his arm around her and looked up to Peter.
"If I can fix this…" Peter began.
"Pete, the world's going to Hell. Get back to your own time. Doesn't make any sense for you to die here when the world is probably just as screwed up back then. Maybe you can do something."
Peter grimaced and jerked his head.
Gabriel recognized the tic immediately, "The hunger. I'm sorry for that. Try to resist the urges. It's possible."
Peter nodded. He noted, "You two work, don't you?"
Gabriel looked at the tear-streaked face of his wife and nodded. "Yeah, we work."
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It was a cool evening for Costa Verde. At the Gray House, the front door opened without a sound. Small, light feet moved across the rug in an attempt at silence. Around the figure's small frame, the living room lamps began to glow dimly. From a small, feminine hand, arcs of electricity crackled.
Back in the living room, Elle sends an arc of electricity toward a lamp, effectively lighting it up. The suddenly brightness illuminated another man in the room, a tall man in his early 30s, with short jet black hair and black-rimmed glasses, holding an aluminum bat in an attacking pose. Elle was quick to send another arc to the bat.
"Elle!" Gabriel cursed under his breath, examining his burnt hands.
"Should have used wood," she replied, taking a casual pose and a flirty glance.
The redness of the skin on the palms of his hands faded.
"You're home late," he commented softly.
"I was on important business."
"You couldn't call?"
Seriously, she answered, "No, actually I couldn't."
Running into the room, young Noah screamed, "Mommy!"
Without missing a beat, Elle scooped up the toddler in her arms. A bright smile on her face, she apologized, "Hey, Sweetie, sorry I'm home so late."
Noah appeared completely unaware of the time. "Do it! Please, Mommy, do it!"
"Alright, alright," she calmed the child. Carrying him to the mirror, she cautioned, "Tell me if it hurts." She held one palm up, which was quickly met with his smaller hand. His eyes leapt to view his reflection in the mirror, as he watched his hair begin to stick straight up. A fit of giggles soon followed.
"Okay, Jitterbug, go to bed. I'll come by and read you a story." She barely had time to lay a kiss on his head as he scrambled out of her arms and back toward his room. His father is quick to jump out of his path, mussing his hair as he ran.
"Can I get a kiss, too?" Gabriel wondered aloud.
"Mm-hmm. Request approved." A short kiss on the lips ended with a small spark jumping from her mouth to his.
Rubbing his lips, he prompted, "Every time, Firefly?"
"No," she coyly remarked, with mock guilt, "I can absolutely resist. It just hasn't happened yet."
They kissed again, and he barely flinched at the spark.
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A/N: I actually wrote that living room scene first. I thought it was going to go at the beginning till I realized how much more I liked it better at the end. In some ways it kind of softens the ending. On the other hand, it kind of makes it that much sadder. Little Noah saved his parents' souls. They're both still a little left of center (syelle, I loved your comment on their "rings". Yeah, they're still a little screwy and it's kind of the only way they work.) and now they've got grief compounded on that.
Anyway, I do have a sequel in the works. I really like this universe and I've discovered an entire new side to this story (among other stories) that I think need to be told.
"We never know the love of our parents for us till we have become parents." –Henry Ward Beecher
Started 10/13/2008. Finished 10/27/2008.