2008-01-15: Path to Freedom

Starring:

Elle_icon.gif Church_icon.gif Gabriel_icon.gif

Summary: Gabriel steps out for art supplies, leaving Elle alone - a perfect opportunity for Church to act on Company orders to capture the fugitive electrokinetic, but is that really what he's there to do?

Date It Happened: January 15, 2008

Path to Freedom


Hotel - Staten Island, NY

"Him that I love, I wish to be free - even from me." - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

There's a peaceful silence over the hotel room Gabriel and Elle are currently occupying. Gabriel is lying in his bed, asleep, but he's slowly beginning to wake up, eyes opening to stare at the ceiling. He sits up in the bed, taking a look around the hotel room to make sure everything is okay, and most importantly, that Elle is still here. Angela may have given him a mission to do, but the woman still does not seem too fond of Elle, and he can't trust that the Company won't still be after her. Or him, too, for that matter.

—-

At first, it might seem almost as if Elle has left; her bed is made, her duffel bag is out of sight, and she's nowhere to be seen. But the door to the washroom is most of the way closed, with light spilling out into the room from the small gap. A short time after Gabriel wakes, Elle pulls open the door, switching off the light. She pauses in the doorway, leaning her shoulder against the frame. While he slept, she's already showered, dressed, and dried her hair. With a smirk and a teasing tone, she says, "Good morning, sunshine."

—-

It does seem like Elle has left, and there's a small twinge of panic somewhere in Gabriel's chest. At least he thinks it's panic. He makes his way to get out of the bed, swinging his legs over the side, pushing the covers back. It's then that he sees the light coming from the washroom, and he breathes a sigh of relief. When she enters the room, there's a small smile from him as he looks up at her. "Hey," he responds, looking her over. "You look… nice." While the hesitation may be there, it isn't because he doesn't mean it— he's just not accustomed to saying such things in that way.

—-

His remark warrants a raised brow from Elle, her arms crossed, as she watches him with an amused expression. "Nice, huh?" She crosses to his bed, crawling up behind him and draping her arms over his shoulders, around his neck. As she lays a soft kiss on the side of his neck, she lowers her voice to ask in a murmur, "Is that all?" But she's teasing, still, and the way she draws one hand back to ruffle his hair shows it; though she doesn't follow it up with a shock, the thought does occur to her. Strange games she plays. "So what's the plan?"

—-

A smirk crosses Gabriel's face as she crosses to the bed, and it doesn't leave even as she drapes her arms around him. He brings a hand up to her forearm, giving it a soft caress before he holds it, head turning slightly so he can just barely look at her at of the corner of his eye. "If I had to pick a different word, gorgeous comes to mind. But maybe I'm just seeing you in a different light." The smirk drops at the mention of plans, and he turns more serious, turning in the bed so that he can face Elle. "I still have to get painting supplies. I have to know if what Angela told me was the truth. Hopefully the painting will reveal something."

—-

Settling back onto her knees, Elle pulls her hands back to drop them into her lap. The sobering tone is an effective reminder that there are more important things at hand that need attending to, and she frowns. "You still haven't told me what she said to you," she says, as if it had simply been an oversight. "And I meant it when I said she was manipulating you. That's what she does. She was probably lying." Just like the rest of them. "Think she really called off the dogs?"

—-

"I know she probably was," Gabriel says, standing from the bed and running a hand through his hair. He moves to his duffel bag on the other side of the bed, kneeling down so he can dig into it, coming up with the same black jacket he normally wears over his white t-shirt. "I'll tell you when I get back, I promise. Even if she didn't call them off, I still have to risk getting supplies."

—-

Watching as he prepares to leave, Elle suppresses a frown at the idea that Angela may not have called off the pursuit, despite her bargain. She moves up to the edge of the bed, still seated on her knees, silent for a few seconds. Not that her thoughts are quiet: she's thinking of the myriad ways he could run into trouble while he's gone. Part of her wants to suggest that she tag along, but, knowing it would complicate matters, she resigns. "Be careful," is all she says, giving him a pointed look.

—-

"You, too," Gabriel responds, slipping his arms into the jacket and buttoning it up. He straightens the sleeves of the jacket, before looking up at Elle. He watches her for a few moments, before he leans down and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek, leaning forward a bit more to speak softly in her ear. "If trouble comes, run. If something happens, we'll meet at the watchshop. I won't be too long." He straightens, taking one last look at Elle before he turns to the door, placing his hand on the doorknob to open it, just before he shimmers and disappears from view. This time, he'll actually leave the first time.

—-

She hadn't thought about it before, but as Elle watches the door open and close to allow him to leave, she considers how strange it would look to an outsider. The door simply opens and closes for no reason, by all appearances. Collecting the pillows from Gabriel's bed and dropping them onto her own, she sets them up much like the day before: with a tower of pillows on which to rest her arms and head as she stretches out on her bed, flicking the television on with the remote. Yes, Elle's life as a fugitive is riveting.

—-

It has been only a short time since that door had opened and closed, seemingly on its own to the outside world. When an untimely knock raps upon the wooden door to the room, Gabriel is long gone, off to do those belated errands.

Outside of the door, provided there is a looking hole, there stands a man in a long gray winter coat, his head bowed underneath his own tousled brown hair. The wind has ruffled Lawrence, but what glimpses of his face that he bares towards the door are glimpses of something more forlorn than his usual. His hands are gloveless and hang lazily at his sides, and the skin that is uncovered is tinted a bitten pink as a result. The agent- Elle's friend- has the look of a man that does not want to be where he is.

—-

Too much time has passed for Elle to think that Gabriel has simply forgotten his key; and besides, he'd be able to unlock the door even if that were the case. When the knock sounds at the door, therefore, Elle jerks her head around with a sharp intake of breath. The last time someone knocked unexpectedly at the door, it was Angela Petrelli. Who might it be today?

Entirely too conscientious of the fact that she is very alone, Elle slides off the bed and crosses to the door. She rises on her toes to look through the peephole, but what she sees there elicits a look of confusion and surprise. If it were anyone else, she'd likely not open the door. For this particular old friend, however, she turns the knob and pulls the door open, ready to greet him with a quizzical look. "What the hell are you doing here, Larry?"

—-

Church lets his hands remain hanging at his sides when the door opens, and he is promptly met with a more eloquent 'what-the-fark' from Elle and her familiar voice. The man outside lifts his eyes to her, in lieu of staring at the cement walk underfoot. He looks at her quietly, mouth opening to speak and pausing so that he can wet his lips from the wind. If there were any days that he would whimper, this may be one of them.

"I came to see you, Elle." Which is itself only a half-truth.

—-

Some small aspect of his demeanor is unsettling Elle in an unconscious way, a thought nagging in the back of her mind. She slides a foot forward and leans through the open door, casting swift, cautious glances in each direction. Though he may be a long-time friend, he is a Company man, and procedure would suggest that he is not alone. "Huh." Standing back from the door, she sweeps an arm in a gesture to invite him inside. "How did you even know where to find me?" As soon as the words are spoken, her nose wrinkles in realization of the answer. "Oh, that bitch."

—-

The closer Elle leans in his direction, the more that Lawrence seems to let his frown deepen and his fingers fidget against each other. Procedure would suggest many things; but it does appear as if he is alone. His black Charger sits at the end of the parking lot, still warm enough to at least fend any snow from its hood, and the seats are empty. If he is not alone, they must be well-hidden; then there is always the chance that he is alone.

At first, he wants to defend Angela, but in the end- Elle is right. Angela Petrelli is a bitch. A well-educated, sharp-as-nails Queen Bitch. And right now, Lawrence Church is here as a knight; though he is supposedly dressed in her colors, his own colors are clashing magnificently with them. "Yeah." What sort of answer is that? What a loser.

—-

Elle, too, is alone. That much is apparent when the door is wide open, the room too small to conceal someone, unless they happen to be flattened beneath one of the beds. The gaze she fixes upon him is appraising, searching his face for any hint as to his intentions, since he is less than forthcoming with them. She must know why he is here, why Angela would have given up the location despite her claim to call off the hounds, but still she holds the door open, refusing to close it in his face. With a tinge of suspicion creeping into her voice, Elle tips her chin down, asking slowly, "What did you want to see me about?"

—-

"About why I don't want to be here." Church gasts his eyes towards the ground again, and under his coat he tenses and takes a slow step forward towards the door in order to both force Elle back inside of the room and take himself with her. "She sent me to bring you back." When he looks up again, his brows are drawn together and those familiar eyes have a particularly shameful shadow hung over them.

—-

Finding it strange that she doesn't feel surprised at his admission, Elle does not deny him his unspoken request (or command, depending on how one looks at it) to enter the room. She even closes the door behind him, nudging it shut with a quiet click. "I'm not going back," she states plainly, as if there was even any question as to her own intentions. Of course, he didn't ask her if she wanted to go. "You know I won't."

—-

"I know. Yeah. I know you don't want that, Elle." Church affirms softly, but even as he is let into the room he does not seem to relax. At least when he says her name, it isn't rigid coming off his tongue. "But I can't… I cannot afford to not be here."

There's no real explanation as to what that means. There is, however, just the slightest, subconscious warning that he makes- the temperature of the room was comfortable enough, but it has become slightly warmer- a box of summer weather within the dead of winter frost.

—-

"Don't do this, Lawrence." The change in temperature has not gone unnoticed by Elle, who shifts her weight uncomfortably as she looks to him with an imploring expression. His tension is setting her on edge, and she finds her own anxiety creeping higher as the seconds pass. "You know what they did to me." She takes a tentative step to the side of the door, edging along the wall, feeling strangely like a cornered animal. "You know what they'll do to me if you take me back there. I can't— " Struggling to remain calm, Elle curls her hands into fists at her sides, unaware of the defensive and urgent tone that tempers her words.

—-

"I know what they did, because they did it to me too. Of course I know-" Lawrence allows his shoulders to sink. but his jaw lifts slightly, grappling with what self-respect he still carries today. "Elle, you should know I don't want this."

Okay, now it isn't summer anymore, and Church seems to have realized only when it touches upon the double digits- plus one hundred Fahrenheit. He flattens his lips in a curt motion to stop his stress from doing it. "Even my body knows it." It is a rare thing for Lawrence Church to not notice that his ability has managed to slip even an inch. "If I do not at least try to make this look genuine, it will end well for no one."

What was that?

"Do you… remember what we talked about- when you came to visit me?"

—-

The heat is edging on uncomfortable as it rises, and Elle finds her heart racing wildly as she begins to realize his intentions in being here. She stretches her fingers out in the heat, brushing her palms against her pant legs. Her expression is conflicted, as if she weren't quite sure whether to be angry or distressed at his words. "I remember," she replies with a slow nod, watching him carefully. "It's the reason why I left."

—-

"You remember, then, asking about even if something meant going against the Company? That I said it would depend on how important they were to me?" The heat will go away again, once it has a chance to dissipate. Lawrence remains frozen in place, his knuckles kneading against his palms. "I am someone that believes in what I do- me, what I do. What I do is my duty. But now I am here, in this shoddy hotel-"

His teeth grit off and on throughout. "-staring down your very same question- this decision I have to make about a person important to me."

—-

This is a situation Elle had never quite expected to be in. She had thought, when they came for her, that it would be agents without a speck of compassion or loyalty to her. She had expected them to come through the door shooting. That's a much simpler encounter to imagine: they burst in, she defends herself, and either they throw her back into a holding cell or she runs.

No, this is much more difficult. "It doesn't have to be like that," Elle argues, shaking her head defiantly, her voice tremulous. Nothing about her demeanor suggests fear, however. "Just leave. Go. Tell them we were already gone."

—-

It must be those darn Petrellis again. Despite the obvious nature of that- Lawrence only feels like pitying over that it had come to this in the first place- on every side.

"I can't just do that. She saw you here- they saw me leave. I didn't see anyone following me, but I can't take that chance." If he was a ploy to make Elle lower her guard, it has failed miserably. And for the record, it was not. "You're too damn important to me, for me to just drag you back there and have them lock you up in the end. But I can't leave, and I can't leave empty-handed, even in a figurative sense."

—-

This is where, if you listen close, you might hear pieces clicking into place in Elle's brain. There had been hints of his intentions before, but now they're made crystal clear, her eyes going wide. "No," she says, raising her hands to hold them up at shoulder level defensively. "I'm not going to…" She isn't even certain what word she ought to use here. How far is he asking for this to go? A deep frown etched on her face, she continues. "I'm not going to hurt you."

—-

There is nothing there, but as Church thought about taking a step forward, Elle puts her hands up and he stops, shoulders twitching back an inch. He stares back at the young woman, eyes attentive and mouth pursed into his own small frown. "It wouldn't be the first time." He cocks his head just enough to try and remind Elle of who he is. "Even if you say that you won't- I can't promise the same. I have to save both of us from this, and it's the only way. If I have to come for you right here in order to make this fight real to you, Elle, then I will." It is here that his expression dours and sinks, and the man stares out from under his brows like a wolf.

At his right side, the idling hand gives a snap of the thumb, and a heated spark of orange blinks in and out of existence between his fingers.

—-

This shouldn't be happening. Of all the things that Elle has been asked to do by the Company, of all the things she's had to do to get away from them, this one ranks among her least favoured. From her throat comes a quiet sound of despairing protest, her hands still held with the palms out, without so much as a hint of threat in response.

Childishly stubborn, an aspect of her personality with which he's likely familiar, she takes a deep breath and edges forward one small step, her foot dragging. "Please," she asks, her voice almost infantile in its plea, the lights dimming a tiny, nearly imperceptible bit. "Please don't do this."

—-

All that seems to be missing is the sound effect of a big engine, revving alive and getting ready to screech into action. There's a good chance that Elle has seen what he can do, when he is All In. It's bad.

"I have to, Elle." He begins softly, the wolfish grit of his expression not waning as he speaks. "We have to do this. I have to try and capture you, just like I am supposed to." Lawrence lifts his face just a bit, chest expanding as he takes a long breath. "I'm proud of you, but you have to show me that you deserve to be free from this. This life. You have to show me that you deserve to start new. We have to do this- if you win, you are free, if you lose- then I have to do my duty." As his breath leaves his lungs, it is almost rickety- and the air that filters out from his mouth and nose is partly smoke, which puffs and curls up into the air. If it were another time, it may be amusing that the knight is also a dragon.

—-

This is much more difficult than when she had to confront her father; Elle can't think of a time when this man has intentionally harmed her, where he's gone out of his way to make her life more of a hell than it was before. And he's expecting her to fight back, to fight him.

In her distress, Elle doesn't quite realize that the lights are flickering in a more pronounced way. All she can see is one of the few people she can trust - staring her down, waiting for her to strike. With another weak sound, her palms glow with blue light, and she curls her fingers to contain the charges. "I can't," she cries again, teetering on the brink now of a very real breakdown. He's asking her to be someone she is trying to leave behind, someone who gets into trouble.

Shaking her head again in stubborn defiance, Elle makes one thing clear: she isn't going to make the first move.

—-

"They expect you to fight back, and so do I." Lawrence simply reiterates, as if he isn't entirely convinced of this himself. "Because you don't want to go back. Because you can't." The smoke that had been flowing from Church's nose dissipates above him, but only to be replaced by a ripple of heat around the surface of his body, as if he were also asphalt in the sun on an August afternoon. Truthfully, Lawrence does not want to make this first move; but Elle does not either, and that much is clear.

"This is what's best. Have I ever steered you wrong, angel?" Though his eyes are wolfish, they carry that glitter that they always seem to carry, and his mouth curls into the most hesitant of smirks.

—-

As tragic as this situation is gearing up to be, Elle is thankful that Gabriel is not here to complicate matters; this is not an exchange she could ever hope to explain, and Gabriel would not hesitate to strike. He likely would have already.

"No," Elle says quietly, her voice tempered by her desperation. It's unclear whether she's defying him once more or answering the question. It's possible that it's both. He's right, of course. This is the only way this could happen. Better him than anyone else. Her eyes are welling with tears, but she doesn't allow them to fall, fighting them back. Sucking in a breath, she creeps back a step, away from him. Maybe he's finally making it real.

—-

"That's right, Elle." He hasn't. Which does make this ten times worse. When he can actually see the pain in her eyes that she's fighting so hard to keep back, Lawrence has to steel himself further despite his own features becoming creased in the same effort. His brown eyes seem like mirrors now, and perhaps it is his adulthood that lets him stop from holding it back any more. There is nothing wrong with a grown man shedding tears- and he does, even if they are few.

As they slip down his face, his lips pull slightly and his teeth clench.

Around him, that ripple of heat gives off a sudden, booming pop; the heat gives way into a field of orange, red, white, yellow- the colors of fire and just the hints of blue dancing off of his bare skin. Smoke rises from the fiery aura he has given himself, and Lawrence allows it to illuminate his features, and Elle's. This is probably a familiar thing to her- he does this same trick to meditate- but tonight it also seems to be worse in definition.

—-

Her eyes drift closed for a second, maybe two, her hands trembling as she lowers them. A moment later, the television goes dark with the smell of burning plastic, and Elle slowly opens her eyes again. Electricity still glows in her palms, partially obscured by her curled fingers. Another deep breath, and she grits her teeth, steeling herself against the inevitable.

When finally she looks back to him, it's with resolve, the fingers on one hand stretching at her side. They still tremble slightly, a testament to both her anxiety and her fear. Elle tips her chin back, fixing him with an unwavering stare, resignation in her eyes. "Then do it," she says, voice quavering.

—-

In that field of fire, Lawrence seems to move more fluid- more natural- there are no snags, no jerks, no hitches. For a moment he doesn't even seem like himself. And the it comes- his shoulders swing sidelong as one arm turns up and around, coming back up from the back with a spew of fiery explosion towards Elle. The sound is like a small thundercloud, a crack- BOOM- and the rush of a rocket.

Underneath the boom and the shake, however… he cannot aim as well as he could have, and the firing is not one that he would otherwise be using to catch someone. Lawrence has made the first move, and though it is a startling and dangerous one, it is not his peak.

—-

If it was painful before, then this little encounter just became unbearable; while his aim may be a little wide, Elle doesn't quite manage to scramble out of the way quick enough. She is just on the periphery of his attack, and the force is enough to drive her back against the wall with a hollow thud with a yelp of surprise.

She has to know that he's downplaying his ability. He's giving her a chance, and all she has to do is take it. Still, as Elle steps away from the wall, her resigned gaze returning to his face, she hesitates. Only for a second. Then she narrows her eyes, nearly turning her head away, and throws one hand out, palm facing Church, as an arc of blue lightning crackles through the air. The shot is wide, and nowhere near what she's truly capable of, but at least she hit back.

—-

She knows that he is downplaying his, and in return he knows that so is she. As the lightning flies from Elle's palm towards him, it illuminates the room again, mixing with the fiery colors over the walls to create quite a lightshow. When it roars towards him, Church has that moment of her hesitance still on his side, and his other hand rises to come together with the one that had fired.

FWUMPH. The heat and concussion between his palms is let out in a thunderous partner to that lightning, and around Lawrence an almost bulbous raise of energy moves to deflect most of the attack and also send the rest of the same hot blast towards Elle. At the very least, it will knock the wind clear out of her if she does not avoid it.

—-

Elle is going to have to step it up a notch if she's planning on making it out of here as a free woman. It isn't that her heart isn't in the fight - it's that too much of it is, and it's tempering her actions. She will lose unless she does not change her tactics. A part of her knows that and still resists the urge to fight back.

The blast strikes her much the same as the last; her timing was off, whether intentionally or otherwise, and again she is thrown against the wall. Falling to the floor, her fingers curl into the carpet beneath her, and she's given up trying to fight back her tears. This time, she does not hesitate; breathing heavily, she whips a hand up from the carpet and a new electrical arc streaks through the air. Stronger this time, but not enough to disable him.

—-

Church is ready again with a second attempt at deflection, the air around him pulsing back with a flare of color. It is not as powerful as the one before, because it is a direct follow-up. As a result. the lighting meets the wall of energy with a devious crackle, spreading out like a spiderweb in the air in front of him. Parts of it trickle through the force, winding up the man's limbs and over his chest.

Lawrence lets out a yell made largely of surprise, hands and arms wincing up from the shock. The fire around him seems to grow and send off a series of pops, bright light appearing where the electric current meets the blazes. The popping grows hot, and the room starts rising in temperature from just this.

—-

When the lightning strikes its target, a strangled sob escapes Elle's throat, her cheeks streaked with tears. If she thought her voice wouldn't betray her, she would apologize for the pain she's certain she's caused him, for having made this confrontation necessary. In the rising heat, she pushes herself up to her feet, her arms trembling.

Taking advantage of the moment of surprise, she extends both hands now. The current that leaps from her hands is intense, both in the light it gives off and its power. If they aren't careful, something is liable to light on fire in the heat caused by their abilities combined in such a volatile fashion.

—-

And something does. This time, he is ready to counter. The contact of Elle's lightning on his field cracks like real thunder now, a monstrous and hollow boom filling the room and resounding through the now-rattling hotel. As the crack sounds, the energy around Lawrence expands with it, rushing into all four walls with a frightening WHOOMPH of both force and heat, static clinging to it as it moves. A series of new pops climbs up the walls, and on the front wall manages to light the curtains ablaze in no time at all. There is little chance that Elle can duck out of this one, but it is still being withheld; it will pummel Elle up against the wall again, hard and fast, all the while blaring Saharan heat onto her.

Church hasn't missed any of Elle's less brave sounds, amidst the cacophony of booms and cracks, and even his own strangled yell before. It only serves to keep his personal waterworks alive.

—-

The sound when she strikes the wall is much more resonant this time, but Elle's own cry of shock and pain is louder. It lingers even after she's fallen to the floor, rolling into pitiful sobbing. She could lie here and quit, and oh, does part of her want to; in the back of her mind, she knows that the force with which she's being thrown isn't nearly what he's capable of. He could hit her much harder.

But she's learning, and maybe she can regain control, if she ever really had it. Scrambling to her feet, she lashes out twice in rapid succession. One hand throws a ball of crackling energy, and it goes wide— really, really wide. It pounds into the television behind him with a remarkably loud sound, the glass blowing out in a shower of tiny particles. Maybe she didn't miss. In the next instant, her other hand sends a new arc through the air, this one directed straight for her opponent's chest.

—-

This is turning into a game of deflecting now. He simply repeats the maneuver when she gets ready, and though it catches the arc, it does not catch the ball- the ball shatters the television, and what glass does reach him hits his clothes; the explosion from the television, however, is indeed a staggering one despite its small size. His attention is dulled on the arc, and so he resigns some of his efforts in order to stop the series of deflections.

The arc manages now to split through the expulsion and slam headlong into Lawrence. It was aimed at his chest, but catches him in his right shoulder instead. The contact throws him backwards into pieces of television scattered over the carpeting, the agent yelling in pain and frustration as he's thrown down.

—-

He wanted this, wanted it to look real, and though she sobs openly, she does not pause. The second he goes down, Elle steps forward, relentless now. One hand hanging loose at her side, she takes another step forward, stretching her fingers out before her as she directs a new blast his way.

It's blinding, this one; powerfully bright, giving off considerable heat. With this much force behind it, Elle's intending for it to hurt. She's intending for it to knock him out without killing him, and she can only hope she judged accurately. There are certain times in her life when she is thankful for the years of training her father forced her through, and this is one of those times.

—-

Church knows better than to be defenseless while down- moreso with Elle, even if this is what he wanted and she did not. He tries his best to send off a new pulse almost as soon as he goes down, but it wavers past his grimace, and past his fresh tears. The arc strikes his torso, and sends the agent bucking off of the floor, back arching and teeth clenching unnaturally tightly over a muffled scream.

It hurts, and though it was intended to knock him out, Lawrence remains on the floor, the glow around him humming down to something that seems angelic in its light; of course, even though the room is slowly and surely catching fire, and his clothes are steaming and smoking. When the static branches out into the carpet below him, church opens his mouth- and all that seems to be able to come out is a strangled noise of pain that sounds almost like Elle's name, and a short gasp for air.

Sometimes he loves his job. Sometimes he despises it. Guess which one today is.

—-

As the blue light dies from her hands, Elle's cries only grow louder, her hand remaining stretched before her and shaking. "I'm sorry," she says at last, the words forming around her sobs, voice hoarse. Only when the glow surrounding him dies does she dare to move, lest he strike her anew.

But she doesn't leave. She doesn't even back away from him. When she pries her feet from the floor and takes a step, it's a step towards him, then another, then another, until she can drop down to her knees at his side. Taking his face in her hands, Elle tries to smile once, sadly. "Thank you," she says softly, leaning to press her lips to his forehead in a gentle kiss.

—-

The area around him is scorched, and when the hotel cleans up they will only find a man-shaped burn, for he will have been long gone- Church has gotten himself out of worse- plus there were likely agents far behind his tail. But for now, as Elle comes closer, Lawrence lies almost twitching on the ground. He smells burnt, but not as burnt as the wall over yonder. When the blonde falls to her knees beside him, Church really wishes he had enough juice to give that kiss back, and it is probably visible in the tired, pained look that he sends up at her. The only thing he manages immediately is the curve of his lips while she takes his face for that gesture.

Just as Elle starts to pull away from him, Lawrence gathers his wits enough for one last word in edgewise. "I love you, angel." This is His Electric Angel, 'til death comes a'knocking.

—-

When she moves away from him, it's swift. She will give neither of them a chance to reconsider. Stooping by the bed, Elle pulls her bag from beneath and slings it over her shoulder, her coat tucked beneath her arm. She's quick in getting to the door now, stepping around him.

It's at the door that Elle pauses, her hand on the knob, to look back to the man lying on the floor as he speaks. Knowing that walking out this door means she'll never see him again, she smiles again, pained and remorseful. "I love you, too. Goodbye, Uncle Lawrence." Turning away, she bows her head and steps outside, leaving the door open behind her.

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