ellectrical | March 2007, Not Most Parents

"When I think about all the hard work I put into raising you."

It's not the first time Elle's father has spoken to her like this. But it is the first time that under the way her stomach turns at his disappointed voice and her breath catches, making her voice weaker than it could be before anyone else, another emotion creeps in. She doesn't know how to recognize it, but it's a weight in her chest like she can't breathe, and a more familiar headache, like something pounding in her head but she doesn't know –

"Hurts you."
"Shut up."

It's wrong, and Elle doesn't know what to do with it. Out here, there is only one person she knows who would be at all willing to say anything about it, and for now, he's just as trapped in this place as she is.

And so after her father dismisses her, Elle doesn't go to her room to sulk or wander through the building to find a door out. She heads straight downstairs, heels tapping loudly down the steps and in the corridors as she walks past the cells. Her eyes don't wander to any of the other occupants; she knows their names and their faces and how special they are and none of them are any longer of any interest to her.

Except, as usual, the newest one.

Noah Bennet doesn't look up when the door to his cell unlocked, nor when Elle walked into the room, not bothering to keep her steps quiet. He'd somehow managed to acquire some kind of red rubber ball, and he's throwing it against the wall, catching it every time in a smooth, uninterrupted rhythm. It's so distracting that she doesn't even speak at first, even though she knows he heard her come in, and her eyes simply follow the toy's progression from his hand to the wall and back again.

"You said you knew all about my ability." She says it all at once, breaking the cycle abruptly. Bennet catches the ball and turns to her, almost a startled movement, less at because she's finally spoken and more because of what she'd said. They certainly usually wouldn't bring up something like that again. "Tell me what my dad did to me."

Without hesitation, Bennet turns away from her demand, with a small smile like that of a father when about to deny something to a pushy, spoiled daughter. He knows better, after all.

"I'm stuck in this hellhole, my family thinks I'm dead." He starts tossing the ball again. "There's not a lot of incentive to share."

(Her home is a hellhole. Elle knows this. Her room is larger than a six-by-six cell and she doesn't have to wear those cotton white pajamas he's got on, but he's still letting her know - this place isn't my home. It's yours.)

Elle walks into the cell, leaving the door open behind her and raising her left hand. Sparks snap up from her palm and her curved fingers, crackling into a blue sphere over her hand, and she smiles, but it's more defensive than threatening.

Still, nothing shakes in her voice. "I could make you tell me."

"You could try."

Really, she would like nothing better.

But it's not what she came here for, and possibly leaving Bennet injured or dead (again) would not get her what she really wanted, and would probably just result in her father being even angrier with her. After a moment, the sparks die out, and her hand drops to her side. Her smile fades again, her expression closing up as she tries to make herself say it –

"Please."

Again, he looks surprised. She pushes it further, straining her voice as she continues – "I don't have anyone else to talk to."

(Once, it would have been true. Technically here, it is true.

But it's really a lie, now. A lie it would be impossible for even Bennet to know.)

And it works. Bennet's expression softens, somewhat, though he still remains mostly unreadable. He leans toward her slightly, voice quieter, like he'd spoken to her before.

"They wanted to see how much wattage you could discharge. Enough to power a flashlight, a street lamp –"

There's a short pause, and then –

"– an entire city block."

Her left hand curls into a fist at her side.

"During testing you'd pass out from the strain. We'd all want to call it a day but Daddy said no."

And I thought my little girl was -

"My girl's tougher than that."

Against her will, her first thought is: Why wasn't I? Her eyes are stinging, suddenly, and blinks them shut to try to push the feeling away, but Bennet pushes on, his tone close to impassive.

"You were seven. You know, the hardest thing for a parent is to see their child in pain."

Before, she'd seen when his eyes flickered away. But now she couldn't meet his eyes, and didn't see it, this time almost like a signal for her –

"Most parents."

"Elle." Her father's voice startles her, but it works instantly – the stinging in her eyes stops, the pressure is gone, and she doesn't really realize it until she's met her father's gaze without a thought, without hesitation.

He's become her job. Another act.

"What are you doing here?"

She looks between him and Bennet, as though confused. But letting her eyes linger on the latter, she answers.

"Leaving."

Her hand is loose at her side again, and she walks past her father toward the door, allowing herself one last glance at Bennet before she leaves. His eyes are on her rather than her father, but she doesn't return to his gaze, and doesn't look back once she's out the door.

[ooc: Dialogue lifted from Heroes 2x11, "Powerless."]