Elle wasn’t handling her resurrection very well. How could she? She’d been dead for 8 years. Had she lived she’d be 32. And yet here she was, preserved perfectly at 24. There wasn’t a wound on her, not even the gunshot wound from Bennet. It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense. And of course Sylar and the cheerleader were here too. Why wouldn’t they be? She was really beginning to believe this was some kind of personal Hell. She wasn’t naive enough to believe she’d be going anywhere else.
Sylar was here. And he was a hero now. Her Gabriel was a hero. She thought he might have loved her. No one else ever did. She’d been so young when her mother had died. Elle didn’t remember if she loved her. But Bob Bishop certainly never did. Elle was never good enough for him, no matter what she did. She could never be the daughter he wanted. But if Elle was capable of love, she couldn’t be the sociopath with paranoid delusions that he’d said she was.
Gabriel might have loved her, but Elle’s fate was tragic. If he didn’t love her, then what was the point of this anyway? Elle loved Sylar. Or she thought she did, or could. It was complicated. How could someone ever love someone when they didn’t know how to be loved themselves?
Now he wouldn’t even put her out of her misery, but he had to do something. He had to fix her. He was the only one who could, just like before. She’d given him all of her pain, she’d trusted him. But she’d also lied to him and he murdered her on the beach. She could still feel it, if she closed her eyes. There had been no pain then, only peace.
Naturally, she was curious about whatever this structure was. And she wanted to find out what she could. She wouldn’t attack it, unless it attacked her. Maybe. She’d try to exercise restraint, but that was never easy for Elle.
And that’s when she spotted him.
“Gabriel…get away from it.” She tried to keep her voice neutral. She didn't want him to know she still cared.