17

Glory to God in the Highest Heaven, and on Earth Peace to those on Whom His Favor Rests

Chapter 1

"Do you like this one?"

Michael isn't sure how to answer that question. It seems like a trap. She's asked him this about the last three trees just at this lot. They've already driven from Laguna to West Hollywood and all the way to Calabasas in the hopes of finding some perfect tree. Lopez decided that if they hit the richer areas, then they'd find "the good stuff."

He's not sure how you qualify a good tree from a bad one. They're all tall, overpriced, going to shed needles like crazy, and be a fire hazard by New Year's. What's the point? At least a fake tree is an investment. That'll get used year after year.

Michael eyes the tag on the Douglas Fir and sighs. This one is over two hundred. His eye twitches and he realizes with Ella's death glare on him that he has to answer.

"It's good?"

Lopez thrusts it into his arms, and the tree is easily three feet taller than he is., and Michael really shouldn't have said she could set up a tree at his place, but he figured that dumbass chicken would have destroyed a tree at Lopez's place. However, he's been to three lots in five hours, suffered through Lopez's speed breaking driving on the highways, and while he isn't cold-he isn't made for that-he's definitely getting stiff.

And all trees look exactly alike.

"No, this won't work either. No funcionará. It just...there are gaps around the base. I mean there are branches but they're not spaced out enough."

"This is a tree. It's not rocket science, Lopez."

She rolls her eyes and points to where he needs to put the thing back. Michael does it, and to be fair, it weighs nothing to him, but it might be a bit rude to use him as a valet for the day. He's still technically the Sword of God. He is not an errand boy.

Then she looks up at them with those big, coffee brown eyes of hers and his grumpiness melts a little. Don't get him wrong, being grouchy is his default setting, but it's harder to keep up all the gruffness when Ella is looking at him like that.

When warmth is flaring through his gut.

"We're just not gonna find what I'm looking for."

"Okay, so just hear me out-"

She glares at him, and he's glad she's mortal. He's pretty sure she's mortal. As far as he knows, she's neither demon or Miracle or sibling, so that's all a plus. However, the girl can really stare him down. "You just want to stop."

"I'm new to the Christmas tree hunt, but do they usually take six hours?"

"The perfect tree takes time! It's an art, Michael."

"You know this is all a bastardization of the Roman tradition of Saturnalia. You do get that, right? None of this is related to the actual birth of," he lowers his voice and looks over his shoulders to be sure they're alone before continuing. "...my half-brother. You don't need a tree. It's a pagan rite."

"I know that. I get it. They didn't have pine trees in Israel. Like, duh. However, now we have trees, and I've always done a fake tree, and I don't have to this year. Bonus, I can do one that's real big cause you can schlepp for me. So, seriously, we need to find the perfect one."

Michael smirks at her and considers the row of giant yet still identical to him trees. "What if you've built the perfect one up in your head until it's not something that exists, chica? I mean, there's perfection to a point, and then there's you made it up and even my dad doesn't make them that good."

Ella frowns up at him and for a moment, her anger is replaced by something else, by this total awe and her jaw's hanging open as well. Michael shifts uncomfortably under that look, and he would much rather that she be pissed at him and his, okay, cheapness (he'd have just bought a 3 footer and been done with it) than she go into a blank moment remembering that her beloved Big Guy and his dad are the same being.

"Rayos, it's been a week, and that's so hard to get used to. Your dad is..."

Michael rolls his eyes and shoves both hands in his pockets, not just his bad one. "I know...and I know that's a lot to wrap a mortal's head around. I just...it's complicated?" He barely keeps himself from reminding her that he's still just himself, just the same surly and impatient guy she's been going to museums with for months now. He's certainly not the warrior or the judge he was.

Not even close.

"I know. It's just weird. I don't suppose you have a sibling who's like the Angel of Trees who can just whip us up the perfect one."

"I am sure since mom and dad had so many of us that there's an angel of flora out there somewhere, but there are so many angels, and even I don't know all my siblings. However, there's no short cut. My point is that I think you're imagining this perfect tree and building up everything in your head. It's okay to have a normal tree."

"Yeah, but this can be a great one!"

He shakes his head as she turns back to evaluating the row of giant Douglas Firs. "If you say so, Lopez, but even if I'm immortal, I'm not staying on this lot for the rest of my life."

"I'm sure the perfect tree is here. Just give me a few more minutes." She disappears around a corner, and he hopes she finds something that meets her impossible standards.

Still, he's kind of stepped his foot in it already by mentioning Dad and reminding her-as if it were possible to forget it-that he's technically an archangel. One forbidden for now to have any access to the Silver City but still most definitely an angel of the lord. So, in for a penny and in for a pound...

"Lopez?"

"I am going to find the tree, Michael, chill out."

He rounds the corner and then takes three brisk steps to help keep a tree at least his height from collapsing on her. "First, I am new to this, but I'm pretty sure spending the holiday in the ER isn't tradition."

She winks at him, and it's really hard to stay mad at her. Damn it. "Depends on the family. PapĂ­ used to put up these lights and a fake Rudolph head on our fire escape. Well, one year, he might have electrocuted himself just a little. It wasn't Christmas Day but the first of December? Definitely an ER visit."

"For a fake reindeer head, right?"

"Ooh, you've heard the song?"

He rolls his eyes indulgently. "I've been on earth in spates. I have been to malls during the holiday season before, enough that even I have some of those carols memorized. Yeah, so your dad almost died to get the perfect red-nosed reindeer display." Michael hefts the tree up so she can get a better look at it. Ella shakes her head again and he sets it back on the pile. "This weird Christmas quest makes more sense now, must be hereditary. But no one is getting injured to make a perfect Christmas at my place."

"Yet," she chirps and then gasps at a tree that is, and Michael is sure of this, ten feet if it's an inch high. "This is the one!"

Michael sighs and lifts it up and spins it for her. It's not heavy but it's full and it takes a lot to reach and set his hand around its trunk. He is also going to have his good hand covered in sap on the way home; he can tell. "Good yet?"

She squeals again and his sensitive, Celestial ears can barely take it. "Yes, see! It took the six hours to find the right one, and this is what we needed!"

He feels his cheeks heat just a little with the word we. Everything is so new over the last week, and he doesn't still quite get how he went from humoring her as a buffer against her family to being her...well date's the best word. They're hardly exclusive. He doesn't have other offers, but he knows that Lopez attracts so many people-usually the crappiest type of guys-like a beacon. If she's clubbing or grabbing lattes with someone else too, he doesn't know.

Michael has put no stipulations on whatever this is, and he is far too afraid to. Honestly, he knows he has no leverage and that Ella could have three other side guys or chicks or whatever and he'd still be grateful for their time spent together, even if he's covered in sap and, if he were mortal, he'd be freezing by now. His right side aches just a little since the injuries always do worse at night or when what passes for cold in Los Angeles settles in.

Celestial arthritis.

Utterly pathetic.

He says nothing in particular to her as she babbles rapid fire instructions to the lot workers. Michael steps back when it's time for them to wrap it in twine and shove it on the top of her vintage Mustang, and they tie and thread ropes through the car windows to keep it safe. Michael is realizing that not insisting on only lots near his house was a mistake. If he loses this on the 405, he is not going back for it, and Lopez will make do with a fiberoptic tree like Dad intended.

(Okay, Michael has 0 idea what Dad intended, never really did. He's pretty sure whatever humans have made of Christmas wasn't it. Then again, he doesn't know his half-brother all that well anyway. Certainly not as well as Gabriel, and that's its own cluster fuck.)

On the road home, he doesn't say much. Michael's a talker when he winds others up or plays his brothers' fears against them. By nature, he prefers to listen, a habit learned from eons of letting his power work and having his victims-yes he admits it-tell them all he needs. However, with Lopez, that's not really a problem. She mixes colorful road rage-induced epithets (in three languages and he's thinking the last one is Klingon for sure) with singing bars of Christmas carols from the radio. Michael is glad that he's not mortal. Driving in L.A. looks awful (he flies with what's left of his wings or Ubers if he has to), and Lopez is doing fine, but it's also a 50-50 thing on getting back to Laguna.

At least if they crash, he'll be in one piece.

Michael chuckles to himself just a little, thinking of Sam and his own tendency to speed race everywhere. Would that he'd gotten into some high-speed crash while still mortal around his precious detective. Okay, so Michael's a petty asshole.

Sue him.

He never said he wasn't.

Ugh, and self-actualization is a pain and a half. Rot your wings of, make yourself a giant burned lasagna of scarred flesh. Maybe just never heal. Michael understands self-actualization better than the others, knew about it from early observation millennia ago (Sam and Menny were too busy posturing and fighting for the top of the heap to notice). Doesn't net him anything.

He can't control it either.

Well, not entirely true.

For a few hours at a time, if he has to, he can fake being normal, but it never lasts and the rebound on his injured side is a bitch and a half. But the idea of being mortal...of being able to be wounded, well moreso, because of one human?

Michael shudders a little at the thought.

Nope, not for him.

He's already far too vulnerable for his tastes, and his siblings know it.

Ella frowns at him. "You got quiet."

"You were filling the space fine, Lopez."

She rolls her eyes at him, but they seem a bit less bright when she regards him again, and he gets the smallest hint of the noxious odor of lilies. He has never hated any object more than those cursed flowers. He can feel what she felt, has accidentally tapped into that on more than one occasion, even though she's never noticed. And he's an ass.

Michael offers her a smile, which he's sure comes out more like a pained grimace, but he's just not smooth like Samael. "I like when you talk."

"I know, but I talk like way, way too much and my last boyfriend-"

Michael's eyes widen at her. "I...is that what we're doing?"

"I asked to date you!"

"Well, I haven't been to earth for more than a day or two at a time, even on Father's business in about...I dunno...when was Prohibition for you guys?"

Ella blinks at him. "No fucking way."

"Well, yeah the flappers? They were interesting but I was only in San Fran for almost two months." He shrugs as best he can. "Sometimes even Celestial business takes time to clear up. But I got that most people thought dating was an exclusive thing. I wasn't sure...didn't think that had to maybe mean now boyfriend-girlfriend." Michael snorts. "Believe me, Lopez, I have heard a bit filtered through Maze about Samael's exploits. He and Eve were a thing-and the group's too incestuous, not that I care-but they had orgies too so..."

"I am not doing orgies. Not my thing."

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose and wishes he were smoother than he actually is. "I didn't ask. I just...Lopez, you're one of the only people I know who isn't a poker buddy or a regular at trivia night. Occasionally, I bump into Maze who is always all over town bounty hunting and, I'll be honest, I frequent dive bars for my games. But I don't...I'm not gonna pretend I have options either. I'd do it 1:1..." He blanches at how that came out. "Exclusivity is fine by me." Michael sighs and shrugs his bad shoulder but it barely moves. "I figured you wouldn't want to be hemmed in."

Her expression softens even as she keeps her eyes (thank Dad) on the road. A soft hand is soon on his knee, and it takes everything Michael has not to jump out of his skin. He's just not used to gentle touches or care. He wants to be, but he's not.

It's been far far too long.

Whole ice ages have literally come and gone.

"That's sweet of you. Okay, so I have bad habits with guys and crappy taste."

Michael snorts. "That makes me feel better, Lopez."

"You know what I mean. Although poker player and estranged from his family is kind of up my alley?"

"Be still my heart."

"Sin embargo," she continues. Dating her is gonna be like a Berlitz crash course already; he can tell. "...but I do serial monogamy. Even if it's a few weeks. I don't step out, you know? I wouldn't do that to you."

Michael can't say anything for a while after that and something tight clenches in his chest. It's not painful, exactly, but he can't quite name the feeling either.

Finally, he can speak without sound like a "prat" as his brother would say (and that affectation is so dumb). "Thanks. Then boyfriend and girlfriend. Damn, that sounds so sixth grade."

And it occurs to him then that Decker's kid might have literally more dating experience than he does. Fuck, Michael hopes Ella hasn't pieced that much together.

"Thanks, well, uh, I wouldn't either. Even if I could or anyone else was crazy enough to want me. Also, I like when you talk. Believe me. I grew up with Sam. I have heard someone talk literally for millions of years on end. I'm good," Michael explains.

Ella pulls off the highway at the exit toward his home. And he can tell she wants to say something because she's turned the radio down and "All I Want for Christmas is You" goes quiet to at least human ears. Also, she's wriggling in her seat just a bit.

"What?" he prods, regretting his own curiosity.

"For Christmas Day...uh, I know it's us chilling here, but if you want to, well, I can have any plus one I want for Linda's Christmas Eve dinner. Do you want to come?"

Michael hunches his shoulders higher, and it's a substitute for the wall of feathers he can't currently wrap around himself in the car, at least not safely. "That's Samael and Amenadiel's thing. I doubt that even a year or so out, Chloe Decker wants me there. And I'm positive Linda hasn't forgiven me for exaggerating about Chucky's health. I didn't make him sick, but I did use the illness to my advantage. I can understand that for most mothers, their kid's safety is a big trigger. It's a pretty common fear. Many permutations, but the same thing over and over for mothers."

"Your mom didn't worry about you?"

Michael sighs. "My mother and I are complicated. Every part of my family is." Perhaps not Azrael, not exactly, but she still preferred Sam best. They all did, even after the Fall. "We share too many things in common, and she was not the best caretaker for any of us. I appreciate in the beginning her quite literal light and warmth, but no, I don't know what it is firsthand to have a mother who wants to protect me, no." He considers it. "I know you and your mom-"

"Mami and I are not talking after that stunt last week."

He nods. "I wouldn't expect you too. I kind of liked your abuelita even if she was handsy. Jay's not a bad guy." Michael arches an eyebrow at her. "He knows, you know. Sam showed him what he is long before he ever met me."

"No me jodas! You're fucking with me!" she says, pulling into his driveway and then lightly slapping his arm as if he weren't the leader of Heaven's legions. Well, he's not anymore, so it fits for them.

"No, and he still told me to let you be. It takes a lot of balls to yell at an archangel. I was impressed. But yeah, your mom? She sucks. Mine just happens to be crazy."

"How crazy do you have to be to be cut out of the Bible?" Ella asks, turning the motor off.

"You know the Great Flood?"

"Yeah of course, dude.

"She was pissed humanity existed. I never really...I couldn't deal with her after that." Michael sighs again and eases his way out of the car, ignoring the way his shoulder twinges. "I don't hate humans, not like Her. I just don't like them much."

Ella glares at him after hopping out of the car and rounding the front. "Wow, bud, great ego boost there."

"You're special," he says simply, and maybe she is. He certainly tolerates her better than Sam's other pets. "However, I don't actively wish you all badly either. It's...I was made as a protector. It's ingrained somewhere in me, even if I'm hardly that these days. I just...I like to be left alone, blend into the wallpaper. And that's not Sam and never has been. Honestly, it's not the First Born always with his pompous rules and speeches either. I appreciate you're inviting me, but I don't want to go."

"Maybe if you and Luce-"

Michael sours at that even as he opens the door to his house. They'll need to set out sheets and tarps and she bought a new tree stand (whatever that is) from Wal-Mart this morning. It's going to be an ordeal, he can tell, but they're not quite ready to drag the tree in yet.

"I can't make up with him. I know you like us both." He stiffens at that. She probably has...well who hasn't in L.A...but she might be torn between her friend now and him. Michael's no fool. She's known Sam for years, and he's saved her life more than once even if Ella doesn't know that or is only piecing it altogether now. If he presses, he knows clearly who she'll pick.

Whom they all pick.

Always.

"I do, but it's sad to be alone at Christmas."

He offers her a small, half-smile. "I won't be. Besides, it's different for angels. We don't have to seek father's forgiveness with the Lamb. In Sam's case and my own, I suspect there isn't forgiveness to get. Besides, I've had my fill of the Silver City. Christmas just isn't really our holiday."

"Ooh, are there angel holidays?"

"Not really," he admits. There are times when the city is quiet, but mostly for molting season which is a pain and a half, but nothing celebratory. There is only one thing to celebrate.

Him.

And it must be at all times from worship choir in the mornings to the hymns and absolutions at night. When everything is a celebration, nothing truly is.

She sniffles a little and squeezes his good hand. Ella has yet to take his bad one, and he can't tell if she's scared to hurt him (she can't) or repelled. He's okay with it-the not touching his right side much. It's so awkward there.

"Well, I will make you have a great Christmas anyway and cook some of my family favorites and everything. You're going to love it, Mister!"

"Good, and you can get your fill of the tribe and Sam, Menny, and even the douche on Christmas Eve. I won't take offense."

"It gets out by six, you know? Trixie's still in middle school, and Charlie's not even two yet. So, we could do midnight mass. It's really great down at St. Jerome's. Would you go?"

He stills and almost says no. He's not a fucking vampire, and demons don't even combust on sacred ground either. Nor Sam, more's the pity. However, Michael feels like he might be anathema there since he's been forbidden return to the Silver City, despite his retained gifts and angelic nature. But she's trying so hard and even with her almost-murder and the shattering of her world, Ella loves Father.

And she tries.

He can too.

"Sure, Lopez. I haven't really gotten up close on the little half-brother's day in a long time. What can it hurt?"

"Great cause the service is so good. The songs and candles and then the mass with the good wine for once a year. It's..." she whirls to face him after passing him in the front hall, and brown eyes twinkle up at him. "...peaceful. I think we could both use that since Thanksgiving was not."

Michael is scared of Ella.

He led Father's legion against Satan (who is not terrifying even with the bat wings act sometimes now), fought the oldest darkness back to the Eldritch edges of creation, and has tangled far too often with Fenris to keep count. But he, the (very former) Sword of God is terrified of one Ella Lopez.

He thinks that's acceptable.

Anyone would be.

She's intense about this decorating thing and, sure, Michael's never had a tree before but he's seen Christmas specials on TV and seen them in stores. How the fuck hard could it be?

Answer-hard as diamond.

Lopez is not treating this like a fun family even but rather like Caesar crossing the Rubicon. And Michael would know, an errand for Dad made him an observer to it.

He reaches again to set just a plain red glass ball on a branch. To be honest the set up of the tree and the ribbons around it weren't bad do. The lights are on but had shorted out at least once. It was through an hour of screwing and rescrewing tiny, idiot bulbs-and how could humans have iPhones but not have updated this since the 1970s-before they lit up.

Michael is scowling at the tree, expecting it to go out again. He is not Sam and would that he was. After all, if he were the Lightbringer, he'd be able to keep the lights on. A bit of Will and no fear of hunting through strands and strands of lights to fix the problem.

However, it's not even the light debacle that has made him wary of his girlfriend. No. It is the military precision with which she's set out her collections of ornaments and the graph-drawn on actual graph paper to boot-of the tree and which ornament goes where.

He's tried to free style it more than once, and she's cowed him. Twice with her shoe, until he gave up on shoe beatings and waited for her instructions.

This is not how he thought human tree trimming would go. In the few commercials he's seen, well, Michael always thought it looked very casual and not like a navy SEAL mission.

Michael swallows and steps back. "We've been at the tree decorating for almost two hours. We've only got three balls on so far, and you have all the ornaments made like people and doves and cartoon characters." So many cartoon characters. Mostly superheroes, to be fair, and all of fine blown glass.

Ella's shoulders sag and the general attitude is gone, and for now his quirky girlfriend is staring back at him with wide eyes. "Demonios, I really fucked this up, huh? I'm trying to show you a good time and a real Christmas, and I'm putting too much pressure on it, aren't I? Usually there's a system and I have to decorate a certain way to get as much of my limited-edition Justice League figures on the tree and I want it to be perfect-"

Michael takes a chance and steps forward to kiss her, relaxing as she sinks into his grasp. Again, a small, guilty part of him feels like he should explain about the multiverse, but the rest of him would like to do anything else but field questions about it for the next month. Besides, he can tell she's refrained from just spewing forth so many probing questions about Celestials and his Dad and Jesus and everything in between.

Of course, he'd date Dad's ultimate fangirl.

Save the shocks for later.

For now, he just lets her breathe.

Michael pulls back from her and can't help grinning like an idiot. "If making out is part of tree-trimming, then it just got better."

She sniffles and rubs at her eyes. "God...uh, you know what I mean."

"You're upset. I get it. It's hard to weed it out. But if you call that during sex, ever, I get to call Raquel, fair warning."

Ella's eyes almost bulge out of her head and he looks down at his shoes, suddenly upset that he's made it awkward. They're not even remotely there yet, and he figures that's the expiration date on their relationship anyway. After all, who wants to date a billions-of-years-old virgin?

He wouldn't even know where to start to make her happy, but dear Dad does he want to try.

"Sorry," he fumbles. "Bad joke. I just mean, I get that you'll curse like that or mention uh 'The Big Guy.' It's fine."

"But I'm being just so anal about it and ruining the fun. I just wanted to make this amazing, and I'm actually making you uncomfortable."

He looks up and notices the slight flush coloring her face. Michael is weak-so very weak, and that's his whole problem-so he has little problem lowering his walls and just testing the waters on her feelings. Ella is anxious but not of him, not exactly. More just flustered at the thought of sex at all after Pete, and Michael feels better in a way, like they both aren't sure how to proceed, even if they both want to.

He shuts his walls up tightly again. No need to spoil anything else or make her more anxious than she has to be. He always creates this antsy unrest in any room he's in. It's just...he wishes he were desire incarnate.

Story of his fucking life.

But he is not, and he's grateful Ella doesn't mind his customary unease.

He sits back down on the sofa because it's been a long day walking and schlepping and then setting that ten foot monster up-not heavy but awkward-and he is tired.

Defender of the Church and the Great Judge, and he is so tired by mortal activities. He hates himself for that and hates Sam for it even more.

But he hopes she doesn't notice that he's keeping off his feet as much as he can, trying to keep himself in one piece. Rested. "You can do whatever you want. I know it means a lot to you. I will try and be patient and not just shove it on any branch."

She throws up her hands and half-falls/half-bounces onto the couch beside him. "No, you don't get it. This should be fun. I've sucked all the fun out of this."

Michael laughs and it's the biggest, heartiest belly laugh he's had in months. It's so out of character for him that it shocks Lopez and her eyes go wide beside him.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

He nods and wipes at his eyes. "Yeah, chica. Trust me, no one ever accused me of being fun."

"I think you're fun."

Michael blinks at her. Part of him assumes that this whole relationship thing is a mix of her insecurities after Pete, some probably half-nursed crush after Samael moved on as he's wont to do and being hurt by her family recently. He doesn't really think anyone could find him fun.

His brothers have reminded him of that, even the few times they have to work together to keep L.A. in one piece from whatever demon or monster strikes out occasionally.

But fun?

"You don't though. I mean..." he frowns at her, feeling awkward all over again. "...you couldn't, right? I don't go drinking cause it's expensive for no reason on my metabolism. I can't dance because, well, you know why." He trails off lamely for a bit before continuing. "And I'm sarcastic, but I know I'm not funny. Granted, Sam's all bad puns and Menny has no humor at all, but it's a low fucking bar, Lopez."

She curls up into him, and she's so warm. His shoulders twitch and his wings ache, and Michael has no idea why.

"But you know so much. You had great stories in the museums and I thought you just were a big nerd too who'd researched it all, but you knew cause you saw, right?"

"Some of it, yes, but some of it was catching up. The Silver City has down time if you're retired," he admits, not willing to go into how large an ocean of time he had with his siblings avoiding him and the mess of his wings. As if they could catch Sam's wrath by proxy. "So, my version of not-quite-drunk-history is fun?"

"And trivia night! And I am going to get you into Black Jack too." She frowns up at him, her eyes so dark and fathomless that Michael hasn't seen anything as dark since he and Sam worked to light the universe (mostly Sam to be fair; he was there for planet making truly). "Your family did a number on you too, huh?"

"Understatement of the ages, chica. First family, most fucked up family." He sighs and kisses the crown of her head gently. "But I've learned to deal. Anyway, how do we make this more fun, Lopez?"

She winks at him, and soon he finds them making out on the couch. It's not the first time, but it's the most vigorous and Michael's wings almost pop out when her hand goes low and rubs against his length through his slacks.

Michael yelps and pulls away from her, trying to keep his wings at bay.

They're not there yet...she needed the proof. He doesn't need them out just because he's horny (?).

And apparently hard.

That's new. And ohhhh. Oh.

He did not know that about their wings. That's confusing, not a bad sensation, just odd.

Ella frowns at him and gets to her feet. "I...what's wrong?"

He rolls his eyes and rubs at his shoulders. "Honestly, it was going really well...amazing, but look, Lopez, if you went any further, I was gonna, well..."

Her eyes go wide as dinner plates and she's talking a mile a minute. "Oh, I get it. It's probably been a while cause you haven't been here since like the 20s and you know that makes sense and don't be shy about saying things. Dude, I have four brothers and talk all the time to...nevermind. I heard it all growing up. I'm not delicate and if you need to like get a drink of water or you can shower while I'm doing the tree or?"

He looks down at the ground and wishes it would swallow him whole. "No, not my...just my wings."

She quirks her head at him and sputters. "Your what now? I thought you were gonna co-"

"No, no!"

Maybe. That's quite possible. How the fuck would he know?

However, his wings were definitely going to pop out first and they're huge and there's crystal and glass ornaments everywhere, and it's not a good idea. Not at all.

Michael swallows and sits on the couch as far from Ella as he can get and covers his lap with a pillow. His erection is still obviously tenting his khakis and his back itches in a thrilling way, but at least he's mostly still in one piece.

"Then?" she asks, and he appreciates that she stays standing for his personal space and frame of mind.

"My wings," he whispers, and he can feel his cheeks flush.

He knows Sam doesn't do that, not ever, and Michael wonders if she's comparing them.

Fuck it all but Samael probably didn't whenever he and Ella had...oh this is such a bad idea. He can't compare and here they are anyway.

But she wants to try and he cares about her and no one ever tries with him. So, he forces his face to stay neutral and to pretend this isn't embarrassing as Hell.

"Wait, your wings come out when you're excitado?"

"Um, apparently, yes."

Later, Michael will thank the universe in general (but not Dad because fuck this wing boner problem) for Ella being too confused to parse his words carefully. If she'd been paying full scientist levels of attention then, she'd have known he had never experienced such, ahem, complications before.

That he was in a weird way as pure as the driven snow.

"I'm so sorry! Is this...oh, I made it weird," she says.

He glares at her. "I'm the one with a forty-foot wingspan threatening the living room, the tree, and all your ornaments.

Lopez squeaks "Forty?" and there is a look on her face he can't quite place, a mix of aroused and blue screen of death, perhaps. Michael is both flattered and put off by it.

Not sure if she's dating him for option #4 - that she is so religious and she has him confused with the hype about him. Because he is many things, but he is no longer the Prince of Heaven, if he ever truly were, and he was never a saint. Ella has said she's in it for him, but he worries she won't be, that the divinity-tarnished as it is in him-will end up attracting her more.

"You saw them the one time," he counters.

"Yeah, but I didn't realize how big they really were." She blanches. "Wait, so is that the angelic equivalent of a dick pic? Just whip out the wings?"

"No! Fuck no!" he stammers. "I just...they're a part of me. They're like arms." Or they were, but he's never made out with anyone before, and he didn't know they weren't just limbs and expressions of his divinity.

That they could be oh so much more.

Lopez's head bobs and she is so very very red-cheeked. Michael's not sure if he's glad or not that she's feeling as awkward as he is, but maybe misery loves company.

"Oh, okay. I...do you want to take a break? I'm serious, you can shower and calm down. I'll get the tree trimmed more. Meet back here in 30?"

Michael nods and is grateful for an excuse to escape. He stands and clutches the pillow to his crotch even if it's obvious what's happened and hurries at almost Celestial speed to his bathroom.

Fuck, he can't even trim a tree right.

The coldest shower he could manage for twenty minutes finally killed his erection as well as the twitching underneath his skin. It's like kissing her ignited something electric under his skin, and Michael can't quite undo it. But the cold helps. When he returns to her, his wet hair is curling up in all directions, and he's wearing a t-shirt he thinks is mostly clean (though it smells of cigar smoke from the last poker game he was at) and a long pair of checkered pajama pants. They're ones Lopez bought for their little Thanksgiving illusion. Why she thought her abuelita would check dresser drawers, well, Michael does not want to know.

Honestly, it's for the best, because usually he has his khakis for the day and sleeps naked at night.

But right now being as naked as the day he was Created, which would be no bueno as Lopez likes to say.

He smiles shyly at Ella as she finishes setting two fresh mugs of cocoa (and when the fuck did that get in his cupboard and what else has she put there) on the coffee table by the sofa. He notices that the layer of glass balls, bright reds, blues, and violets, have been hung on the tree. He admits they look good painfully equidistant from each other.

The only things left are the superhero ornaments and the tree topper.

He assumes it's a star. She hasn't actually opened the box for him to see.

"Hey," he says, not sure of what else to say.

She offers him a broad smile and launches into a hug around him. It should be awkward, but it's the one thing that's not, and maybe she caught him the moment they met, that odd mix of shoe-buoyed fury and soft affection. For someone else but intriguing nevertheless.

"Are you good?"

He nods even if his voice is a bit thicker when he speaks. "No wings are going to break the tree today, Lopez. Perfect is as perfect does, right?"

He has no idea where that came from, but such an asinine aphorism appeases her and, as Lopez pulls away, he's rewarded with her megawatt smile. A small, poetic part of him thinks of it as the closest to the Silver City he's probably ever allowed to see again. Then he remembers the stares of his good siblings and the millennia of jeers from his cruel ones (and fuck you too, Remiel), and realizes that smile just for him is far better than anything Heaven ever gave him.

He clamps his mouth shut, resisting the urge to tell her and wear his heart on his sleeve so nakedly.

"Dude, I was thinking that the Justice League can go in any order you like, okay?"

Michael quirks his head at her, his snark returning. "You sure? I don't want to place Superman wrong."

"Nah, it should be some fun. Just sip cocoa and decorate the tree the normal way. If something's too close together, well, it's not a quiz, right?"

He leans down and kisses her cheek. "No...I thank you."

"Why?"

"For easing up. I haven't ever done this before, so it's nice to just do it however. No perfection."

She snorts. "Deal, and if I get too geometrical about it, just knock me out of it."

"Deal."

They don't talk for a while, just get to trimming. Michael takes the higher branches and has made short work of the heroes he knows off the top of his head like Wonder Woman and Batman and the aforementioned Superman. He doesn't keep track on the multiverse. Not his thing. Azrael does for fun; he can tell. But he knows the big things, and he's seen a few movies on cable while on earth this time around. Ella's gravitated to whatever the fuck the B-team is with colorful spandex clad heroes all over and he has no clue who is who.

She stops before putting the last one on the highest branch she can reach. This one looks like Wonder Woman, kind of, but he knows he put that one up. He sees the same gold lasso and bracelets but there are differences too with the pants on the figure and the slightly darker hint to its skin.

"Who's that?"

"Oh, she's new! Her name is Yara Flor and she's gonna be Wonder Girl in the comics and TV now. I just got this as this year's commemorative."

She's stretching hard to reach the high tip, and Michael reaches out his hand. "Can I help?"

Ella nods. "Sure, use that height, dude."

He snorts but takes no real offense and places it near the top, close to the Batman and not too far from Superman. It's probably too close to actual Wonder Woman (fuck if he knows the name). Michael turns back to her and expects Ella to correct him, get out a ruler even to measure, but she's sniffling a little, and he wonders what he did wrong.

"Did I mess up?"

"No, I just...the last two years have been messed up. First I was on the outs with, uh, your dad. Then, I was hurting so bad cause of my break up..." One day, Michael will have to tell her he knows about that asshole Pete, but now isn't the time. "...and then I found out you all were really real like a week ago while still trying to go to church in the interim and feeling lost. I just...I used to see myself as good, you know? But I'm not sure I'm as good as I want to be."

"You wish you were as good as Wonder Girl up there?"

She nods. "Yeah, like Latina superheroine. That would be badass, right?"

Michael chuckles. "I dunno. I leave most heroics and everything else to Amenadiel and Sam. That's their thing, unless they absolutely need a third." He scowls at her. "I do not do spandex."

"Technically, Batman has this next level body armor like Kevlar and-"

"Yeah, no, Lopez." He reaches out and strokes her cheek. Then, he hedges a lot because she's human and she's trying, and divinity hasn't broken her yet. Nothing has broken her yet no matter what she thinks. But he can't explain the multiverse quite yet. "That's not true. It's all gods and aliens and billionaires." He shrugs, and gestures vaguely to himself with his bad hand. "Even Celestials or demons like Maze. We have things that insulate us from the pain. Maybe not always well, but it's there. I think you're a hero for how you try. How you never stop. Sam and Chloe Decker and the douche-"

She chuckles at that. "You and Lucifer still have a lot in common!"

"No, we do not."

Lies. They do and it eats at them both.

"Totally do. No mentiras there."

"But..." he continues. "They wouldn't know who to arrest without you or have the proof to make it stick. You're amazing, chica. I think so at least, and not to brag, but I've seen a lot of the universe, so I'd know."

She grins up at him, and the brilliance of her smile is marred just a bit by the cocoa on her lip. Damn if he doesn't want to lick it off.

"You're smoother than you think, Mikey."

"Maybe," he says, giving in to his wants and kissing the chocolate mustache off her lip. "Now, what goes on top?"

He eyes the box, worrying that it's an angel. If only because he needs her to see him first, to deal with the divinity bomb, and understand that what she's seen of him really is him. The wings he barely uses and the legacy he tries to ignore just aren't. The First Born revels in it. Sam rails against it. Michael buries it and tries to survive.

He is always trying to do that.

She beams at him and hurries over to it. He holds his breath as she opens and then blinks, both dumbfounded and relieved to see the Superman shield or emblem or whatever in all its red and yellow glory before him.

"Are you serious, Lopez?"

"What? Is it too profane?"

"Not by half," he says, smirking at her. "Would that it were. And I guess I'm gonna get the step stool out and do it for you."

"Nine feet is pretty high, dude."

He makes a show of grumbling to himself and gets on the step ladder, his shoulders shaking when Ella takes it upon herself to pinch his ass. She's luck they didn't lose the whole tree that way. However, he recovers and places the tree topper on. He has to admit that it reflects the strands of lights brilliantly across the room. After he resettles himself on the ground, Lopez comes and slips under his good arm.

"What do you think?"

"You, chica, are possibly the biggest nerd on the planet."

"Yup, that's what you signed up for."

He thinks of all the bobbleheads she has not yet moved out, and that he fears she will never move out. Then, he kisses her again, smirking against her lips, when he gooses her ass and she yips next to him.

When he pulls back, he winks. "Not bad for a first tree, right?"

"Por cierto, we did a good job!"

He nods to her. "Now, if you have something a bit more fun in mind, Lopez, I think I'm game."

She leads him to the couch, and they're lost together in the caress of tongues and lips and in roaming hands. And yet...

Something in the back of Michael's mind goes back to the top of the tree and that famous shield up there. Wryly, some small, mischievous part of him thinks Samael would hate it. And, for some reason, it makes him all the more ecstatic.