A cold nightly chill slithers up her arm and draws a waking thought into her mind. Shifting over to her side the thought is that he took away all the blankets again, and she peers an eye open to see his sleeping form wrapped up warm and safe. Calling him a dirty name under her breath she reaches for the comforter hanging halfway off his back.

Pulling on it enough to incite a groggy groan from him, she rolls back over to wrap the blanket around her once more. She's almost asleep again when she hears him take that deep 'I guess I'm awake now' breath, and shifts around so that he's facing her back.

His arm slips over her side and across her stomach, moving himself closer; she feels his smile pressing into the back of her shoulder. She tries her best to pretend she's asleep but knows he knows better.

"Did it again didn't I?" He asks softly.

She nods.

"Sorry baby."

She feels the warm flurry of butterflies he creates inside her even when she's half-asleep. Moving her hand to meet his, she snaps a small spark on him, and his recoil is only slight having gotten so used to it by now, but the hiss through his teeth still makes her smile.

Grabbing his hand again she moves it back to its former place, as she scoots back slightly, pressing herself more firmly against him. He moves to kiss her cheek before settling back, and she hears him sigh contently.

Never would have thought she'd be in this position. Never thought she would have wanted such a thing.

Still, if she'd known he'd be such a cover hog, maybe she would have thought twice about marrying him.


The day Dr. Broken nose told her that she saved all their lives was the day she decided that she'd had enough of living at the compound. There was a big wide world out there she'd only had the chance to see with the confines of a company leash, and maybe it was about time she got to seeing it on her own terms.

She could blame that stupid empty box full of secrets she'd never learn, or Bennett telling her one little incident she didn't remember, only after she'd begged. But then Daddy barged in and interrupting the whole thing.

Daddy had always been tough, always been firm, but there was just something about the incidents surrounding Peter and Adam escaping, about Bennett kidnapping her, about her getting shot, that drove him over the edge.

The only time he'd ever treated her like such a child, what little memories she has from those ages anyway, was when she actually was one. She'd always rush to impress him after a reprimand. To win back his love by doing something else he'd wanted to an extreme version of how he'd wanted it.

Listening to Bennett tell her what Daddy had done, knowing he wasn't lying. Then running off to try and stop Sylar on her own, saving lives instead of taking them, it was a rush she'd never experienced before.

After they all left her there, she'd never felt so alone, yet didn't want to go back to the one place she knew she wouldn't be, at least not technically.

She'd never met Isaac, but he had great taste in living space.

Maybe it was time she got her own.


He's cooking breakfast when she finally comes down the stairs and into the kitchen. One thing she's glad he can do because she'd still never bothered to learn. She can smell the bacon before she sees it, knows that it probably means there are eggs to go along, and moves to take a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast nook.

There's a glass of orange juice already waiting for her, which is sweet, and she sips on it while listening to him hum some unknown song. He turns to smile at her, which she returns, before presenting her with a plate. The sparks snap between her fingers without even thinking about it, it just seems to happen whenever she's happy.

"Morning," he says before moving to drop a kiss on her forehead.

The gesture makes a big bolt flash on the kitchen floor and he laughs knowing it's because of him.

Breakfast is good, but then it always is, he always is.

She wonders how long it will last. The happiness, the domestication, before the itch inside drives her to do whatever she pleases without the fear of consequence. His arm brushes hers and she pushes the thoughts away, eats her eggs, and tries to focus on being the content wife.

He asks her what she wants to do with the day and she grins devilishly at him. Leaning to whisper her thoughts exactly he actually starts to blush, pretty little thing he is. She knows once they're done eating, he is going to be all hers, because she always gets what she wants.


Six months of being on her own was a harsh lesson in reality. Without the company watching her back life seemed to be a lot trickier than she imagined. She thought she knew just how much covering up they actually did. But being out in the real world, seeing just how suspicious people actually were, she realized just how deep they had to reach to keep things quiet.

At first it was nearly torturous to keep her power hidden, to go unnoticed, and to truly be one of those people she'd mocked from the other side. She liked who she was and loved what she could do. Using it in shadow and hiding all the bodies it took to make ends meet was just too much work. Being "normal" did not sit well with her broadened horizons and ability adjusted sensibilities.

Six months of trying and she knew she wouldn't be able to make it on her own. Knew it and hated the fact. It meant she was weaker than she thought. It meant Daddy was right about her.


Grocery shopping is something she never thinks she'll get used to. Back at the compound food was always just kind of there, never ran low, and if she wanted something in particular all she had to do was ask.

He pushes the cart while she walks alongside him, absently sipping on a smoothie she got from the stand she thought had no business inside of a supermarket. It's not quite a slusho, something she can't seem to find around here, something she hasn't had in ages, but it does the trick.

She watches as he gathers up fruits and vegetables, always asking her preference, before bagging and tossing them into the cart. They get bread, some turkey from the deli, and various other meats for dinner during the week. As well as milk, more eggs, cheese. Walking down the cereal aisle she feels seven years old again, captivated by all the bright colors and funny cartoon characters.

They get chips, coffee, pasta and sauce. In the frozen food section one of the doors is stuck and they can't get to a brand of ice cream she's fond of. He smirks at her, looks left to right making sure no one can see, and simply pushes his hand through the glass until he can reach for it.

She throws her arms around him and presses a kiss into his cheek.

She loves watching him pull these little tricks out of his hat.


The look on his face when he opened the door made her smirk, but the thrill of still being able to incite such a reaction from him fell short when she realized she could no longer call him Dr. Broken Nose. The months passed since she last saw him had since healed it.

He looked like he was going to reach for a gun but she flashed a big spark in front of his eyes, causing his hand to still.

"Elle," he said cautiously. "What are you doing here?"

After the whole Sylar incident the good Doctor must have realized that Daddy wasn't on the up and up, because he took Molly the second he the opportunity came and ran as far away as he could safely get.

"Surprised?" She replied all smiles and sunshine.

The blank stare he gave was an obvious answer.

"You can relax," she went on. "I'm not here to take you or the kid back. In fact I'm kind of freelance myself these days."

He wanted to believe her she could tell, having stood there calculating the risk of letting the conversation going further in his mind. Molly walked into view just behind him, and Elle smiled at her, causing the little girl to gasp.

"What do you want?" He asked.

"You said if it wasn't for me that psycho would have slaughtered you all."

He nods.

"Well I'm here to ask you to return that favor."

She pulled the picture out of her pocket.

"I need you to find someone for me."


A casual walk around the park holding hands with her husband. Dear god she's turned herself into a hallmark card.

There's a small pond, she has crackers for the ducks, and hazy memories of her mother and a day almost like this one. It makes her freeze, something he picks up on right away, but she still pries her hand from his.

She barely remembers her mother, doesn't know if she was there when daddy supposedly did all the things he'd done, or if she was someone sent away because her purpose was served.

He tries to comfort her but she shocks him away. She hates this. The little slips, the stray thoughts in her mind she thought she fixed by getting away from the company. She thinks of the doctors, stupid robotic voices calling off all the symptoms of mental illness, of her threats and smiles, and the feeling of nothing at all.

Mostly she hates losing her composure in front of him, because she likes the she painted of herself in his mind.

She snaps at him when he tries again, but this time he does it back, and she looks to him with sudden wide-eyes. Sometimes she forgets he can do what she can do, because normally he just sits there and takes it.


A part of her still can't say she's sorry easily. Because she knows that half the time she really doesn't mean it.

She has salt all over her fingers.

She walks away and asks him not to follow.


It was pointless to try and sneak up on the Haitian. He could sense anyone with an ability within, well she never remembered how many feet, so instead of trying to be tricky she sat out in the open with her feet propped up on the desk he had in this little hideaway of his.

She could hear him pause at the door, sensing her on the other side, and when he finally opened it she gave him a bright mega-watt smile. He paused and tilted his head in curiosity at her.

"I know you can talk," she said. "So what do you say we drop the mime routine?"

He smirked, seemingly impressed for the moment.

"How did-"

"Sixteen years," she reminded him. "You'd be surprised what bounced off the walls of that place when no one thought anyone else was listening."

"And how did you find this place?"

She flicked a few blue sparks in the air.

"Know the right people," she said with a grin. "Ask the right questions."

He could have blocked her from using her power, that she knew, but he didn't because he could tell that she was there because she wanted something from him.

She took her feet off the desk, twirled the chair around once before getting up, and pulled the picture from her pocket. His reaction was as subtle as ever.

A raised eyebrow, she thought, about as much as I'm ever going to get out of him.

When she told him what she wanted him to do, all she got was the other eyebrow raised upward.

"Why would I do this for you?" He asked.

Her anger was quick and menacing; he didn't even have a chance to react before she tossed a bolt at him. He fell backward onto the floor and just like that, the spark faded from her hand.

"Call it retribution," she hissed. "For what you took from me."

Memories, she thought, as precious as gold at this point in her life.

He got to his feet, made a show of straightening out the shirt he wore, and clasped his hands in front of him. She would have zapped him again had he not being using his mojo on her, his stone like calm all the more infuriating to her.

She wouldn't beg, she told herself that much.

"You realize I can only take memories," he said. "I cannot create them."

"I've got that part covered."

"I ask you this," he started.

She folded her arms and waited.

"Why Peter Petrelli?"

Because, she thought, he's the only person who ever made me look forward to anything in that place, because he's the only one who ever made her feel at all. She didn't tell him that of course, never told anyone since, and instead only said:

"I have my reasons."


He's watching TV when she finally goes home. She stands in the archway that leads into the living room idly twisting the ring on her finger, just looking at him, trying to dial her mind back into some kind of clarity.

She had her little breakdown, there's an abandoned warehouse in the industrial area scarred from her outbursts, but she's not worried because it could be easily explained by faulty wires.

It makes her sad because a faulty wire is exactly what she feels like, and a part of her knows she's always going to be that reckless little sociopath no matter how much she tries to hide it.

Moving to sit next to him on the couch he turns to face her, concern written all over his face.

"I'm fine," she says.

"I was worried."

"I know."

She grabs his hand, curls his fingers in hers, and rests her head on his shoulder. They stare blankly at the TV for a few minutes, and she knows he's just full of questions about where she went, what she'd done.

"Daddy was wrong about me," she whispers, trying to convince herself.


She takes her head off his shoulder, causing him to look down at her.

"Do you love me?" She asks.

"Of course."

"Would you do anything for me?"

"You know I would."

She kisses him quickly.

"Make me forget that I'm crazy," she says.

He almost laughs, but sees just how serious she is, the spark flashing briefly in her eyes.

"You're not-" he starts.

"I am," she insists, be can see clearly that he's not taking her seriously, thinks that she's just being cute.

"Well I'm crazy about you," he says.

"I know you are," she says giving him a brave smile.

I made you that way.


At the moment she was glad he couldn't remember what he was capable of, because he could so easily escape the old table to which she had him strapped, should any one of those collected powers of his show their faces.

It was some old abandoned company facility in Minnesota the Haitian had pointed her to. A perfect location because she'd never been there before, and it had long dropped off their radar.

He struggled against his bonds, asked all the obvious questions of "where am I?" and "what's going on?"

She stood there, taking small joy in seeing him with his shirt off, twisting and writhing before her very eyes.

He still remembered her. That was one of the stipulations she made very clear to the Haitian.

"Elle," he said. "What are you doing? What are you going to do?"

When she was fifteen Daddy brought her into a room just like this one. A man who looked nothing like Peter lay on a table, struggling and pleading, and insisting that he didn't do anything wrong.

Daddy told her different and that was all she needed to know. He told her about what doctors used to do before they really knew as much about the brain as they did today, about how adamant they had been with the wonders of electro-shock therapy. How a hard charge of electricity to a certain part of the brain could supposedly alter perceptions.

Daddy told her it was a test, for her voltage, for her accuracy, to see if she was capable of recreating such results. She got to practice a lot on that man, and others when he stopped being so receptive.

It was almost like the first time they'd ever been alone together. A cold sterile room, with her circling around him, and he at her mercy with a pair of scissors. She lifted her hand to a head of hair that had grown out since she last touched it, shocked him that same way she did the first time, and smiled at the groan from his lips.

"Do remember that day?" She asked. "Do you remember what I said to you Peter?"

She placed her finger to the side of his temple and gave a little jolt, causing him to cry out.

"I said that you'll get used it."

She leaned over him and gave a brilliant mega-watt smile.

"Then you'll start to like it."

She placed both hands on the side of his head.

"And when you start to like it…"

She shocked him again.

"You'll fall in love with me."