He was there the day I buried my mother, my father, my uncle, my grandmother, my brother.

Every time I lost someone I loved he was there, and every time he was gone before I woke up the next morning. The first time he showed up I shot him in the chest so many times his shirt looked like a piece of Swiss cheese. Instead of killing me he just held me as I cried. He didn't whisper any calming words, or promises that everything would be all right. He just held me in his arms until I fell asleep covered in his blood.

When Peter died, he brought a case of whiskey with him, and thanks to his newest ability, we got disgustingly drunk. Like always, he was gone when I opened my eyes the next morning, but he did let me keep all of the drunken photos. How sweet of him.

When Lyle died, he was there again, this time he flew me to Italy for spaghetti and meatballs. As he held me in his arms that night, with my last conscious thought, I asked him to stay. And he did. That was the first time I considered him my friend.

When my husband left me, there were no tears, there was no anger. He was growing older, and he was sick of people looking at him as if he was some sort of pervert. I let him go without a fight. I had never wanted to watch him die anyways. I was shocked to see him at my doorstep at three in the morning, especially when I hadn't told him I had moved. When he walked in, he had made a snide remark about how he was the only man who would ever be able to keep up with me. I made him prove it. We didn't leave my apartment for three weeks.

As the years passed an unlikely romance sprouted between us. At first I hated myself for longing for his touch. How could I desire the man who killed both of my biological parents, and so man other innocent people? Then I began to accept that he was right about building bridges and letting go of the past. My parents would have been dead by now anyways. He would always be by my side.

When he asked me to marry him, I laughed it off. There was no way he had been serious. Then he flew me above New York City and darkened the entire skyline, except a few buildings. I never thought a man would propose by making the city of New York say: 'Marry me Claire. I'm serious'. Three days later we got married on the beach in South Africa.

The first time I saw him cry is when the doctor laid our son in his arms. Noah Gray, was his fathers son in every aspect... except his deep green eyes, those were mine. Years passed and Noah began to develop his own set of abilities. At five he had already taken apart and re-assembled every appliance in our house, as well as survive falling head first off of the roof of our house. I couldn't have been happier when I saw his neck fit itself back into place. I would never have to say goodbye to my little boy. As a teenager he was always successful with the ladies, not just with his looks, but also because he had developed an intense power of persuasion.

When his father asked him if he could cut open his head and take a look, Noah didn't even blink. I thought I would vomit when I came home to my husband standing over my sons exposed cranium. Noah just laughed and asked me if we could have pizza tonight for dinner.

Twenty years later Annabel was born. My beautiful little girl. She loved everyone and anything she saw, had her daddy wrapped around her little finger. No matter what she wanted, she had it.

"Daddy! I want a pony!"

"Of course darling, anything for my princess."

"Daddy, I want my own castle."

"Anything for my baby girl."

I always thought we were going to spoil her rotten. But no matter how much she had, she was always kind to other people. Always inviting children over to play, always sharing her toys. We couldn't have been happier, until the day Annabel fell down and the bruise didn't go away.

Leukemia, stage four.

I'm sorry Claire, the blood didn't work.

Mommy, I hurt.

Mommy, I'm tired.

Claire! She isn't waking up!

Please baby, wake up!

Don't leave daddy, not yet.

We buried her under her favorite oak tree, wild flowers growing all around her. That night I held my husband as he cried over the loss of his little princess. Afterward he would disappear for weeks at a time, and I was left alone. Without my husband, without my daughter. I stayed in bed for days at a time. Then Noah came back, everyday he tried to make me get out of bed, to eat, to live even a little bit. And it worked for a time, but he had his own life to live and I insisted that he do just that. I was destined to be alone in my suffering.

It was on the day she would have turned six that he walked in as I lay on her bed, crying for the loss of my daughter and husband. Quietly he picked me up and carried me back to our bed and we released all of the anger, and sadness, and hurt on each other. We were going to have to get a new bed, and carpets, and fix the holes in the walls, and the ceiling. Oh well, I had been planning on re-modeling anyways. As he held me close in the aftermath of our furry, he whispered apologies, for everything. For my parents, for the pain he had caused me, for not being able to save our daughter. And then he promised that he would fix everything.

Mom was screaming at me from the kitchen, I was going to be late for school. Moving as fast as I could, I threw all of my books in my bag, grabbed a bagel from the table and ran out the door. A man was walking in the same direction as me; I probably wouldn't have taken a second look except for his smile. It almost made me melt on the spot.

"Good morning."

"Uh, good morning."

"I'm Gabriel."

"Claire."

…Gabriel was there for everything. For Homecoming. For Prom. For Graduation.

He was my best friend.

When I found out I what my father really did for a living, when I met my biological family, when I found out I would never die... Gabriel was there, holding my hand. Making his strength my own. Over time I came to another realization.

I loved him.

When he asked me to marry him, I said yes immediately. When we got married, friends and family surrounding us. Both of my mothers helped me get ready, and both of my fathers gave me away. I couldn't have been happier.

When I went in to labor the first time he stood firmly by my side, whispering words of encouragement, telling me that everything would be all right, how I was beautiful and perfect. When the doctor laid our son in his arms, all Gabriel did was smile and tell me that his name was Noah.

When Noah fell down the stairs, I screamed and cried for our son. Gabriel just smiled as Noah's leg knitted itself back together. I had demanded how he knew it would happen, Gabriel just told me that it was his ability to understand things, and he understood our son.

When our daughter was born he cried so hard. He promised her that he would make sure she would never hurt, never want, never die. We decided to name her Annabel.

I thought I would die when I came home and my husband was standing over our daughters exposed cranium. Anna just smiled at me and giggled.

I didn't want to let him explain, but when your husband has you telekinetically pinned to the wall, you tend to listen. I hung in disbelief as he explained how he had actually given our daughter the ability to heal, how he had came back in time, killed himself as he was, just to keep me safe. To keep me happy, to make sure our daughter never had to die. At the beginning of the day, I had thought I loved my husband, but now, I was certain that no other woman in the history of the world has ever loved a man as much I loved my Gabriel.

And there goes the plot bunny that has been bouncing around my head for the past three days… stupid cotton tailed demon.