May 2007, Takes One To Know One

[ellectrical]

Stupid, spiked-hair guy is affixed to the stairwell wall with a ripped metal railing. Elle ducks under the piece still sticking out of his chest, and doesn't slip on his blood.

The second body is several flights farther down; the stairwell itself seems to deteriorate as she continues, the walls going from a bland but clean taupe into chipped plaster and then, as she finally reaches Level Five, concrete. This one, another from building security, is sprawled across the stairs, body contorted from having been slammed into the jagged surface. Elle looks down, and steps over him, continuing on to the cell block floor.

There isn't much light on this floor, most of it coming from the fluorescent tubes that line the cells, making their occupants clearly visible through the glass panels inlaid into the cement walls. The steel doors are closed, keypads still lit; despite what was above and the greeting at the entrance, Level Five appears untouched. The cells only line the left side of the hall, and Elle can name every prisoner on sight. She's visited or spoken to most of them.

And a very long time ago, Elle was one of them.

A few look up when she enters. One, already pounding against the glass, starts yelling as she heads down the hall. The other end is entirely shadowed, and her eyes attempt to refocus in the dark when...




tick

... a burst of blue flame distracts her attention. The burly pyrokinetic on the other side of the glass leers at her.

"Hey baby, you comin' to visit me or what?"

She's never visited him. The reason is apparent enough – he may be harmless now, but nothing could stop him from showing off within his cell. Not without a lot of work, anyway. But her eyes already on him, and nerves frayed, Elle shouts, "Fuck you," before continuing on to the very last cell at the end of the hall.

Noah Bennet is settled on the edge of his cot, still holding that stupid rubber ball. He's not throwing it against the glass, and doesn't even look up when she approaches his cell, but she doesn't waste time watching him. Elle inputs the code, and pushes open the door, and this does get his attention.

"Sylar's in the building."

It's only because Elle is what she is, who she's been for the last eighteen years, that she sees even the dimmest shadow of fear cross Bennet's face. His focus on her sharpens; the ball falls out of his hands, and Elle takes the moment to toss the gun across the room. He's the one who needs it, and he knows – Bennet catches the weapon with one hand, closes his fingers around it as it falls perfectly against his palm.

"Let's go."

But Bennet doesn't move, and his expression slips into something more wry.

"Daddy doesn't want me to leave my cell."

And though the comment makes her nerves spike, like he somehow knows, she doesn't snap at him, doesn't wince, doesn't rise to any bait he's really offering about her father, about how she should hate him, about how she came to Noah Bennet before –

"My Dad's dead." It's the first time she's said it. Elle's voice becomes louder, but doesn't waver, and the sneer is gone from Bennet's face. She's quiet again, her tone steady when she continues, "Sylar killed him."

Without saying anything else, Elle steps out the cell door and back into the hall. The soft scrape of Bennet's white slippers against the cement floor followers her, she doesn't need to look back to know –

But she's not standing anymore. It's all she can tell before whatever has lifted her off the floor slams her hard into the glass. It's not enough to shatter the panel (almost nothing would be), but she cries out when her head seems to crack against it, and tumbles down to the concrete floor.

The screaming from the cell farther down grows louder. Elle spreads her palms onto the cool concrete, as she can hear Bennet's steps enter the hall behind her.

"Hello, Noah."

Bennet doesn't reply. Ignoring the pounding pain in her head, Elle tries to put a little weight on her hands, though not enough to lift herself off the floor. Her eyes open.

"Miss me?"

This time, Bennet does answer. Elle hears the gun fire, over and over, five discharges without any pause. It's a fucking stupid thing to do, just the thing that got Matt Parkman a few holes in his chest, and she immediately pushes herself to curl up against the wall, ready to move when she sees the bullets hanging in the air.

It's not what happens – every bullet hits its mark. Sylar is slammed against the far wall, seemingly pinned by the force of it before his body goes limp, knees buckling, and he slips to the floor. Blood streaks down the wall behind him, and his head lolls slightly into his left shoulder, his eyes the kind of blank that anyone in this hall could recognize.

Show-off.

Elle lifts one hand to the concrete edge against the cell's glass panel, fingers curling around it so she can lift herself up again. It's not until Bennet passes her, heading toward Sylar's crumpled body with his gun lowered that she remembers –

"Bennet, he –"

Something metal hits the floor, the clatter echoing through the hall. Blood is trickling from the corner of Sylar's mouth, but it happens again, and again. Bennet doesn't even raise his weapon – Elle can't see his face, but his back has gone rigid. When the fifth bullet finally slips from Sylar's chest and rattles across the floor, the fallen man's eyes, having regained their full color, snap up to Bennet as a smirk knifes across his face.

"I got that from your Claire."

You'd be surprised what a father would do for his daughter.

In the moment it takes Bennet to lift the gun, Sylar is on his feet again. There's only time to snarl, "You son of a bitc-" and the man raises his hand, one slicing motion, and Bennet is thrown aside, down the adjacent hall, slamming first against the ceiling before he also falls to the floor, the useless handgun skittering away, far beyond anyone's reach.

I was there.

And he doesn't get up.

When they brought you in.

Her father is ten stories above, a hollowed-out corpse, and Noah Bennet is a crumpled heap on the concrete.

The brain isn't built to take that much electricity.

What a father would do. Here they are – just as much here as they were when she was six years old. Just as much help to her. Bennet doesn't get up, her Dad is dead, and Elle knows what has been true since she was that little, normal girl who walked into a Company facility for the first time with unicorns, rainbows, and sparking fingers. They will do nothing to help her.

She is completely alone.

YOU POOR GIRL.

Elle isn't feeling the pounding in her head anymore. When she raises her arms, adrenaline flooding her veins so hard that her hands shake, it isn't fueled by fear, or anguish, or despair. It's not even anger at the man who murdered her father. It's only, entirely rage.

Her arms light up, and bright electrical arcs that would be enough to kill any human fire through the hall. Sylar isn't ready for it, can't brush it aside with another wave of his hand – he's slammed back against the bloody wall, only managing to swipe blindly at her. The telekinetic blow throws her against the concrete wall, but it doesn't hold – Elle twists, and fires another arc, forcing Sylar to dodge down the hall while his body is still healing.

"You can't kill me," he shouts to her.

Maybe even hours ago, the breathless satisfaction in his voice would have rankled her. Elle smiles, her tone low and even when she answers, "I don't want to."

She uncurls her hand and throws a ball of sparks toward the hall, aiming at nothing and only leaving a scorch on the concrete. He's still out of view, and she steps forward, a moment too late for her distraction to help – something lifts her and slams her against the blood-soaked wall, this time pinning her there. Unable to move her head, she doesn't try to look to him when he approaches; she doesn't struggle at all, but stays still and quelled like a well-behaved child.

"You don't want to kill me, Elle?" he taunts in a low sing-song, every note taut with disbelief. Maybe even disappointment. Even when he steps in front of her, she can't raise her head to meet his eyes, the light from the nearby cell only shadows him. He doesn't raise his hand in another attack.

"Why is that?"

Though she can't look to him, Elle does move – she smiles, with no small hint of pride.

Mimicking his sing-song tone, "I can do more."

She sees his hand move again, a flicking motion with two fingers and her chin is yanked up, her head tilted back against the wall so that she can meet his eyes. It doesn't make any difference, she still can't see any of his face in the dark, but with the light glinting in the corner of her eye, she knows he can see hers.

"You can."

It's distant, like something is distracting him. As much as it aggravates her that she can't see, doesn't know what he's looking at that could make him agree, Elle keeps her smile intact.

"I'm not scared of you."

It works. Though she can't see his expression change, the way his stance straightens is enough to tell her that whatever it was, he's been jolted out of it. The invisible pressure doesn't increase, but he leans closer to her, blocking what light there is.

"You should be," he hisses, though even under his anger, she can tell that it's not a threat. It's the same taunt.

Why would they send you after me when they could have sent someone whole?

He raises his hand again, but the pressure on her head relaxes, allowing her to look away again. One of his fingers brushes her throat, hooking over her necklace and pulling the chain up into her line of sight.

"I'm a psychopathic killer."

And the little light there is does allow her to watch as, at his touch, the pale silver chain flushes into a bright gold.

Elle inhales, once, and looks up to give him the same answer.

"Takes one to know one."

Her skin sparks up, igniting the chain in a sudden flash. The force binding her is gone as he yells and snaps his hand away, and she fires another burst of electricity toward him, the force of it throwing him down the row of cells. She's whipped back briefly, but launches another arc and darts down the side hall, just out of sight.

"Then he was your father."

She stays still behind the wall.

"It must be hard for you, Elle. Knowing his death was entirely your fault."

There are footsteps, and she slips over just far enough to fire another bolt of electricity down the hall. He doesn't yell, but does sound breathless when he calls out, "How does it feel?"

Still pressed against the wall, Elle blinks over to Bennet. He hasn't stirred, hasn't moved at all.

"You're the one who hears so much," she calls back. "You tell me."

When this doesn't get an answer, she shouts it, loud enough to echo through the concrete hall.

"Tell me."

Something – a piece of pipe ripped from the wall at the other end of the hall – slams against the corner, close to where she's standing, but it only pounds into the opposing wall from there, and she still doesn't move. It was something out of anger, frustration, but Sylar's voice is almost musing when he speaks again.

"How could he have expected anything else from something so broken?"

she is like
such a good girl
thinks she can
at peace with your
did you have a

(this is a)

stop it

How long was I there? All of that, everything he can hear, and he's still as blind as she was.

Elle steps out, into the hallway, sparks crackling over her skin from her shoulders down to her hands. Not lifting her hands to fire again, she only snarls, "Look at me."

And he does – it's only a few seconds, but she can see the sharp focus in his eyes, that short space of time in which he's consumed by it. That's when she raises her hands, and sends two bright white arcs toward him. It's again enough to kill, and this time, when he's thrown back down the hall and lands heavily on the floor, he doesn't get up. She can smell the burnt cloth and flesh now, and her arms fall to her side, hands still open, but silent, and steps down the hall to where he's fallen. Elle doesn't need (want) him to be dead, but if he just doesn't get up for another moment, it would give her enough time.

He hasn't moved when she reaches his body, and in the dim light, she can see that his eyes are closed. There are burnt away patches in his stupid black coat and shirt, with the skin underneath mending itself over, but she knows that doesn't have to mean anything. She should still do something, fire again, whatever, but for a moment, her hands stay at her side.

Elle mutters, not to him, or to anyone, "I won't let you hurt me."



"Elle -"

She's about to lift her hand when the voice pulls her out of it. It's the large, tattooed man in the closest cell – Jesse Murphy, vocal ability. His dark eyes are on her with a kind of desperation she hasn't seen from him before, and it's only now that it clicks that he's the one who's been pounding against the glass since she came down, since before that –

"Elle, please, I'm not –"

She doesn't hear what that is, because before he can finish, her right hand slices open across her palm. Elle screams and stumbles back as the same happens to her left, and she's shoved down the hall, finally falling on her side in front of Bennet's empty cell, the sliver of light from the open door still visible. A few sparks crackle over her fingers, and she cries out again when they hit the deep gashes in her hands.

But she can't get herself to stop. Her heart is pounding too hard, sparks are lighting up on her shoulders, in her hair, and it only gets worse as her heart races faster, humming like an engine hit with abrupt acceleration. Just barely above the overwhelming surge of it, she can feel his footsteps on the concrete, getting closer to her.

"I felt you coming."

"Oh. That is useful."

"Did that hurt, Elle?"

She's pushed over, onto her back. Even without the telekinesis, Elle wouldn't be able to pull herself up now. Sylar stands over her, and doesn't seem to see it – that he's entirely lit up, the whole hall is lit up. It's all so obvious –

Caused a blackout in four counties in Ohio when I was eight.

- she's already given this place her life. And she won't do it again. Elle giggles. It's weak, but for once, there's nothing false about it.

"Not like I'm gonna hurt you."

His eyes narrow, but he doesn't speak again. Sylar lifts his right hand, curling all but his index finger into his palm as he points down toward her.

Every single cell in the human body is capable of generating electricity. In every human body is the sinoatrial node, a group cells which constantly and consistently, for every day of its life, produces an electric current, sending out an charge at least once every second; though at this moment, for Elle, it's much, much more frequent than that. The current runs through millions of cells in an instant, completing what for most people is a basic, vital process. Since she was six, the circuits of Elle's body had always carried more than blood and nerve pulses. Her ability may be controlled in her brain, but it begins in her heart.

For one moment, she can feel the agonizing pain as her forehead is slowly split open.

And then her heart beats.

The explosion shatters through the hall, bright blue-white electrical arcs more massive than that of any lightning storm striking through every space, flooding into the walls and bursting through every wire and piece of circuitry laid in them, and it's all more light than she can stand to see anymore. Elle's eyes slip closed.

Every room in the Company's Hartsdale Facility goes dark.