The end of Elle’s tale was punctuated by Gabriel launching his mug into the far corner 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.
“That’s quite a story. You really love each other, don’t you?”
Elle grinned. “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 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.”
: : :
It was a cool evening for Costa Verde, California. At the Gray House, the front door was opened quiet. 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 crackle.
Back in the living room, Elle sends an arc of electricity toward a lamp, effectively lighting it up. The suddenly brightness showed 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, Sweetie, 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.
“Do I get a kiss, too?” Gabriel wondered aloud.
“Mm-hmm.” 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.” She tried to bounce away but his hands caught hers.
“Who was it this time?” he asked seriously.
“An actual bad guy,” she defended, “Concussive blasts from his hands. Kept knocking over mail boxes.”
“You captured a guy for minor vandalism?”
“…and post offices.”
“It’s dangerous, what you do.”
“We both know you need to be at home. If anyone’s got the skills to protect Noah, it’s you. Plus,” she added, “when you’re only 98% stable and 100% dangerous, it’s kind of the only work you can get. If I were to crack, I want to be around people who know how to handle me.”
They kissed again, and he barely flinched at the spark.“We never know the love of our parents for us till we have become parents.” –Henry Ward Beecher
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