ellectrical | May 2007, Disappointment

"And he's evidently regained telekinesis."

The windows behind her father's desk don't allow for any sort of view into the outside; only the dimmest tints of blue and green are visible through the panes. Still, they let in enough light that the lamps in the office are often left off. Elle hadn't noticed this before. Right now, she's fixated on them, the shadows of the frames falling over her face, eyes focused on one bright piece of glass –

"Elle."

Her head turns. It's all she has to do to meet his eyes. He looks down the moment she does, back to the computer on his desk, and sighs.

"I'd hope you'd be a little more interested in what you've caused."

She folds her arms, and her father doesn't move, as though expecting some string of excuses from her. But this doesn't come. As tightly as she holds herself, she only watches him as the silence between them seems to twist like smoke in the air.

Elle still breaks first.

"But the cheerleader's not dead."

"No." Her father takes off his glasses, and rubs his eyes. Elle, her arms still folded, steps around the back of his chair in order to see the monitor. As he's straightening his glasses again, "That's not my first concern right now."

There are two photographs on the screen. Elle's gaze falls to her shoes.

"They won't stop Sylar."

"They're the best we have in the area." He swivels in the chair, turning to face her. "And this isn't your assignment, Elle."

He doesn't look away as he adds, "I don't think either of us need another disappointment."

And she still doesn't want to do so much as scream at him. That his words don't make her feel as sick as they might have once is more than made up from the fact that she knows, somehow, that she should feel angry and she just can't.

Hurts you.
Shut up.

When Elle doesn't answer, he stands from the desk. Thinking he's heading toward the door, Elle turns away, and startles when his hand reaches her shoulder and pulls her back to look at him. Rather than meet his eyes again, Elle focuses her attention his red silk tie, and then the glint of a gold cuff-link from the hand still on her shoulder.

"I'm afraid you may not have progressed as much as we'd hoped."

Even if her father's words could no longer make her feel the kind of sickened shame of a child who had so disappointed a parent - well, he could still make her feel fear.

She blinks up to meet his eyes at once.

"Daddy –"

But this time, he doesn't wait to hear her excuses. He lifts his hand from her shoulder, and rather than heading toward the door, moves back to his seat behind the desk.

Nothing more is said, but it's clear that she's the one who is going to leave.