Author's Note: This was written for the heroes_exchange Christmas Fanfic Exchange. This is very strictly AU, based on the Gabriel Gray we saw in "I Am Become Death", about a year after that episode.
Midnight in the City
6:00 –
"I love you, you know that?"
Elle looked over at Gabriel and shook her head in bemusement.
"What brought this on?" she asked.
"I don't know," Gabriel replied. "Do I need a reason to be in love with the most beautiful woman in the world?"
"You do if you're trying to butter me up," Elle told him. "What do you want? Because you're only this sappy when you want something."
"Peter sent us an invitation to Christmas dinner," Gabriel told her, a sheepish grin on his face.
"Why would you need to butter me up for that?" Elle asked. "I love Peter, you know that."
"Dinner isn't going to be with just Peter," Gabriel admitted, after a moment.
"Your entire family," Elle said, as realization dawned. "He does realize that we're not the most welcome people over there, right?"
"Peter thinks, seeing as it's Christmas, that it's the perfect time to mend fences, bury hatchets, etcetera, etcetera," Gabriel told her.
"Bury the hatchet, or bury us?" Elle muttered, sarcastically. When Gabriel shot her an exasperated look, she continued, "Peter's a bleeding heart. Has he at least gotten everyone to agree to stop calling you Sylar?"
"Peter says that everyone has agreed to a truce for the night," Gabriel reassured her. "Everyone's going to be on their best behavior."
"I'll believe that when I see it," Elle grumbled.
"There is one other thing," Gabriel ventured, carefully, when no further protests from Elle seemed forthcoming.
"And what would that be?" she asked, warily.
"I kind of told Peter that we would bring dessert," he replied.
"What kind of dessert?" Elle demanded, suspiciously.
Gabriel pasted on his most charming smile, but it was quickly clear that Elle wasn't buying it.
"What kind of dessert?" she repeated, insistently.
Gabriel added puppy-dog eyes to his smile.
"Homemade apple pie?"
4:52 –
"Let me tell you," Elle said, sarcastically, "this was a great idea you had."
Gabriel winced as he looked around the disaster zone that had once been a spotless kitchen. It couldn't even be laughably called clean; every surface was liberally covered in flour, butter, and bits of exploded apple.
"It looked a lot easier on the cooking program," he muttered, and he looked so dejected that Elle didn't have the heart to stay mad at him over the ruin of her immaculate kitchen.
"Don't worry about it," she reassured him. "It'll all clean up, and we'll buy a pie on the way to the dinner party."
"I guess," Gabriel said, with a heavy sigh.
"You never did say," Elle said, suddenly, trying to distract him. "Exactly who is coming to dinner?"
"Well, there's Mom, Nathan, and Peter, of course," Gabriel told her. "And then Claire and her parents and her brother. And then Parkman and his daughter, since Nathan and Matt are so close."
"Close," Elle echoed, with an amused snort of laughter. "Yeah, I guess that's one way of putting it."
"How else would you describe their relationship?" Gabriel asked, clearly puzzled.
"Those two are about two seconds away from playing tonsil hockey, if you ask me," Elle told him, and Gabriel's eyes widened.
"No, it's nothing like that," he protested, automatically, and Elle smirked at him.
"Oh, yeah?" she challenged. "Then what would you call that thing they've got going where they're always touching each other, or exchanging little looks when they think no one is watching them?"
"Nathan and Matt are just friends," Gabriel insisted, firmly.
"Ten bucks," Elle told him. "I'll bet you ten bucks that when Nathan takes Matt's coat, his hand lingers on Matt's arm for a few seconds, when he thinks no one is watching."
"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Gabriel protested, and then he relented when Elle simply raised an eyebrow at him. "All right, all right," he sighed. "You're on. Ten bucks if Nathan touches Matt on the arm."
"This is so easy, I'm almost going to regret taking your money,' Elle told him. When Gabriel shot her an incredulous look, she reiterated, "Almost."
4:18 –
"How about this place?"
"This is the third bakery we've tried in the last fifteen minutes," Gabriel said, sighing. "I don't know why we thought there'd be someone willing to bake a fresh pie on Christmas Eve, of all nights."
"It's supposed to be the time for miracles," Elle told him. "We could still get lucky."
Gabriel shook his head in fond exasperation and held the door open for Elle to precede him into the small, warm bakery. The scent of cinnamon filled the air, and Gabriel took a deep, appreciative breath as he let the door close softly behind him, the bells on the top of the doorframe jangling cheerfully in the silence.
"Hello?" Elle called out, looking around for anyone working the counter, and then jumped when a young man appeared at the registers, almost out of nowhere.
"Sorry to have startled you," the young man said, apologetically, as Elle took a deep breath to try and slow her racing heart. "I'm Ellis, and welcome to my shop. Is there something I can help you with?"
"We need a pie for Christmas Eve dinner with our family," Gabriel told him, still amazed at having people in his life that could be called family.
"I have several pies that I baked fresh this morning," Ellis told them, gesturing to a nearly-empty glass case beside the registers.
"We were hoping for something a little more recent," Elle said, giving the man her most charming smile.
Instead of telling them no, or worse, laughing as one of the bakers had done, the young man looked thoughtful as he studied them.
"How long do you have until this dinner?" he asked.
"About an hour and a half," Gabriel told him.
"What kind of pie did you want?" Ellis continued.
"Apple, or some other kind of fruit," Elle said, remembering the skeptical reactions of the other bakers when they heard her choice.
"I think that's doable," Ellis told them, and Elle and Gabriel exchanged an incredulous look.
"Really?" Gabriel asked, doubtfully. "We don't want to intrude on your Christmas Eve plans."
Elle elbowed her husband sharply in the side, and smiled at the young man.
"What he means is," she began.
"This is no trouble at all," Ellis assured them. "I love my work, and there's nothing I enjoy more than helping people."
"It's official," Elle declared, looking over at Gabriel, as Ellis walked back into the kitchen. "There's someone in New York who's more insanely cheerful than your brother."
"Peter is not that bad," Gabriel told her.
Ellis chose that moment to poke his head out of the kitchen and ask, "Hey, you want this pie decorated at all?"
"Decorated?" Elle asked, cautiously.
"You know," Ellis continued, with a smile. "A little tree, maybe a snowman or two."
"Um," Gabriel said, raising an eyebrow, "whatever you think looks best."
"Great," Ellis enthused, ducking back into the kitchen.
"You're right," Elle said, into the silence that followed. "Peter is nowhere near that bad."
2:09 –
"Uncle Gabriel's here!"
Gabriel couldn't help but smile when Monty and Simon practically flew down the stairs when he and Elle came into the Petrelli mansion. The boys were the only people in his life who had never known him as Sylar, and their love of their newfound uncle was genuine and unconditional, completely unlike anything he'd known before in his life. And if he had his way, they'd never know otherwise.
The boys barreled into him, and Gabriel wrapped his nephews in an enthusiastic hug, which they eagerly returned. When he let go of the boys, he straightened up to see Elle looking at him with an indulgent smile on her face.
"What?" Gabriel asked.
"You're going to make a wonderful father, someday," was all she said.
Nathan and Peter entered the foyer, Peter giving Gabriel and Elle almost as enthusiastic a hug as Monty and Simon had.
"Let me hang your coats up," Nathan offered. "We've got cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in the living room, and dinner will be ready in about half an hour."
"Sounds great," Gabriel said. "Oh, here, dessert, like we promised."
He rescued the pie box from the small table near the door, where Monty and Simon had been investigating its contents, and Peter shot his nephews a reproving look as he took the box and headed for the kitchen.
"Wait until after dinner," he scolded them, lightly.
"But we're hungry," Simon protested. "And that stuff in the living room is not food."
"There's crackers and cheese in the kitchen," Nathan told them. "Just don't spoil your appetites," he added, as they scampered off, quickly.
"So, how have you been?" Nathan asked awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable now that the buffers of Peter and his sons were no longer there.
"Good," Gabriel answered, just as uneasy around Nathan as the other man was around him. "Elle has had another new article published."
"That's great," Nathan said. "How many does that make, now?"
"Four," Elle admitted, blushing slightly, "but they're just little things."
"In the New York Times," Gabriel told Nathan, proudly.
He would have said more, but the doorbell sounded, and he and Elle stepped aside to let Nathan answer it. Matt and Molly Parkman were on the other side, and both greeted Nathan with hugs, and Molly dashed off to join Simon and Monty somewhere in the house, as soon as she'd dumped her coat in her father's arms. Laughing, Nathan took Molly's and then Matt's coats from the other man, his hand lingering lightly on Matt's wrist for just a few seconds.
Gabriel sighed, digging his wallet out of his pocket and pulling a ten dollar bill out, passing it over to Elle, who was openly smirking. Matt had caught the exchange and turned to study them, curiously.
"What was that all about?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," Elle said, in a slightly sing-song voice. Gabriel just shook his head.
"Trust me," he assured them, "you don't want to know."
"Dinner's ready!" Peter called out, interrupting Nathan right before he could demand an explanation.
Nathan sighed, admitting defeat as he gestured for his guests to precede him into the dining room. Gabriel pulled Elle's chair out for her, a gesture that earned him an eye roll and an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
"I know none of us here are much for saying Grace," Peter said, as everyone settled around the table, "but I would like to give thanks that we are all here, safe and sound."
"That's a wonderful idea," Noah Bennett spoke up, from down at the far end of the table.
Everyone bowed their heads, and Peter said a few brief words. Then, everyone started filling their plates. There was a brief argument over carving the turkey between Nathan and Noah, which Claire ended by taking the knife from her father and doing it herself.
As dinner progressed, everyone became more at ease with each other, and by the end of the evening, they were all chatting like old friends. Finally, around eleven o'clock, people finally started getting ready to leave, and as Elle and Gabriel were headed for the door, Noah stopped them.
"I wanted to talk to you two in private," he said, quietly, nodding at the closed door to Nathan's study.
"What's this about?" Gabriel asked, as they went into the dark room, shutting the door behind them.
"I wanted to congratulate you both," Noah told them. "I honestly never thought I'd see this day."
"What? You never thought you'd be sitting down to dinner with people who tried to kill you?" Elle asked, and Gabriel could hear the strain beneath her teasing tone.
"No, I never thought I'd see you both so changed," Noah said. "The way you both once were, it's remarkable."
"I think we can thank the Company for that," Gabriel said, wryly.
"The Company had nothing to do with it," Noah said. "This change was something you did on your own."
Gabriel shared a quick smile with Elle, squeezing her hand, gently.
"I still think I had some help with that," he said, quietly.
"Me too," Elle told him.
"Anyway," Noah interrupted them, "I just wanted to tell you that I'm proud of you."
"Thank you," Gabriel said, answering for both of them. "It means a lot that you said that."
"Well, I mean it," Noah told them. "I still can't believe you gave your powers up so easily."
"It wasn't a hard choice to make," Gabriel said.
"We're all glad you made it," Noah told him. "Have a Merry Christmas, you two."
He went past them, out of the room, and Gabriel held the door open for Elle to go first. He had just handed Elle her coat when her cell phone rang, and she fumbled in her purse to pull it out.
"Hello?" she said, breathlessly, snapping the phone open.
"Hello, sweetheart," a familiar voice boomed. "Merry Christmas!"
"Daddy?" Elle gasped.
:45 –
"What did you think?"
"Dinner was wonderful," Elle said, leaning against Gabriel as they strolled down the sidewalk. The falling snow left a dusting of white on her shoulders, and Gabriel brushed it off, distractedly.
"I can't believe my father called," Elle said. "I thought, after all this time, that he hated me."
"He went to jail for you," Gabriel reminded her, gently. "He loves you, sweetheart."
Elle nodded, accepting the truth in that statement.
"Where to, now?" Gabriel asked, after they'd walked along in silence for several minutes.
"I kind of just like wandering aimlessly like this," Elle told him. "It's not like we've got anywhere to be, anytime soon."
A few minutes later, Elle spoke up, "What do you think of Noah? The name, and the man, I mean."
"I like it," Gabriel said, after a moment. "It's a nice, strong name. And, of course I like Noah. You and I wouldn't be together if it wasn't for him."
"That's what I was thinking," Elle said. "I was thinking we could name our first son after Noah."
"We've never actually talked about kids," Gabriel said.
"Maybe we should start," Elle told him.
Gabriel shot her a suspicious look. "What exactly are you trying to say?" he asked.
"That I'm hoping you want at least one," Elle answered, smiling at him.
Gabriel stared at her in amazement for a second, and then wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her off the ground as he hugged her.
"We're going to have a baby?" he asked, when he could finally speak. Elle only nodded.
She opened her mouth to say something, but the words died in her throat when she spotted a shadowy figure standing behind Gabriel, holding a gun.
"Gimme your wallets," the man growled, waving the gun at her.
"You really don't want to do this," Gabriel cautioned the man, even as he turned around slowly and placed himself between Elle and the gun the man was brandishing.
"You have no idea who you're messing with," Elle added, stepping up beside Gabriel, holding her hands tensed in front of her chest. A spark of electricity jumped between her fingers, and Gabriel nudged her gently, to keep her from electrocuting the man.
The man stared at Elle's hands in horrified fascination.
"You're one of those freaks," he hissed, and Elle smiled coldly at him.
"Run away while you still can," she warned him.
"I'm gonna do the world a favor and get rid of you," the man told her.
"I don't think so," Elle said.
She twitched her hand and a spark jumped from her fingers to the man's gun. Electricity traveled along the barrel, making his hand spasm, wildly, and a loud crack filled the air. Elle squeaked in surprise, and Gabriel barely had time to catch her before she hit the ground.
He heard footsteps as the man ran away as fast as he could, but he ignored him. He could hear people screaming, and the distant whine of sirens, but he shoved them aside. Elle was the only one who mattered, anymore. She was breathing in short, shallow gasps, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut as Gabriel lowered her gently to the ground.
"Elle?" he choked out, his voice breaking on her name. "Elle, sweetheart, look at me."
She exhaled, and pinkish foam bubbled at her lips. Gabriel felt terror clawing at his chest, and he struggled to keep his panic from overtaking him.
"Open your eyes!" he cried, desperately.
When he didn't get any response from her, he pulled his cell phone out and fumbled at the buttons, thankful for speed dial. Two short rings later, and before his brother could say anything, he gasped out, "Peter. It's Elle; she's hurt."
Dropping the phone, he turned his attention back to Elle, but nothing had improved. She was still gasping out her breaths, only now the time between when her chest rose and fell was getting slowly longer and longer.
"Elle," Gabriel begged, praying to someone, anyone, that she would open her eyes. He tore his eyes away from her long enough to search the skies – where the hell was Peter when he needed him?
Elle made a strangled choking noise, suddenly, and as Gabriel watched in horror, her head lolled to the side and her body relaxed, suddenly. He stared intently for any small sign of movement, but her chest was still.
"Elle?" he whispered, brokenly. "Elle."
He gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her hair as he shook with silent sobs. Behind him, he heard a soft, "Oh, God," and he turned to see Peter and Claire shoving their way through the crowd, to his side.
"Gabriel," Peter began, tears brimming in his eyes.
"I could have stopped this," Gabriel said, hollowly. "If I hadn't given up my powers-"
"Who did this?" Claire demanded, her voice thick with emotion. "We'll tell Matt, he won't rest until the murdering son of a bitch is arrested."
Gabriel only shook his head. "They can't do anything," he said, quietly.
He watched as the ambulance arrived and took Elle away, staring after the wagon long after it was gone. He started at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Peter looking down at him.
"Let's go home," Peter told him, gently. Gabriel let himself be pulled to his feet without protest.
"If I hadn't given up my powers," he repeated, helplessly.
:01
Mick Tollins relished his job at the Company. Every day was a pleasure, although some were better than others.
Tonight, for example, when he got to kill the little bitch that had sold out their best people to the government. She'd crippled a once-powerful organization, destroying what was left with her little articles in the Times. She'd forced them into hiding, into becoming the hunted instead of the hunters. And Mick did not like being hunted.
"It's done," he said, listening to the voice on the other end of his phone for a few seconds before hanging up.
Then, he turned to leave the alley beside a church he'd stepped into to make his call, only to find his way blocked by a man hidden in the shadows. The man took a step forward, and Mick almost laughed at the tear-streaked face of Gabriel Gray.
"She was my wife," the man choked out, as he advanced slowly on Mick.
Mick snorted out a derisive laugh. "She was a disease," he said, cruelly. "Just like you, before you went and made yourself a powerless eunuch."
"You killed her," Gray continued, angrily.
"Left you your pathetic life, didn't I?" Mick taunted. "Isn't that all your kind care about? Saving your own skins?"
"You never should have touched her," Gray continued, and now there was a weird look in his eyes. Like a cat might look at a mouse. Mick swallowed, hard, and found himself backing up step by slow step before he forced himself to stop.
"What are you going to do about it?" Mick asked, proud of how his voice didn't even waver. "Going to kill me? Going to slice my head off, Sylar?"
Gray froze at the name, and then a hopeless, heartbroken expression settled over his face.
"You were safe so long as she was alive," the grief-stricken man told him, and Mick almost laughed at the way he seemed to fold in on himself.
"You know who's next on our list?" Mick taunted, confident with each passing second that he wasn't in any danger from the once-deadly killer. "Petrelli's little boys. And Parkman's little girl. How're you going to explain their deaths to their daddies?"
He took a challenging step forward, towards Gray, and then started struggling when an invisible fist wrapped itself around his body and squeezed. Try as he might, he couldn't stop himself from being pulled slowly towards Gray, who had a deadly calm look on his face.
"I always told myself I was done being a killer," Gray said, almost conversationally, as he twitched his hand, slightly. A wave of pain ripped through Mick's body and he struggled to scream, but his vocal cords had frozen.
"It turns out I was wrong," Gray continued, sounding almost pleasant now. "I've got one life left to take. Yours."
The unceasing torment finally, blessedly, stopped, and as everything went dark, Mick heard the church bells ring out midnight.