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Title: Butterflies In A Balloon
Author: [livejournal.com profile] force_oblique
Rating: PG - 13? for mild sexual situation or allusion
Disclaimer: I dont own anything! :P
Characters/Pairings: Adam/Elle - mention of other characters
Word Count: 1542
Summary: Set in early s2, Adam's feelings and how he feels connected to Elle
Author's Notes: I feel kinda sad, so I guess this came out as a bit sad too, but I tried giving it a hopeful twist. Besides it's Adam/Elle, my fave pairing so there's always sparks.

Sorry,it's unbetaed...It's late, I was sleepy so please excuse any crappiness and grammar/syntax mistakes! =D

Crossposted: At [livejournal.com profile] elle_tric, [livejournal.com profile] heroes_fic, [livejournal.com profile] peter_adam_elle, [livejournal.com profile] rare_heroes, [livejournal.com profile] saltandsaffron



Butterflies In A Balloon



He’s been here for a long time. Too long. Looking at the four walls around him, engulfing him, smothering him, wondering what’s past them.

Past the Company, past the life he left out there almost thirty years ago.

When someone comes into the room, that’s the only glimpse of the world he gets and he wonders if more cruelty is the only change this world has suffered.

But could that be the only one? Would he even recognize this world when he got out? If he ever got out…

Always, ever, forever were such powerful words.
Definite, final, inescapable.

Yet, Adam Monroe smirked as he thought that they had no hold over him. He could really exist forever should he choose to.

He could outlive Bob, Angela, the Haitian. He could dance on their graves decades from now, looking not a day older than he looks now.

So that was his power. To always be there. To always be there in everyone’s life like an unwanted visitor, lurking in the shadows, or even lingering in the shade.

And then deciding to step in whenever he pleased, no longer on the margins but in the spotlight, in the centre of everything.

Oh, he had that.
He owned forever, it didn’t own him.

But still there were times at which he didn’t feel like that. He didn’t feel triumphant.

Each time she came into his room,blonde, fresh, young, innocent, elusive bringing him food or his pills, she took a little piece of him on her way out. Elle could do that to him.

Thirty years is a very long time to wander alone.

To be imprisoned alone.

So, your mind constructs another reality for you to deal. One you can live with.

A reality to make the silence more bearable and solitude comfortable.

For thirty years he had no one to connect to. No one who cared to do so.

For almost thirty years as he stared at the white walls of the room surrounding him, he became one with them.

Blending in, matching them completely.

He was just as hard, as firm and as colorless as them.

He was going for emotionless but that was close enough. He was almost getting there.

Yes, those walls... He matched them.

He felt devoid of anything human.

Just a vessel for a soul that had once been his.

Now, he was just like a butterfly trapped in a balloon.

It looks pretty on the outside but once you are inside it you know you cannot escape it.
Not unless it bursts.


Not without the right tools.

A tiny prick, a pinch, a jolt.
Something to bring you back into the world you once occupied.
The world you once occupied with other people.

The world that has kept turning without you in a way that is not fair.

You think it not fair.

You should have made a difference.

People, someone, anyone should have noticed your absence.

But instead, you came to realize that it’s not you who made a difference.

It was the world around you making a difference in you. Within you.

Altering your perspective, your perception, rendering you breathless and numb.

Betrayal and hurt had etched their way into his skin, into his heart and he wished they would have stopped there.

But no, the scars, invisible yet indelible, had made their way to his very soul.

The sanctuary for everything good. And now everything good may have fled his body, eluding him, making it impossible to get them back again…

Marred and half-empty he remained there still under the blinding light of the lab, being the perfect lab rat, not realizing he was trying to connect, yearning for contact and understanding until he caught a glimpse of just the same need in Elle's eyes, in her lips – irrespective of the words they formed- and in her hands, in the jolts she sent down his body, longing to see him flinch, because that would be a response.

Her difference in the world.

Instead, she was stunned at the fact that she didn’t elicit anything out of him.

As if she didn’t exist in his balloon - a caterpillar instead of a butterfly-, being still oblivious of the fact that it was big enough for two….

And she was already in it.


Sometimes she would ask him something and he would answer, in his accented, breathy voice.
And it would make her giggle.

And sometimes he wouldn’t answer no matter how many times she asked him or how many times she punished him with her jolts.

And then she would pout and get closer to him, looking into his eyes, caressing his face with her hand.

But he would catch it and bring it to his lips, momentarily.
Softly resting them on her fair skin.

It wasn’t often that he noticed how she trembled at his touch.

He knew he wasn’t formidable, but still it was something.
Some kind of difference in the world. In his world and it would be her….

And there she was now, setting the tray on the table and walking over to him, with blue jolts on her palm, her only way to connect.

He could see that now.

She was just as fragile and numb as he was.

Yet longing to feel, to find something beyond this pool of nonexistence and deception they were both trapped in.

When she sat on his lap, placing her delicate hands on his shoulders, he wasn’t surprised.

He was drawn to it, to her embrace. To her.

And when she leans in to kiss him, her pink lips almost vibrating with sweetness and excitement, he almost feels his balloon burst.

He doesn’t realize he said that out loud till he hears her laughter, like a cool cascade brushing against his cheek.

“It’s not a balloon, silly” she says “it’s a cocoon. And we can make whatever we want out of it. We can make whatever we want of ourselves. That’s the meaning of a cocoon. Protecting us till we are ready to turn into something better,stronger, more beautiful…Pure”.

A single tear escapes from the tidal wave that’s threatening to overwhelm him, but she is there to touch it, to dry it away and he knows this is for real.


Even though Elle is not psychic, she is as close to him as humanly possible and neither of them is or feels merely human anymore.

He still feels amazed when he is the one to initiate their second kiss finding her to reciprocate with an equal if not greater amount of passion, hunger and need.

Her slim fingers roaming over his body, over his t-shirt, finding their way to the point where it is tucked in his pants, pulling it out.

Her fingers on flesh now.
Hot, firm flesh, his flesh and it tickles.

It arouses, it excites and it’s the most wonderful feeling he has experienced in a while.

So now more tears escape the floodgates of his eyes, but she is there to kiss them away.

Her hands are helping him take off his t-shirt, gasping excitedly as he turns her whole body to face him, not just her face.

Her legs around his waist, close, so close to him that he can feel her warm and wet and welcoming against his own body.

When she takes off her top, staying only in her bra, it feels like a dream and he can’t help but blink at the sight of such beauty.

But apart from beauty, it’s the trust, the significance she gives him because he knows he is the first one, the only one and now it feels like he has made a difference.

Unknowingly, accidentally but still it feels too good to let go of this, even if it is merely make-believe, an illusion.

She is struggling with his belt now, fumbling with the buttons but he is not in any hurry.

On the contrary, he wishes time would stand still, in this moment forever.

He puts his hands on her back , around her waist, holding her, hugging her until all he wants to do is take in the sight of her, breathe in her perfume as if it were more life-giving than oxygen and more life-sustaining than food or water.


She whimpers when he stops her and wraps his arms around her, but he whispers in her ear when her body finally meets with his.

He whispers words he has only spoken once before so many centuries ago, but this time he knows he is not mistaken.

Still, he wavers, his fractured heart demanding it…

He cups her face with his palms, pressing her to look into his eyes.

“Are you the one?” he asks her. “Please tell me, are you the one?”

He knows he probably sounds too needy, not only broken but irreparable but he hopes she will understand.

What he means, what he wants, what he needs…

She seems surprised only for a moment, not long enough to register and then her eyes turn a darker shade of blue, as if her feelings had taken a physical form and kisses him with a smile.

Her voice a whisper…

“For as long as I live” …..

After all, you can rip out the wings of a butterfly, but you can never take away its will to go towards the flame...


~ Fin ~


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Kelly=Force Oblique

November 2010

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