Fic: Salvation (4/?)

[alwaysenduphere]

Title: Salvation
Author: darkmerrick 
Word Count: 1945
Rating: PG-13 to a light R, depending on your view
Characters/Pairing: Peter/Elle, mentions of Niki, Nathan, Bob, Adam, The Hatian
Spoilers: Five Years Gone Universe, and Elle's history
Disclaimers: If i owned 'em, they'd totally be together onscreen already
Summary: Peter and Elle reach a level of understanding with each other
A/n: I'm proud of this part. It didn't really end the way I'd planned, but if I didn't end it that way, I would've gone off somewhere that I don't think I can write. This part's got emotion in it I didn't even know I could write, frankly. I hope everyone likes it as much as I do.



part 1

part 2

part 3

The idea of being a pawn again enrages Peter, after everything his mother did to him, everything she talked Nathan into doing. She poisoned him, turned him against his own brother. And his own kind. Peter wishes he hadn’t seen the newscast earlier, the one with President Petrelli’s face plastered all over it, saying how he’s doing his best to make the country safe again. Sometimes Peter wishes he could just make his brother get up on a podium and admit that he can fly, but he’s knows it’s impossible. He can’t think of that man as his brother anymore; his brother wouldn’t persecute his own kind.

He stares down at Elle, cold as steel, but slowly realizes that this…girl, can’t know what he’s thinking, probably doesn’t know he has a brother. Then again, who knows what she’s read in those files?

He takes a moment then, surveying her, apprising her. What kind of life had she led that her greatest entertainment was reading his personnel file? She’s touched on her less-than-normal childhood, but he doubts that’s even the surface. There’s a terror in her eyes, more than just surprise at his vehement denial, something that seems to be always blistering under the surface, brought up when people she’s with have…outbursts. Because that’s what that was.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of Peter’s mouth after the initial shock of outburst passes. “I tend to get carried away with…I just don’t like being used, even if you think the purpose is a good one. It’s happened to me too many times before.”

Elle gives him a questioning look, but inquires no further. He wonders if maybe she understands. She probably has her own book of secrets, the way she’s described her life so far. The look on her face turns sympathetic as she begins to speak. “No, I’m sorry. I come barging in here out of nowhere, after practically hunting you down even though you obviously like your privacy, and I expect you to just up and agree to, of all things, kill me. I’m a selfish bitch sometimes.”

“It’s not that. It’s just…there’s got to be another way. Believe me, I know what it feels like to want to die to save someone.” He brushes her cheek with his hand, speaks softly. “I don’t want to kill anyone else.”

Elle looks up, meets his eyes. “Anyone else? I wasn’t aware you’d killed anyone.” There’s confusion on her face.

He doesn’t answer her at first, just returns her questioning look with a cold stare. He’s not sure he should tell her, this fragile creature, and he debates the best way to break the news. Peter doesn’t know why, but he needs to tell her the truth, all of it. Maybe because he’s told Niki moments earlier and it’s fresh on his mind; or maybe because this girl, with her piercing eyes, shaky exterior, and childlike excitement, makes him feel like he’s never felt before. His face softens, and he starts slowly. “Not on purpose. But sometimes, I have trouble controlling my powers. You must’ve read that much in that file you had.”

Elle nods her head. “You were in a coma for a couple weeks.” She pauses. “Did you accidentally kill someone with your powers? I’ve done that. It’s no biggie.” She shrugs, but Peter can tell the death does indeed weigh on her conscious. He hears it in her thoughts as well, the guilt.

“Not…someone. A lot of ones. It was me, Elle. The bomb? It was me.” He tells it calmly, a stark contrast to his conversation with Niki earlier. This time he has no expectations, doesn’t know the girl well enough to know how she’ll act. She’s already shown him she’s an enigma; he’d be a fool to try and guess her reaction at this point.

She looks at him, blinks. Blinks again. “Sylar was the bomb.”

Peter hates talking about Nathan. They may have been completely different people, different ways of life, but they were brothers, and they were close, shared everything: stories about girls, life, successes and failures. The fact that now he even hated to claim Nathan as his brother made the subject all the more uncomfortable. He collapses in a chair in defeat. “No. My brother, Nathan, lied. He knew people would listen to him, and he wanted to protect me. He was always doing that.” Peter trailed off, his mind going back to a time when bile didn’t form in his throat when he thought of Nathan.

Elle looks at him, watches his emotions slowly work their way into his otherwise-steely façade. There’s still a look of disbelief on her face, but she moves to comfort him anyway. He looks up at her as she moves toward him, tears in his eyes. “If what you’re saying is true, you caused all of this. My father’s death, the collapse of the Company. The state of oppression we’re currently living in because,” she spits, “your brother thinks it’s better off that everyone’s aware of us.” The anger in her voice is a stark contrast to her actions, placing her hand over his. Her voice softens. “I’m sorry. No one should have to kill when they don’t want to. I spent several years believing that causing death was as natural as breathing. My father was a liar and a manipulator, and it took you, I suppose, exploding, for me to see it. It took the deaths of millions for me to find my conscience,” she pauses, squeezes his hand. “You’ve been living this secluded life in guilt for all these years, haven’t you? It’s understandable, and I don’t judge you, for anything you’ve done. In fact, I forgive you.”

A single tear streams down his face, the first one he’s let fall in three years, ever since a fateful night with Nathan where he’d decided to shun Peter as a brother. He doesn’t want forgiveness, doesn’t think he’s even worthy of it. But there’s this girl in front of him, looking as fragile as ever, but she’s lived, seen, and done more than most people do their entire lives, and she’s forgiving him. He’s not sure what to do, what to say, what to feel. He knows one thing he does feel, though: relief. He still hasn’t put his finger on it, but he’s very glad that Elle didn’t run screaming in the other direction, spouting his secret to the world. Who would she tell, for one thing? But he’s thankful she doesn’t leave; he’s not ready to let go of her just yet. Between the first tear and the next hundred, he manages a choked, “Thank you.”

Elle just smiles and squeezes his hand tighter.

**

Hours later, he’s still sitting in the oversized chair, hasn’t said a word. Elle’s moved into the chair with him, now. She’s curled up against him, dozing on his shoulder. Her hand hasn’t moved from his; it lies lightly on top, relaxed now instead of tightly gripping it. His face is blotted from the tears he let flow freely for what seemed like hours, his shoulders a bit lighter now that he’s confessed his sins to Elle, this fresh breeze in his life.

He looks down on her, so peaceful and calm sleeping. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he can’t help but slip into her thoughts, curiosity overwhelming him. Her dream is scattered, mangled with images and filled with people he doesn’t know.

A brilliant blue explosion, and then total darkness for miles.

A bald man says to a much younger-looking girl “You disappoint me, Elle. You’re better than this.” The scene changes and he’s there again, again reprimanding her. “Why can’t you ever do what you’re told?!”

A blonde man with a British accent, grabbing her hips and pulling her toward him. “Now, come love, how’s about a little fun?”

Lightening strikes her. “Aaah!” she screams in pain. An imposing black man finds her on the street in the rain, carries her back to her tiny white room.

Aftermaths of the explosion, a scared-looking Elle appears in front of the bald man. “Daddy, I’m scared. Are you going to go away?” He gives her a scornful look.

“I should’ve done this a long time ago!” Elle yells back to the bald man, Daddy she’d said earlier. She walks out of the building, but looks back once. Tears form in her eyes.

A dark alley. A man comes up behind her, wraps his arm around her neck. She shocks him, but not before he manages his hand up her dress. Her blue dress, same color as her eyes.

Lightening strikes again, but this time there’s no one to find her as she cries.

Elle jerks awake, panting slightly. She looks to Peter, eyes still dazed. “What happened?”

He won’t reveal that he’s seen her dream; it’s probably something he shouldn’t have seen. But he feels like he’s learned novels about her, feels like he understands her a bit better. “You were dreaming.”

“Nightmare, more like,” she mumbles. “I’m not sure I’m even awake now. You refused to kill me, what do I have left now?”

Peter huffs, his frustration almost as much as hers. There’s got to be something he can do. “I don’t know. I wish I knew how to help.” He laughs at himself then, hearing what he’s saying. Still the same old Peter then, always trying to help the helpless, save the blonde in distress.

“Was it something I said?” Elle looks at him perplexed.

“Nah, it’s just…” Peter stares at her, truly getting it for the first time. He wants to fix this girl, wants to change everything in her life, protect her, comfort her, save her. It’s a feeling he hasn’t felt in years; it’s no wonder it’s taken him hours to recognize it. But the moment he does, he grasps onto it, grips it like there’s nothing else left in the world. He wants to love this girl, hang the moon for her. “You have me, I suppose.” He tries to sound casual, knows it doesn’t come out that way.

Elle cocks her head, seemingly pondering the statement. She’s awkwardly wedged in between the arm of the chair and Peter’s hip, and the movement of her head gives her an eerily mannequin-type look. Peter’s still focused on her odd position when she moves again, her long blonde hair brushing against his arm, draping over his chest. When her lips meet his, he’s more than surprised. As the kiss deepens, he gives the pieces of himself over to her, everything he can. He wants her to fix him, mend this broken man he’s become. He kisses her passionately, almost forces his brokenness onto her, and she doesn’t back down, accepts, takes, and gives back in equal force. When it’s time to break for air, he reluctantly pulls back. As their lips separate, he feels a slight shock from her. He looks at her face, inches from him. There’s a wicked smile on her face. “That was unexpected,” he states. He’s not sure he should be speaking yet, feels like his brain synapses have been fried, and not by any electrical shock. Unless of course, the shock goes by the name of Elle.

Elle, who in the few short hours in which Peter’s known her, has brightened his world with more than just a few electrical sparks. It’s the beginning of something new, something uncharted for Peter, and he can’t help but admit to himself how excited he is at the prospect of feeling something other than despair, guilt, or anger.

**

 

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