A/N: Written faster than I usually do because omg, Heroes. I found this weird convulsed chemistry where it probably shouldn't have been, but hey, I do what I can.
That being said, there be spoilers ahead for 3x01 and 3x02. Please do not read if you have not seen these episodes!
The stars in your eyes
Light up the sky
With God's light and fire and sound
--
Love Like Rockets
Angels & Airwaves
sounds
People hear what they want to hear.
It starts when Daddy, with his fingertips the color of old gold, tells her she isn't allowed to touch him.
"He's very dangerous, Elle," Bob says beneath his mountains of paperwork, navigating through yellow and pink and white sheets as she sits a world away from him. "We do not clearly understand his ability yet. All we know is that his victims don't live to talk about him."
"I've played with fire before, Daddy," she informs him. Her thoughts rest briefly on that fire-swallower from Italy, who called her cara mia and used to kiss real good. Oh God, real good.
But then she gave him an accidental overdose.
And that's that.
"I can handle anything," she tells him.
Bob's voice is cold, cynical. "Don't make me laugh, princess." The nickname is more antagonizing than affectionate.
He sighs heavily.
"You know all I want is to see you safe."
Elle's fingertips shine with tiny volts behind her back. And she thinks briefly about what it would be like to kill Daddy, to burn his neck black with coursing lightning, to take charge of everything during his long, long vacation.
But Elle is a good little girl and she knows killing daddies is wrong.
Even when they deserve it.
"I'll be good, Daddy," she chirps, plopping a sticky lip-glossed kiss on his cheek.
"Really good."
--
And under Bob's watchful eye, Elle certainly is a very good little girl. She brings in another special one from Manhattan, a weak slip of a girl with the bad habit of overhearing things in Japan.
In return, she receives a half-smile from Bob and a nod.
Your job is over. Well done.
It's what she's come to expect, but she's so horribly bored after the little girl's ears don't work anymore.
So Elle's happy to hear that her daddy's required for a brief checkup with an agent in Texas.
On the phone from across three time zones, she assures him she'll see to it that his substitutes are on time and on task.
That she loves him.
And in the same breath, she runs off to find Jesse's cell on Level Five.
--
He's asleep when she arrives, and she noticed he doesn't have any hair for her to play with in the meantime.
He's bundled up, tightly knit towards the wall and away from her. He looks almost peaceful, but Elle doesn't particularly care for that.
"Time to wake up," she singsongs, sending a spark to the tip of his ear.
When it bites at him, he wakes in a panic. His fists are out and ready, but all he can see is a pretty blond girl with light all around her.
Like an angel.
A thought strikes him.
"Is this heav…?"
He hasn't the heart to finish the question. It's been a real long time since church from behind Mom's knees.
"Nope," she informed him. "You are in a special kind of facility. But it's not like you even need to fly anyway, right?"
Flying. Flying sounded fun and safe, Jesse thought.
And quiet.
"Nah, I don't need it." He looks at her up and down.
God, but she's real pretty. Dressed sharp, like she's some lucky bastard's office intern.
He wishes she was his.
"Say, you got a name, angel?"
She grins, cocks her head to the side as she cups his chin in her hand. Her skin is soft, her lotion sweet.
"You really don't need to know my name, Jesse Murphy."
"You know mine. 's only fair."
She smiles broadly, looked shyly down and then up again.
"My name's Elle."
He's heard a lot of things.
But he's sure that her name, her voice, is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.
--
Her visits get shorter and shorter as time goes on.
She tells him her dad's assignment was cut short.
They weren't supposed to meet in the first place.
But he can't bear it.
He doesn't want her to stay away.
"When're you gonna stay, angel?"
Her smile is soft, her shoulders against the doorway.
"Maybe someday."
--
The waiting becomes next to unbearable.
He hears that siren voice whenever he likes, talking to prisoners, promising them things.
It hurts to know that he is not the only one she likes.
First it was Lloyd Collins.
Then someone named Adam Monroe.
And the last one, maybe her favorite.
Peter Petrelli.
--
He hears her fall hard and fast for Peter.
That little pansy doesn't know, he thinks. Doesn't know what he's got in front of him. If that girl ever came back, I wouldn't let her go.
But Peter, stupid Peter with his emotional baggage and escape plans, he leaves her after she kisses him.
Jesse Murphy's been called stupid plenty of times before, but he's sure he'd never be as stupid as this goddamn Peter Petrelli.
--
She comes back from her chase after him with a horrible sore throat. She's grouchy and tired, eyes red with want of sleep, and fingers constantly sparking.
She looks like a nightmare, hardly unlike the angel he knows.
She's consistently grumbling. It sounds like a name.
Like his name.
But when he asks her if there's anything he can do, she snaps at him, sends sparks shooting through his muscles.
"You can go to hell, Jesse," she spits.
And she walks right out the door, his pills useless in the spilt water.
Her high heels echo, echo, echo, long after she is gone.
--
He never lets go of his angel.
Not like the others before or after him.
Every time she comes up to his level, usually on business, she has to pass by his cell. And he can't let her out of his sight, can't try to fix what went wrong.
He pushes and presses up against the dirty window, the ink pictures stretching on his skin.
And he says, "Please, angel. Please."
"I can't stay," is what she always says. "Daddy needs me, Jesse. I can't stay."
"No, it'll just be, I mean, I'll just be a minute. Just close your eyes for me, okay? Just close 'em and I can be anythin' you want. Anythin'. Please, angel. Please."
"No, thank you," is what she always says.
And the echo starts to hurt more than heal.
--
Then one day Jesse Murphy decides to start screaming out something.
Something that hurts the untouchable Elle Bishop, more than she cares to admit.
"I'm Peter! Peter Petrelli! Please, you have to let me out of here! This is a mistake! I'm Peter Petrelli!"
Like hell you are! she wants to scream. You're not Peter!
Peter is…Peter was…
The truth is that Peter only was hers. He isn't anymore, but just because Jesse throws on a different frequency doesn't mean she's going to give him her heart.
The heart she has isn't at all what he would want, anyway.
Nobody can be perfect, she thinks, and she just walks away.
--
She just walks away from him.
And Peter wonders if the girl with electric lips and shining heels will ever see him on the inside of this thug's eyes.
But then he remembers.
People hear what they want to hear.
And that's that.
--