Title: Burn Down the Final Wall
Fandom: Heroes
Warnings: PG
Character/Pairing: Elle, light Elle/Adam
Word Count: 340 
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot, not even the title which comes from Vienna Teng.
AN: Written for heroes15 prompt #4 - Memory. Inspiration for this came from some of the imagery in Porcelian Dolls and Hotshots by dana_serenity

A mirror falling to the floor, shards of glass scattered on the ground, jewels for the taking. Long strands of hair draped over slim shoulders, yellow like sunbeams. Screaming, lots of screaming, and a beautiful blue light. Silence. 

Upon waking, Elle feels a strange sense of déjà vu. The dream is familiar in ways she cannot describe. Somehow, though she never sees this, Elle knows the woman with long, blonde hair is dead. Elle feels the fire simmering just beneath her skin and thinks she is going to be sick (which is completely irrational, she has never killed anyone before and doesn’t even know this woman). 

*** 

Two hands, reaching out but never touching. Pale skin, the color of milk. The delighted shriek of a child, “We match!” A soft, lilting voice, words indiscernible. 

Elle hates this dream. Partly because she can never hear what he says (she wants to know, and Elle always gets what she wants), mostly because she has a feeling she should know what happens next – yet no matter how many times she thinks about it, she can never quite recall. 

*** 

Elle finds Adam Monroe to be vaguely irritating. He used to watch her when she walked past his cell, but now? Nothing. Elle doesn’t know when it started, or when she started noticing. She doesn’t know why she even cares about stupid Adam Monroe and what he thinks (but she does, she always does). 

Curiosity gets the best of her though, and one day she finds herself standing outside of Adam’s cell, engaging in a staring match through the thick pane of glass that separates them. Elle wants to say something, but instead places her hand on the glass. Adam’s lips quirk upwards and he walks over and sets his hand opposite hers. If the glass were gone, they would be touching. Elle wishes for a moment that she could break it, melt it, anything. Only for a moment, but it’s there. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, “we match.”