Chapter 10- Facing Up
"I see nothing in your eyes, I know nothing of your kind,
And the more I see the less I like…
And I won't reveal your evil mind
Is it over yet?
I can't win"
"Breath" –Breaking Benjamin
Jim left the sickbay wondering if Spock wasn't right all along. While he knew for certain that he had stumbled upon something that he would never again see in his lifetime, he had to question his own decision to allow them to bring Sylar. He couldn't ignore the foreboding feeling in his gut that told him he had placed his crew in danger. He was so deep in thought he almost ran Peter over when he turned the corner to the lifts, giving him an inadvertent hard shoulder. "I'm sorry," Jim said embarrassed, "are you ok?"
Peter smiled graciously and quipped, "Even if I wasn't it wouldn't matter for long. I can heal, remember?"
"Yeah, I know…I just…" He waved his hand dismissively and trailed off.
Peter had the uncanny ability to sense the mood of others. He wouldn't have called it an ability so much as it was a talent, but he knew that something was wrong with the starship captain. "The better question is are you ok?" He asked cautiously.
Jim was torn between telling the truth and a white lie. While Peter seemed like a decent guy, the truth was he was one of them. Jim simply didn't know if he could take criticism of his own kind in stride or if he would be offended, but he certainly was worried over the whole thing and needed to tell someone before he exploded. "Walk with me." Jim requested.
Peter was intrigued, but he took a sip of his water and replied, "Ok, but Dr. McCoy wanted to see me after lunch for more tests."
"He can wait." Jim shrugged. "Besides, I thought you would want to see the bridge."
"Sure. As long as he doesn't take it out on me." He agreed. He hadn't been on the ship long, but he quickly caught on to which way the wind blew on deck 5. He just wanted to make sure that wind didn't turn into a gale force storm that blew in his direction. "So what's on your mind?"
Jim sighed as he placed his hands on his hips. "I don't mean to sound like a dick, Peter, but I do have some concerns about this project." Peter nodded solemnly and he went on, "What I mean is that while you and the others are ok, I didn't fully understand what I was getting into and my crew is freaking out."
"You mean Sylar." Peter corrected. He had spent enough time around Nathan to know code speak when he heard it and he was getting pretty good at seeing through it. "You should be. Sylar can be a handful, but you kind of have to understand him. He can be a cold blooded, ruthless killer but…" he sighed and chose his words carefully, "he can also be reasoned with. I would say that most of the time he is calculating, but once in awhile you can catch him off guard. You just have to know him well enough to know what will put you in danger and what won't. No matter what others say, Sylar doesn't kill indiscriminately- he isn't a thrill killer. What he wants is more abilities and as long as your crew are normal people that stay out of his way they will be safe."
Jim listened carefully and stated, "You seem to know him pretty well."
"Yeah." Peter answered simply remembering what it felt like to have his power. The darkness and relentless drive were stuck in Peter's memory. "He is almost like a brother."
Jim scoffed and said, "If he is anything like your other brother you may be the only normal one."
"Be thankful my mother isn't here," he retorted, "she is even more manipulative than Sylar. I swear I am beginning to think that I was adopted." He sighed as the lift carried them upwards and thought about Nathan. In times past he would have defended his brother to the death because no matter what happened, he was always there for him. But now he couldn't in good faith even though his heart ached for the brother he knew was still inside the shell of a man that was responsible for his current situation.
Peter followed Jim into a very modern looking room with consoles spaced evenly throughout the room surrounding a rather large chair in the center. Around one of these consoles huddled Matt, Ando, Hiro, Spock, Chekov, and a woman with very long hair pulled into a pony tail that Peter had never seen before. "How is it going?" Jim asked.
Spock responded in a flat voice, "They are learning how to interface with the ship's system by running practice queries. I thought it best to enlist the assistance of the crew to make the process as efficient as possible."
"Sounds good." Jim sighed absentmindedly as he took note of the pairings. Spock was assisting Ando, Uhura was aiding Hiro, and Chekov was helping the mind reader which he thought was perfect since his English was not the clearest. He paused and wondered if Chekov thought with an accent as well….
"Why do you get the beautiful woman to help you?" Ando whispered to Hiro in Japanese. "Why do I get stuck with the green guy?" He huffed slightly at his friend's luck. "It couldn't even be a green woman."
Uhura smiled and curtly replied, "Domo." Ando's eyes went wide and he blushed slightly at being caught. She noted his embarrassment and smiled. "Yes, I can speak Japanese as well as many other languages."
"Does he?" He asked rolling his eyes upward to indicate Spock who was standing over him with a slight frown. She shook her head no and Ando sighed in relief.
Matt tapped on the screen in frustration. It had been a long morning and his brain was exhausted trying to make sense out of the display. He could do it, but it took longer than everyone else and as a means of speeding things up, he sometimes just guessed at what the screen said. It was a risky strategy because if he was wrong he had to come up with some excuse and he was running out of them.
Chekov sat patiently at his side as Matt struggled and it didn't take him long to figure out that something was amiss. His partner seemed to be having difficulty reading the screen although the display was crystal clear. He hesitated to speak up because he didn't want to insult the man, but he had a desire to help if he could. "Excuse me, but you can read my thoughts, yes?" He asked quietly.
"Yes." Matt grumbled.
"Ok." Chekov lilted so he would get the hint. Are you having trouble reading? Just nod so the others won't know. Matt paused, but finally gave a small nod yes. English is sometimes hard for me too. Why don't I read the screen and you listen to my thoughts? Just tell me what to look for and I will help you.
A wave of relief washed over Matt and he wanted to hug the kid. He didn't want to admit he had a problem. What kind of superhuman couldn't read? But he was thankful that Chekov didn't think any less of him for it. There was no condescension in his tone or a sense of pity, just a desire to find a discreet workaround to a mutual problem.
From across the room, Peter smiled. He didn't make it a habit to eavesdrop because god knows he had enough going on in his own head without more noise, but Matt was right at dinner when he insisted that sometimes people feel so strongly about something that the thoughts are broadcast like a radio station. But if there was anything that Peter was good at, it was discretion and he decided to keep his discovery a secret.
It was like wading through mud, but slowly Sylar began to awaken from his coma. As usual, his mind was much faster than the rest of his body and he waited patiently for the rest of himself to catch up. While he waited, he fought to suppress a momentary wave of panic when his senses began to come online and he noted the strong sterile smell and coolness of the room. In his experience, only one type of place needed to be cold and sterile to ward off infection and it was a place that he did not want to be. His mind screamed as vivid flashes of level 5 streamed through his consciousness. The pain, the fear, the helplessness that he suffered at the hands of Bennet. He had almost tasted death, in fact he prayed for it to come to end the misery but he survived. He survived because he remained calm and he would again if he could just pull himself together and take stock of things rationally.
He lay perfectly still and listened carefully, but the silence told him he was alone in the room. He slowly opened his dark eyes and blinked rapidly. He still felt a little groggy, but it was comforting to have control of his muscles back. They were stiff and sore from being immobile, but at least they were responding to his commands. And being in control was everything at the moment.
He ran a hand over his scalp and grimly noted that they had cut his hair short again. What the hell was Bennet's fixation with his hair? It made him angry and he felt violated. It made him wonder what else they had done to him without his knowledge. With his healing ability he would probably never know and maybe it was better that way. He never wanted to feel that way again.
He had to swallow down another spike of anxiety when he took stock of the barren, bunker like room. His first thought was that Bennet had tricked him. He had rebuilt Primatech and he was being held in a revamped level 5. That little bitch Hiro was in on it as well and Sylar resolved to kill him one way or another for his treachery. He had wanted the man's power, but before it was just a passing fancy on his wish list; now it was a matter of principle. No one could cage him like an animal and immediately he set to work on finding a solution to his circumstances. He had to escape.
On the other side of the sickbay, the med tech had delivered the gels to Mohinder who graciously thanked her. She didn't quite know what to say because Dr. McCoy certainly never went out his way to be complimentary, but suddenly all the hard work seemed worth it. As she was leaving Mohinder's lab, she remembered to swing by the isolation room to change the IV drip. Even though the man was no danger to her, she didn't like being in the same room with him. She couldn't quite place it, but it was as if he exuded evil in his sleep and it permeated the room. It was absurd, but she pictured him suddenly waking and grabbing her by the throat and choking her so hard with one hand that she was unable to scream.
She rounded the corner to the isolation room and stopped in her tracks. She was choked by fear and unable to scream because the man was standing with his palms pressed against the glass staring at her. His face was emotionless and his eyes were dark and devoid of any recognizable human element, yet he was somehow able to convey the fact that he was going to get out of the room and when he did, she was going to die. His eyes slowly slid away from her and rested on the lock mechanism of the door. A small smile crossed his lips as he casually flipped his fingers and the lock sprung from the outside as if a ghost opened it. Another slight wave sent the door crashing open and he slowly padded on bare feet into the hallway to face her.
A small voice inside her told her there was no use in running. She knew that fighting would do no good and a strange sense of calm overcame her as she accepted her fate. She knew for a fact that she was going to die at his hands, yet she was not afraid. What she was not about to do, however, was condemn her crewmates to the same fate that she was about to face. In a flash, she extended her arm and smashed the panic alarm that would alert the entire ship to the danger.
Sylar jumped slightly at the shrieking alarm. His eyes grew darker still and this was the last thing she saw before she closed her eyes and waited for death to descend on her.