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Fic: Salt and Saffron
It's not ideal, posting a story like this in the middle of summer hiatus, but I hope some people read and enjoy it anyways. This pairing is my ultimate non-canon weakness, and I had such fun writing this.
Title: Salt and Saffron
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Elle Bishop, Adam Monroe, mentions of Mohinder, Peter, Bob
Pairing: Elle/Adam
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 2
Summary: Being good is harder than she thought it would be.
“Being a hero never filled anyone’s sack with salt and saffron.”
- Takezo Kensei
--
Being good is harder than she thought it would be. Standing there in the dead artist’s apartment, looking at the faces lifted to hers in gratitude, the rest of her life flashed before her eyes. She could change; she could fight for the good guys; she could win.
Elle had never had any illusions about the Company. Despite Dad’s words about helping people and protecting the world, she always knew that what they were really doing was manipulating and controlling people. Of course, that never really bothered her, at least not until she found out that she was one of the ones being manipulated and controlled. That made her mad.
So Mohinder’s words We owe you our lives felt like a fresh start, a second chance, a new lease on life and every other damn cliché she had always rolled her eyes at. She still rolls her eyes—some things just aren’t going to change—but that doesn’t keep her from trying.
She’s living in the big communal love shack that is Mohinder’s apartment: the chubby policeman is there and so is too-cute little girl and the annoying chick that everyone treats with kid gloves, because apparently if she cries, she kills everyone in sight. Wimp. (That’s why Elle doesn’t cry. Anymore. Ever again.) It’s too many people in too small of a space, but apparently Mohinder doesn’t trust either her or apocalypse-tears girl out of his sight. Elle doesn’t know why: she’s been so good.
She’s working with Mohinder’s little team again: one night Peter shows up at the apartment and he and Mohinder and the cop let her join them in a meeting where she and Peter try to explain to the other two that the Company is, you know, evil? Not as evil as Sylar, of course, or Adam before he disappeared, but evil. It takes a lot to convince poor, naïve little Mohinder (Elle honestly didn’t think anyone could be as naïve as Peter, but apparently she was wrong). Eventually, though, they decide to band together to take out both Sylar and the Company. It’s so Justice League that it kind of makes Elle sick. After that, though, it’s all work and no play and Elle’s quickly becoming a dull girl.
She’d thought it would be worth it: she thought Peter would be more impressed than he is. She’d kind of expected one of his rare smiles, for him to quietly take her hand, pull her to him, ask for a kiss and a little one. And then she would shock him and things would be as they should be. Instead, he’s too busy worrying about his stupid brother, the one who somehow miraculously came back to life because Peter can do some crazy thing with his blood (kind of like that annoying cheerleader or Adam, but she doesn’t like to think about him), the one who is way too much like their mother for his own good (Elle has always hated Angela Petrelli). Also, there’s the whole My girlfriend may be stuck in the future, never able to come back, because I messed with the time/space continuum thing that he’s angsting about, and that just bores Elle.
Mohinder stares at her in horror when she suggests that he let her shock him: his appalled face is funny, but she still hasn’t found anyone to jolt. He gives her a long lecture on how she has to give that up now, how she only has to use her power on inanimate objects, and only when they need her to do something to defeat the Company. Or protect someone from Sylar.
She pretends to obey, only electrocuting things on the sly. Sometimes she’ll walk into a store at random, go into the bathroom, and zap all the water out of the toilet bowl. Or let loose on a tree in Central Park. Or a car in a junk lot. Once she shocks this jerk of a bastard who shoves her out of the way to get a seat on the subway. Watching him writhe and curse her in about ten different languages is funny. For the moment. But it’s not nearly as good as having someone to play with.
Yeah. She’d thought it would be easy. But one day when she’s sitting in the adapted office in Isaac Mendez’s apartment (they’ve left her alone for a few minutes) and becomes aware the tread of footsteps, hears a smooth British voice asking Miss me, love?, looks up into ironic eyes, she knows it’s going to be anything but easy.
--
He should be buried at least six feet under the ground in a heavy casket in Japan. At least, that’s what Mohinder told her that Peter told him that Hiro Nakamura told him. He should be lying in that casket for all eternity, slowly going crazy and enduring cosmic punishment for trying to kill everyone on the planet.
She isn’t really all that surprised that he isn’t.
--
She pushes the keyboard away from her and glares at him. “What are you doing here?”
He waves a hand. “Plenty of time for that later.”
He never did answer questions. “That dorky Asian guy buried you alive. How did you get out?” she demands.
“If you don’t need food or water, you heal instantly, and you have all the time in the world, there isn’t anything you can’t do, lamb.”
She quirks a brow at him, unimpressed. “So you clawed your way out of your grave all Buffy-like?”
“Not sure I’m catching the reference, sweet, but yes. Something like that.”
He looks vaguely amused but more bored than anything, and no one should look that way in her presence.
“So I guess this is the time when you ask-but-really-threaten me not to tell anyone you’re back.”
“Actually, I don’t care who you tell. They’ll know I’m here soon enough. And they won’t be able to find me till I want to be found.”
Ah. Now she’s got him, and the knowledge is so sweet. “That’s not true. They have this little girl who—“
He waves a hand. “There’s a way around everything. So tell them or not, as you like. Just keep your eyes open.”
He turns to walk out the door.
“That’s it?”
He turns. “What’s that, love?”
She stands up. “You dig your way out of being buried alive, travel halfway around the world, barge in here, tell me I can tell everyone you’re back, then leave? What are you playing at?”
Humor in his eyes; it’s the thing she’s always hated most about him. “I’m not the one who plays games, lamb. I just wanted to say hello.”
He turns again.
“Wait…”
But he’s gone, leaving her mad enough to blast something. She has to sit perfectly still for twenty minutes before she trusts herself not to fry everything in sight.
--
She doesn’t tell for seventeen days. She hates herself for it, feeling like he was testing her, seeing if she’ll tell or not. She hates him.
Doesn’t play games, my ass.
But every time she goes to tell Mohinder or Peter, she finds that she can’t do it. Something stops her, and that makes her angry. Her on-the-sly electrocutions increase in number and intensity. She can’t sleep at night.
On the seventeenth day, she’s just so tired that she stomps into the room where Mohinder, Peter, and the cop whose name she hasn’t bothered to remember are pouring over papers. They look up at her as she enters.
“Adam’s back.”
Protests, questions she doesn’t know the answers to, Are you sure?s. They’re mad when they finally get it out of her that she didn’t inform them immediately, but she snaps and silences them. She doesn’t care.
It’s over now.
--
Or not.
--
“What do you want now?” she demands when she glances up from the computer screen. She’s poring through the files she stole from Dad, going over information for the hundredth time; she should have known Dad would never leave evidence of anything incriminating.
She doesn’t know how long Adam has been lounging against the far wall, and that makes her angry.
He raises placating hands, like he can smell her charges building. “Easy, love. I have a proposition for you.”
She narrows her eyes. “Because that turned out so well last time.”
“A business proposition,” he clarifies with something that might be a grin on another man’s face but isn’t quite, not on his.
“You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m deadly serious. I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.” Any other man’s eyes would twinkle with the quote, but not his. “You can be of use to me, and I can be of use to you.”
“No, you really can’t.”
He ignores that. “You help me take down the Company—“
“I’m already doing that. Without you.”
“Oh, yes? How long have you been working on that? Three months? And how successful have you been thus far?”
She looks back down at the computer screen. She hates not having a comeback.
He pushes off the wall. “Do you really think these boys playing at being heroes can help you get back at your father for treating you like a lab rat?”
She glares at him. “I’m not after revenge. I’m just trying to do what’s right.” The words taste saccharine with a side of cheese, but she clenches her jaw to force them out.
He throws back his head and laughs at that, and she tilts her own head. She’s never seen him laugh like that before. It sort of makes her angry. The electricity crackles at her fingertips.
“You’re trying to do what’s right?” he finally gasps when he can. “Keep telling yourself that, sweet.”
That makes her officially mad and she lets loose. He shakes it off too quickly, and now she’s really angry. But his next words diffuse her charge.
“Everyone’s after revenge, love. Most trying to get back at their parents—like you and the cop and the Indian doctor.”
She starts to protest. “Mohinder isn’t—“
“Oh, yes he is. Daddy was too busy with his research to pay attention. But he was killed—he failed—and now the doctor is getting back by succeeding. Other people—me, Hiro, probably Peter—we want revenge on the people who betrayed us, took from us, made us feel small. Everyone’s after revenge, love. Some of us are just more up front about it.”
She juts out her jaw, unwilling to admit how much sense his words make. “That’s sick.”
“That actually means something, coming from you. But don’t get all defensive, little girl. I’m not accusing you of anything.” He rests on leg on the desk, picks up a paperweight and turns it over in his hands. “Truth be told, of anyone, you have the most right to revenge, pure and simple. The person who was supposed to protect you at all costs, even his life, tortured you for his own ends. I’d say that’s pretty cut and dry.”
The electricity is building again, coming out of not just her hands, but every pore in her body. “Get out.”
His lips quirk into that ironic smile, but there’s a hard edge in his eyes. “Think about it, love. I’ll be in touch.”
When Mohinder comes in several hours later, he can’t choose between exasperation, anger, or disappointment. He lectures her and looks around helplessly at the charred remains of the office. She doesn’t care. She’s too busy thinking about it.
--
She doesn’t tell anyone about that last visit. Everyone else in the apartment is frantic about Adam as it is; Peter even called Hiro Nakamura in Japan, and the nerd is due in New York any day. Most nights end with Molly crying because she can’t “see” Adam and she just wants to help. Mohinder even suggest getting in touch with the Company to join forces, but Peter puts an end to that idea and Elle backs him. Everything is tense and frantic and Elle’s skin prickles nearly all the time.
She tells herself that she hasn’t told about the visit because it will only make things worse. When she’s honest with herself—which isn’t often, she’s a good liar—at 3:00 in the morning, she knows that it’s because she’s considering Adam’s offer.
She weighs the options; which one is worth more in the long run: getting back at Dad by doing the “right thing” or by bringing everything he’s worked for down around his ears—and maybe send a few thousand volts through him at the same time? Because now she knows that she can’t deny that it’s revenge she’s after, that she’s wanted it from the moment Noah Bennet’s words sank in.
Sometimes, though, when she’s talking through (hopelessly idealistic, never-gonna-work) plans with the others, she feels a part of something—she feels good. But she knows that they don’t really trust her, that they don’t let her in on the really secret information, and though she tries to bring back the glow of the grateful faces in Isaac Mendez’s apartment, that memory is already fading.
Besides, she’s impatient. With the others’ naïve plans, with being left on the outskirts, with how long it’s taking to get this show on the road. She knows that whatever Adam has cooked up, it has a damn good chance of working.
Now there’s a whole section of the nearby park where the grass has been completely blasted away.
--
She waits.
--
When he finally shows up again, she’s so tense that she lets loose a furious string of curses.
He smirks (bastard). “What a mouth for a young lady. Have you thought about my offer?”
“I need to know more about your plan.”
He settles down on the couch, crosses his arms. His smirk tells her that she’s played right into his hands, that he knew what decision she would make all along. She tries to be furious, but it’s hard when she hears the beautiful (twisted) simplicity of his plan.
--
It’s so very, very easy, being bad.
--
Adam is the only one who ever had admiration in his eyes when he sees what she can do. She preens a bit, or would if she had time for it, if they weren’t rushing through the building, cutting down everyone they see with sword and lightning. When they fight, he drops the smug, patronizing routine, and (finally) she is his equal, as she never was with the others.
The smile curving his face whenever he looks at her tells her she made the right decision.
--
After, their eyes are shocked, huge and betrayed and disgusted, and it annoys the hell out of her: she knows they never really believed in her anyways, so why are they acting so surprised now? (Stop playing games, Peter, Mohinder, Matt; aren’t you far too noble to lie?)
Besides, she doesn’t really see their faces. What she sees instead (stillalwaysevermore) is Dad’s shocked eyes, and all she can remember is the surge of smug satisfaction (triumph) she felt at finally being able to shock him out of his calm collectedness. Being good could never compare to that, to the feel of electricity shooting through her, tearing right through the box the world tries to stuff her in, leaving an undeniable mark on the world…
Walking out the door and seeing Adam lounging against a tree across the street, waiting for her.
--
He tastes like salt and saffron (bitter and strongstrongstrong), like electricity and flesh (dangerous and alivealivealive), and this is her reward.
--
Being good is overrated anyway.
--
End