Chapter 14- Faithless

Maria worked at her desk in the lab while Mohinder mixed chemicals in test tubes under a plastic shield so as not to contaminate the samples. Although she tried to focus on her work, she ended up mindlessly shuffling the same papers from one end of her desk to the other until her partner finally got up the courage to ask, "Maria, is something bothering you?"

She seemed lost as though she didn't even realize he was in the room. "I..uh.." she rearranged the papers once more and sighed. "I'm sorry, Mohinder. I guess today just didn't start very well."

"I see." He smiled softly to put her at ease. "Is there anything I can do?"

Maria considered herself lucky to have people like Mohinder and Peter. For the most part she had to keep a stiff upper lip and sometimes it felt like she bore the weight of the world on her shoulders, but around those two she could let her guard down. They didn't pity her or fault her for showing cracks in her carefully constructed façade under the pressure. Both excelled at patience and understanding although she viewed them in slightly different roles: Mohinder was more of a trusted colleague while Peter was closer to a brother or best friend. "I think I solved the problem for now, but I'm always waiting for the next shoe to drop and I think things are about to get worse."

He carefully shook a test tube to mix the contents. "What do you mean?"

"I sent Gabriel to Jessup's yesterday and he wasn't treated as fairly as I would have liked. Add that to keeping Matt and Ando hostage and it was the last straw."

Mohinder scoffed. "Well, that's to be expected. Not everyone holds the same views of specials as you do, least of all Arthur or Emily Jessup."

"I know, but some things are just beyond unacceptable and I can't in good conscience subject any of you to that anymore. I know my decision to stop loaning him staff will have consequences, I'm just not sure what. I know he's probably struggling since his wife and sons died in the car accident a few years ago and I suspect he keeps borrowing from me because he can't afford to buy more of his own staff. I haven't been over there in awhile, but it seems like he has just stopped living- everything was a mess."

He smiled lightly every time she called them 'staff' rather than 'slaves' because she just couldn't bring herself to degrade them in that way. "No doubt grief has contributed to the decline of his fortunes, but I believe he's also falling victim to his own character. Men like Arthur ultimately become entrapped in their own quest for power not realizing that the more they fight the tighter the noose becomes until they are ultimately abandoned by anyone who may have otherwise helped- including yourself."

"I can't do anything about the way he chooses to live his life, but I can elect not to allow him to take his frustrations out on you. We'll all just have to be more careful when dealing with him so we don't give him any more provocation. He's still convinced he was cheated out of his share of money from the chipset design."

"Is he still on about that?" Mohinder chucked while he injected a small amount of his concoction into a petri dish for later analysis. "Still convinced he designed the control chips that keep us all docile and cheated of the windfall of money from the proceeds?"

"He was a pretty good electrical engineer, but I'm not convinced the entire design was his own." She shook her head and frowned. "He and Bryant used to argue all the time and I think it just underlined the vast differences in ideology. Bryant was for minimally invasive chemical restraint while Arthur favored a more draconian approach. Obviously in the end, the government thought it was best to use both technologies."

"I can't say I disagree." He shrugged. He may have been a victim of an unwanted implant, but he was still a rational scientist. "Chips alone could easily be thwarted or removed if one was determined enough to perform surgery in their own bathrooms and the medications could likewise be skipped or diluted. The only logical conclusion was to use them both ."

"Well, if we keep working, we can at least mitigate one of the components." Her determinism was not lost on him. She seemed to want it to work more than anyone. "Did I tell you Peter tried the first formulation?"

"No," he blinked in surprise, "you didn't. I didn't think it was yet ready for trials but…" he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "how did it work?"

"It did." She wore a giddy grin despite her professionalism. "It took a little longer than I expected, but it eventually neutralized the suppressor and he was able to conjure up some blue energy in his hands. He wanted to keep it under wraps until it was ready and undetectable and for the time being he chose to replace the suppressor."

Mohinder took a seat by her desk while his mind wrapped itself around the news. "I think his reservations are well founded. The delay may have been due to low potency, but with his natural healing ability it's uncertain if that may have been a factor as well. At any rate, it certainly would have masked any side effects of the serum." He stood to face her and held his chin high. "I would like to be the next to test it. As I am lacking regeneration, we will soon see if the serum requires further refinement."

"Mohinder," she warned, "I appreciate your dedication, but you know as well as I do that if you do experience any catastrophic side effects, I can't very well take you to a hospital. If Peter can't save you…"

"I am aware." He nodded with determination. "I accept the risk because if I don't we may never know if it will do what we set out to accomplish. It isn't as though we can test it out on mice." He flashed a tense smile and added, "At least I'm not aware of any mice that possess superpowers."

"Well, you are partially responsible for its creation, so I suppose it's only fair. But Peter's out with Gabriel right now and I will insist we wait until he's here to standby for medical support if needed. There's a difference between being adventurous and foolhardy."

"Fair enough." He conceded returning to his chemicals. "So are Peter and Sylar off on errands?"

"He is going by Gabriel now and to tell the truth, I'm glad for it. I don't know where the name 'Sylar' came from anyway." Mohinder remained at his station and kept his back to her so she wouldn't see him roll his eyes in disgust. He knew very well where the name came from. "Did you know him before he came? Peter said he did and I know you two were also connected before coming here."

"Oh yes. Our paths have crossed before."

"Hmm. Small world." She noted. "Did he fix a watch for you or something?"

No, but he broke one while murdering my father. "Not exactly. He took an…interest…in my father's work."

"You know, that doesn't really surprise me. Gabriel certainly has a curious mind and your father's work was groundbreaking and very complex. Too bad he was ahead of his time. Thankfully, you had the courage to continue his legacy. Like all brilliant scientists, time will vindicate him, Mohinder. Copernicus and Galileo were branded heretics before it became undeniable that they were correct. I think that time is coming for your father when he will finally be recognized for the visionary he was and you are adding to his contribution by working on the serum that allows evolution to take place unhindered."

"Maria, doesn't it bother you that you are essentially aiding in the extinction of your own species?" He asked thoughtfully. "It would only be normal to fight for your own survival."

She didn't even look up from her microscope. "It's the natural order of things, Mohinder. Everything that is born will die, empires will rise and fall. The best you can hope for is that something better will replace it." She adjusted the magnification and chuckled. "Besides, Cro-Magnons never asked the Neanderthals how they felt about being replaced, but I think we're all better off for it."

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Peter stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked around with a bewildered expression on his face. "Ok, I wasn't expecting this." He admitted.

Sylar took a seat on the carved marble bench facing a 12th century stained glass panel and casually asked, "Why not?"

He sat at the other end of the bench and kept looking around at the carved columns and religiously themed paintings and artwork that filled the room. It was a reconstructed courtyard of a cloister from Italy and it created a uniquely peaceful setting to contemplate the material that was displayed. He couldn't imagine how many centuries worth of monks chanting prayers permeated the stone. "I mean, an art museum isn't surprising, but why this section?" He stared straight ahead at a richly painted scene of the Virgin Mary holding the crucified body of Jesus while she cried. "I thought you'd be more of the modern art kind."

Sylar kept his eyes on the stained glass that was illuminated from behind as though the light of God were shining through the image of an angel holding a spear to the neck of a demon under his sandaled foot. His voice was soft and slightly despondent. "You think I'm soulless."

Peter was caught off guard. "No, I didn't say that. I just guess I never thought of you as a religious person."

"I used to, you know." He leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees while he continued to look up and it seemed as though he were asking forgiveness from the angel. "Every Sunday I used to go to Mass like a good Catholic boy. Every Sunday I used to close my eyes and pray that God would send an angel to guide me, help me be a better person, give me a better life."

"So what happened?" He was surprised at his sudden candor, but what blew his mind was the fact that he actually shared a common experience with the killer. He too spent many hours in church, although it only seemed to be on major holidays.

"I figured out that no one was listening." He almost whispered. "It was all a lie."

"I don't think it's a lie." Peter countered. "I mean, there may not be angels that live in clouds, but the message is still relevant. I just think that maybe it's up to us to do the work of angels and help others." He let the silence settle between them before asking, "So if you don't believe in all this, why are you here?"

"Because it's quiet." He answered simply. "People don't want to face mortality or the thought of moral judgment so they skip on over to Van Gogh or Picasso. Water lilies and bowls of fruit won't condemn you for your sins."

He had to give it to him, it made sense. But if he was looking for some kind of absolution for his many, many sins they would be there well past dinner. "When was the last time you went to Mass?"

Sylar shook his head with a small smirk. "The last time I was there as a believer, I was 12. I went after that, but it was hollow and meaningless. It was like watching one well orchestrated, gold gilded stage production in Latin." He glanced sideways at Peter and scoffed. "I'll bet you were an altar boy, weren't you?"

"Me?" Peter laughed. "No. I couldn't concentrate long enough. Ma had to keep elbowing me in ribs because I daydreamed too much. But believe it or not, I caught on not much longer after you did." He looked at the floor solemnly. "At some point I think we all do."

"Life has a way of doing that." Sylar agreed. "And no amount of fairy tales will make the ugliness of the basest of men's natures less primal or brutal."

Peter tended to disagree. "Not everyone's like that. I think most people are basically good."

"Really?" The sarcasm was thick in his voice. "The same good people that chose to enslave us and take away our basic human dignities? The same ones who see us as property? Nothing more than a chair or piece of jewelry?"

He didn't appreciate having his own words twisted out of context. "What are you going to do? Kill them all?" He frowned. "Reign down the righteous justice of God on them all by yourself?"

Sylar's eyes were sad and his shoulders slumped. "No. Those days are gone, Peter, no matter how much I wish it weren't so. I don't have my powers to defend myself, but it doesn't mean I have to be content with a life less ordinary."

Peter scooted closer to his former nemesis and thought about what Bennet said. "You're thinking of running, aren't you?" He asked in a hushed tone so no one could hear. "Don't do it, Sylar. You don't know what you're getting into."

"Peter, if you.."

He put his hand up to silence him and gave him the most serious expression he could muster. "I am seriously not shitting you, Sylar. If it were that easy, don't you think everyone would do it, or at least try? They don't and you know why? There are hired gangs of mercenaries that do nothing but track down escaped slaves and you know as well as I do that it's a finders keepers situation. If you run and get caught, Maria can't demand you be returned and I can almost guarantee you that whoever finds you won't be as considerate as she is. Where will you hide anyway? In case you forgot, you have a chip in your neck that tells anyone with a remote in a half mile radius who and where you are at all times." He paused and sighed. "Look, I don't expect you to love the situation, but I do think you should just be patient and trust us until your turn comes. Maria can get you to freedom, but you have to play along."