ellectrical | (no subject)

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There's been a lull just long enough for Elle to grow restless. If anything good came out of being so exhausted so much of the time, it was that it had kept her occupied.

So to cure this newfound energy, she's turned to practicing. She's had plenty of opportunity to train with her abilities, however – the one thing she doesn't have to do anymore is run away. And as she'd been reminded, she could stand to be faster.

Jogging, it turns out, works to make her physically exhausted. But when collapses, still panting, close to the shoreline of the lake, her mind is still as loud as it was before.

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Her head turns, as she glances to his hand, then up to him, then quickly down to the ground.

"Maybe there is with wanting to be someone I'm not."

"I don't know about that. I mean, it's okay to have regrets."

He squeezes her shoulder again, then lets go.

"I don't - think it's that," she answers, looking up again.

"I think it's -"

She says the word carefully, like she's experimenting with it. "- envy."

"Of her? Or people who can live like her?"

"She's real."

Elle's not quite repeating herself.

"There's someone - like her. Who is real. Who I could've - been like."

He nods, not arguing.

She's right. There's someone out there who Elle could have been, in a normal world; just like there's a law student out there who could have been Sam, if things had been different.

"For what it's worth, Elle... I like who you are just fine. And I'm sure others do, too. Like X."

Elle hesitates, but then gets a small smile.

(And decides that's a story she doesn't need to share right now.)

With a small, playful sort of punch to his arm.

"Is there anyone you don't like?"

"Sure," he deadpans, pretending to be staggered by her punch. "Lots of people."

"Right."

She sounds genuinely sarcastic.

"Then why did you like me?"

(For once, she doesn't ask it with anything like angry suspicion.)

"Because..."

The single word draws out, as if he takes long enough to say it the next words that he needs will somehow appear.

"... well, at first it was because turning away from you would have, would have been like, like ... like turning away from myself, you know? And all the other kids like me - like you - like us. So I, I just kind of ... "

He trails off for a second, then offers her a rueful smile.

"... I'm kind of stubborn. You may have noticed. So that was part of it, at first. But pretty soon after that, and now, too - I like you because you're likeable. In a lot of ways."

Elle hesitates, then shakes her head.

Still smiling, "Nope, you'd just like anyone."

"No I wouldn't," he counters, grinning back.

"Yeah."

Her smile slips, but she reaches out, and puts her hand on his shoulder again.

"That's how you're like me."

He reaches up and covers her hand with his own.

"Sorry, I don't think I follow."

She's not really surprised, or in this case, bothered.

But she answers, a little cautiously, "It's - complicated."

"Complicated like you don't want to explain it right now, or just complicated?"

Both. Can she say both?

What she does say is, "Someone told me he didn't have friends who'd tried to kill him. But I do."

Elle feels a bit like she's stepping on to an unsteady branch, but she adds, "And I think you do."

He sobers, and is quiet for several seconds.

"Yeah," Sam admits, finally. "I do."

"Because we're not - the way we are is..."

As she speaks, she moves her hand back, though if Sam doesn't resist, she'll pull his hand with hers, either too distracted to notice what she's doing, or just not thinking much of it.

"Those friends - people - someone was supposed to - save them."

Elle's words become more tentative as she talks, but her eyes flicker up to him as she finishes, "But I'm not like that. That's not what - I'm for."

(Her 'I' is inviting, not exclusive.)

He doesn't resist. Sam lets his hand be drawn, and after a moment, squeezes her fingers.

"Because you - we - we're different."

"That's how you're like me," she repeats, quietly.

But she very slightly modifies the next part words to, "You can like anyone."

"Well, I don't know about that," he temporizes.

"But I can try."

"Fine."

She doesn't let go of his hand, but pushes back on it slightly. "Then you're good at trying."

Sam's grin is bashful, but he gives up arguing.

"Hey, everyone's got to be good at something, right?"

There's a pause.

And then she assures him, "You're probably good at something else, too."