A/N: Thanks to all that reviewed! I'm not sure what's going on with FF's reply links, but they are broken ;( However, I do want you to know that I appreciate your comments! Cheers!
Chapter 26- Act III
"The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy."
- John F. Kennedy
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Peter glanced back nervously. He knew he should have been watching the road in the terrible conditions, but Sylar had been worrisomely quiet and that was strange given his circumstances. Sylar had been literally hog tied and heaved face first into the back of a borrowed van for transport. No care was taken in regards to his physical being, no attention paid to his injuries. They didn't even give him his coat back. The average person would at least let a little indication of discomfort or irritation slip, but so far he hadn't heard a peep and he wondered if his partner was still conscious. He had taken quite a beating at the facility and Peter felt guilty. He promised him he would take care of him, but they weren't off to a very good start.
He turned the heat on, but in the extreme cold temperatures, the vents were blowing out little more than cool air and it was doubtful that Sylar could even feel it laying on the floor as he was. He fought his instinct to pull over and check on his prisoner because he was fairly certain he was being followed. He might have been able to leave the facility, but he had an unsettling feeling that Carter wasn't convinced and it would make sense that she would tail him. He glanced back again. Sylar should have retained some level of control over his abilities- at least what remained of them- and the fact that he hadn't freed himself from his bonds worried Peter. What worried him more, however, was the thought that perhaps Sylar didn't have the power to. Maybe four shots were too many. If that were the case, the entire plan was in jeopardy. War or no, there was no way in hell he was going to deliver a completely defenseless man to be executed. Caught between duty and instinct, he did as best he could to satisfy both: he drove as fast as he safely could and scanned Sylar's thoughts for any clues to his condition. He was indeed conscious, and he was very cold, hungry, hurting, and a little anxious, but overall glad to be with someone he knew wouldn't take advantage of his captivity. Peter smiled to himself humbly and couldn't help but acknowledge the tremendous amount of trust Sylar was placing in him- and given all the horror he'd endured at the hands of others, trust was no small or easy thing for him.
Peter pulled over at the last sign of life as he exited the town for the barren cornfields- a truck stop. "I'll be right back." He informed his captive, but Sylar gave him no response other than to shiver violently at the rush of arctic air that flowed over him when Peter opened his door. He hated to do it, but he turned the engine off and took the keys- not because he was afraid Sylar would free himself and abandon him, but if Carter's people were following him, it would be all too easy for them to kidnap Sylar again and drive away. He practically ran through the store, gathering the items he needed to minimize the amount of time he was left freezing to death in the van. When he returned, things were just as he left them- Sylar hadn't moved an inch. "Hang in there, man." Peter encouraged him, once again checking to be sure the heat was cranked up as far as it would go. "Just a few more miles." Indeed, Peter drove off into the inky blackness of the storm filled sky and stretches of empty farm fields until he was the only set of headlights visible for miles. Truthfully he had to stop not just for Sylar's sake, but the country roads had become impassible without a four wheel drive SUV and to be honest, he wasn't even sure he was on the road anymore. He could have drifted off into the middle of a field for all he knew, but it didn't matter. Soon he would provide a more accurate and reliable form of transportation for them.
He left the engine running, and turned on the interior lights before hopping into the back. Sylar lay perfectly still with his eyes closed, lightly breathing. It was as if he were sleeping, but Peter couldn't imagine being able to pull that off, especially given how light a sleeper he had become since the war started. He frowned worriedly and very gently shook his shoulder. "Sylar?" He softly called, "You ok?"
Sylar didn't open his eyes and his deep voice sounded paradoxically relaxed. "It kind of hurts at first, but once you get used to it, it's actually kind of comfortable."
Peter broke out into a wide smile and chuckled. If he'd learned anything from being around Sylar, it was that the killer had a dark sense of humor. No matter what happened to him, no matter how dire the circumstance he found himself in, as long as he held onto his ability to make an inappropriate, snarky comment everything would be ok. "That's probably because you've lost all feeling in your arms and legs." He untangled the length of rope that connected the chains from his wrists to his ankles and let him slowly stretch his immobile muscles. It had to have felt wonderfully excruciating once the blood began to fill his vacated vessels. "Or you're hypothermic."
He wanted to help Sylar sit up, but he was determined to do it on his own even if it took longer than it should have. Peter patiently watched his fumbling attempts to right himself with his numb and exsanguinated limbs and it reminded him of people who were excessively drunk, but he kept his thoughts to himself and dug into his stash to retrieve a blanket along with the other items he bought. Sylar accepted the blanket and allowed Peter to wrap it around him with a few tentative, furtive glances to be sure he didn't seem too needy in his eyes. Peter couldn't help but notice how exhausted and weary he looked. His pale, bruised face made his dull and dark eyes stand out and the way he trembled from the cold was just sad. He wasn't Sylar anymore- he was a far cry from the nearly invincible supervillain he once was. Once again, Peter was face to face with Gabriel Gray, a more or less normal man with very human tolerances to pain and suffering. "I got you some coffee and something to eat. I thought you might be hungry." He thought it was a reasonable assumption to make that in no way indicated that he had read his thoughts, or at least he hoped.
Sylar stretched out his fingers and clenched them into a fist over and over again to encourage the feeling to return to his hands so he could hold the Styrofoam cup without spilling it on himself. Once Peter handed it over, he sat with his knees drawn tightly to his chest and enjoyed the aroma of the strong, no doubt bitter drink and the feeling of ambient warmth seep into his skin. The coffee had no doubt cooled somewhat since he'd bought it, but it still felt hot to him. For one perfect moment he felt content- as if it were the end of his ordeal and he had the entire night to enjoy it. He knew he didn't, but he took solace in the time that he had and was surprised by what Peter presented him with next. He tried not to let his amusement show, but the corners of his mouth involuntarily curled into a small smile at the sight of the peach fried pie. He took his dinner and asked, "Do you know how many calories are in these things?"
"Watching your figure?" Peter playfully teased.
"I don't want to ooze peach goo later tonight." He replied darkly, taking a hefty bite and washing it down with coffee. The pie was almost a necessity to balance out the harsh taste of the burnt, stale coffee and it almost made him wince.
Peter took a seat across from him and pointed to the rest of the contents of the bag. "There's another one in there if you want it along with some wipes to clean up your face." The dried blood and purple bruises on his pale skin looked like some kind of macabre modern art arrangement.
Sylar seemed apathetic about being clean. "Do you think it really matters?" He was going to be shot full of holes in an hour or so. Having a clean face seemed like polishing the brass while the ship went down in his estimation. As far as he was concerned, he earned the right to look the way he did.
"In a way, yeah." Peter affirmed. "I don't think the government will want people asking why you look like you had the hell beat out of you. It makes them look bad."
"Oh," he lightly retorted with a sneer, "then by all means. We wouldn't want people asking questions about the government's practices, now would we?"
Peter sighed in frustration. "That's not what I meant. What they did was wrong, Sylar, I agree. But we have to pick and choose our battles here. We are so close to winning." Sylar threw his hands up in acquiescence and cleaned himself as well as he was able, even the still disturbingly fresh bullet grazes on his torso although his clothing was a complete loss. Peter was alarmed that after the time that had passed, they looked no closer to healing than if he had just shot him. "Sylar," he started slowly in a suspicious tone, "why haven't those healed at all?" Sylar met his eyes with a knowing determination- as though he had stumbled upon some secret and it sent Peter into a barely controlled panic. "You still have some of your abilities left, right? God so help me, if you don't…"
"The plan will go on." He coldly cut him off. "It has to."
"Bullshit!" Peter hissed. "You can't do this without me and I refuse to take you anywhere if you don't have your powers. It's completely insane and I won't do it." He didn't care if he did sound petulant, he could never live with himself if he did.
"I still have them." He assured him with a snarl. "I just need…" He found it nearly impossible to ask for the very thing that would save his life. "I need…"
"You need what?" Peter asked exasperated. "Tell me, I'll help you."
Sylar lowered his head almost as if he were ashamed. "I have my abilities, but barely- not enough to use them like I need to. They're fading somehow. I need you to…" he tried to think of the best way to phrase his request so as not to make himself look any weaker or more helpless than he had to, "…lend me some of your energy." He finished quietly.
Peter immediately felt guilty. It was his fault that Sylar was in the position he was, although he never once blamed him for it. He spread his arms wide and smiled. "Then take it." He invited sincerely. "Take what you need."
"I can't." Sylar growled in irritation. "Why do you think I didn't untie myself? Besides, we both know it's much easier for you, given the nature of the ability." It was admitting his own fallibility, but he had to be unflinching when it came to something as serious as this. Peter could easily feel compassion even for someone like him, but the amount of fear required to forcibly take Peter's energy from him was almost psychologically overwhelming. He did it once, but he did not want to ever feel terror like that again. In his own way, he was asking for Peter's mercy not to have to.
"I…um." Peter licked his lips nervously. "I haven't replicated Damian's ability yet. I was going to do it only if I had to." He noted the sad apprehension in Sylar's deep eyes and he gave him a firm nod. "But I will, I swear. I'll get it before you do your thing one way or another. I promise. Can you trust me?" Sylar slowly shook his head in guarded agreement, and Peter couldn't blame him. It was a lot to ask of anyone to wait until the last possible second to save their life. He glanced at the glowing clock on the dashboard and swallowed dryly. "It's almost time for your court appearance. Are you ready?"
Sylar's eyes fell in dreaded despair, but he was resolute. "Let's get it over with."
Peter teleported them to Nathan's office where they were surprised to see he had company. By the looks of things, it wasn't of the friendly sort. McCaskey jumped at their sudden appearance and Peter looked to Nathan for guidance on what to do. Nathan coolly played it off as though it were all part of the plan. "Welcome back, Agent…" Lately he had been having difficulty with names. He read the name tag on his brother's uniform and smiled, "Burke. I was starting to get worried." He turned back to his nemesis with a congenial yet superiorly smug grin. "Agent Burke is part of your Chimera project and as you see," he gestured over his shoulder to a menacing looking cuffed Sylar, "he got our man."
McCaskey gave Peter a tensely friendly nod, but in no way did he like the idea of being around what he considered an uncaged and uncontrolled animal. Still, he couldn't help his own curiosity and he was drawn to the mythical man in chains. Sylar remained perfectly still, only his eyes tracked the movements of the elder senator. As McCaskey looked him up and down, it reminded him of being a slave- the likes of the law maker were the very kind to inspect him and unabashedly grope him while they licked their thin lips and he felt his heart race as though he were back in the tent with Tipton.
Peter was taken by the sudden rush of fear coming from Sylar and he glanced at him to make sure he was ok. It was unlike him to be so intimidated by the old man and he couldn't figure out what could have caused the sudden spike of near panic, but he had the power to stop it. "I wouldn't get too close." He warned McCaskey in a serious tone. "He may not have his abilities, but he still knows how to kill you. As many people as he has under his belt, he won't lose sleep over one more." McCaskey seemed sufficiently spooked and he shrank away as quickly as dignity would allow.
The four of them were escorted to the underground tunnels that crisscrossed the capital and allowed those of importance to get from one building to another without facing the populace. In this case, it also allowed the life of one man to be weighed in a ridiculous parody of justice in the Supreme Court building. The entire proceeding took less than two minutes. Sylar was not informed of any specific evidence against him, he was not allowed to face his accusers, and he was not given access to any representation on his behalf. The affair consisted of his standing alone in a tiny room in front of a stern looking, gray haired judge and a few questions. "Mr. Gabriel Gray, AKA Sylar." She announced in a damning tone. "You are being charged with the crime of treason for your conscious decision to assist and act on the behalf of the rebellion against the United States government in a time of war. How do you plead to the charges against you?"
Sylar look up at the judge and scoffed. "Does it matter?" He asked rhetorically. "You have made sure to restrict any means I have of defending myself fairly."
"I didn't ask for your opinion, Mr. Gray. Let the record reflect that the defendant declined to enter a plea." Sylar looked around at the otherwise empty room and wondered who she was talking to. If he was the defendant, where was the prosecution? It became clear that she was the judge, jury, and would demand his execution- how convenient. "It is this court's ruling that you are guilty of the crime of treason. Do you have any last words before I sentence you?"
He smirked at the bitter old woman and replied, "My only regret is that I have but one life to give?"
"As do I, Mr. Gray." She deadpanned. "If you had more, I would gladly relieve you of them. One life is hardly enough restitution for the damage you have caused during your time on this earth." She slammed her gavel down with authority and passed her judgment. "You are hereby sentenced to death. The punishment will carried out expediently, not to exceed 24 hours from this time. It is by the request of Senators Petrelli and McCaskey that due to the nature of your crimes, your punishment be a matter of public record and a warning to all that take the same path that you have chosen. I would add may God have mercy on your soul, Mr. Gray, but I am in doubt that even he is capable of such a feat."
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Claire paced the room while Luke looked out the small, slatted window at the swelling grounds below, teaming with people chanting and holding signs. "Jesus." He sighed. "Look at them out there. You would think we were handing out bottles of Hennessey and ecstasy pills."
"I could use a hit." West grumbled. "I can't believe I'm doing this."
"Keep your heads." Noah advised. He didn't know what the hold up was, but the longer the team had to stew and mill about, the more likely it was that they would get cold feet.
Matt had been trying to make sense of the whole enterprise ever since he got roped into it, and although he had a few plausible theories, he wanted to hear it from someone who knew for sure. He got up the courage to approach Noah and asked in a confidentially low whisper, "Ok man, seriously. What the hell's going on?"
"We told you." He replied simply. "You are going to shoot Sylar so all those below can cheer and go home feeling like the world is safe again."
"Yeah, I get that." Matt nodded, "But I mean what's really going on? You don't expect us to believe that there isn't some hidden trap door somewhere. So come on. Tell me."
HRG smiled cryptically when he noticed that Matt seemed to be concentrating a little harder than a person who was waiting for a verbal response needed to. "You aren't trying to read my mind now are you, Parkman?" He gently chided. He could easily come up with a million truly unpleasant things to dwell on to throw the mind reader off, but he was fully aware that Matt also had the ability to really screw him up if he wanted to. Matt wasn't the kind of guy who would do such a thing vindictively, but he certainly had the capacity to get the information he wanted if he so desired. "What do you think?"
Matt shrugged. "I dunno. Is he already going to be dead or something?"
Noah frowned. "A corpse? A hanging meat sack wouldn't be convincing. They want to see him bleed before he dies. Dead guys don't bleed. It would never work."
"Ok." He granted, a little disgusted that Noah could be so calm and matter of fact about such a thing. "Maybe it won't be him."
"Everyone knows what he looks like and finding a body double is tough. He isn't walking down the red carpet, here. You couldn't pay people enough to be in his shoes right now."
"Fine! Maybe he'll be wearing a bullet proof vest. Maybe Hiro will stop time or something. I don't know, but it can't be as simple as we just shoot him and that's that." He nearly laughed.
Noah's face was expressionless as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." Matt could read his mind all he wanted, but he truthfully didn't have much more information than what he had given. Peter was careful to stress that when he took his shot to aim just right or left of his target's heart. Noah told them all he was going to take the kill shot, but in reality he was instructed to only make it look plausible. He wasn't told why, but Peter made him swear on Claire's life that he would and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd misled people. Sylar would still bleed to death internally in a matter of seconds, but it wouldn't kill him instantly. 'Kill' was a relative term that meant ending another's life and he was going to- just not as hastily as everyone assumed he would. "But thanks for the vest thing. I didn't think of that."
"Sure." Matt mumbled a little baffled as he watched him turn and walk away to speak with Emma and Damian. "You're welcome."
Damian looked every bit the medical professional in his button up shirt and tie, black glasses and white lab coat. Emma wore hers along with a stethoscope snaked around her neck. Noah handed them both sound dampening headphones to wear. "You'll need these when we fire. Safety first." He reminded.
Emma took hers with a wry smile. "I don't really need these. Am I going to go deaf?" What she really needed was a set of blinders to block the explosion of color that would fill the room- and to keep her from watching another person be murdered right in front of her eyes. She was certainly no stranger to trauma. She had been responsible for saving the lives of victims of car accidents, industrial mishaps, fires, even one bomb tech from a local police department, but no matter what circumstances landed her maimed patients in her ER, she never witnessed the event happen first hand.
Noah chuckled at her self-depreciating humor. "Not everyone out there knows you're deaf and it will look a little suspicious if you aren't wearing them." He took a moment to compose himself and tug at his uncomfortably snug uniform he borrowed from Damian. "Are you both clear on your duties?"
Damian bit his lip and glanced at Emma. "I think so. After you guys…" it was just too unpleasant to give voice to, but he assumed Noah knew what he was getting at. "She and I will walk up to Sylar and she checks him out and says he's dead. I do what she does and agree with her and give the time of death."
"Remember that you don't approach him until Peter gives the signal." He cleared his throat and went on. "Also remember to tell everyone he's dead." He paused to lower his voice. "Even if he isn't."
Outside, the crowd erupted into a frenzied, yet chillingly coherent cheer and those inside the execution room snapped to attention. Ando pulled out his cell phone and found a streaming feed of the events going on outside. Everyone gathered around his screen to watch in sickened anticipation. Nathan and Senator McCaskey stood at a podium in front of a gigantic screen, proudly emblazoned with a gently waving American flag. Nathan smiled and waved at the adoring crowd that largely chanted his name while McCaskey too applauded him- albeit disingenuously. He gestured for the crowd to quiet as he leaned close to the microphone and flashed a cocky grin like the suave politician he was. All it took was three simple words to send the crowd into jubilated madness. "We got him."
It seemed like the very walls of the building shook and the news stream that Ando had dialed into showed similar scenes all throughout the country: New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Houston, Miami, Detroit- in every major city and smaller town, people gathered around public squares and TV sets to witness history. But it didn't stop there. In global cities like Tokyo, London, Mexico City, and Delhi the story played out with varying levels of fanfare. While most foreign outlets ate up the hysteria, the BBC downplayed the significance to the point of almost frowning on the media circus that had engulfed the world. It only made sense that they be the voice of reason in a world gone mad with bloodlust. Western Europe was never friendly to the campaign to suppress specials in the first place, so Sylar's capture was not viewed with the same level of infectious enthusiasm as some of their supposedly civilized allies.
"My fellow Americans," Nathan chuckled, echoing a familiar greeting to the nation used by famous politicians, "thank you to all who have joined us in celebration of our nation's greatest achievement. It is by your collective effort and the brave dedication of our finest soldiers and courageous citizens such as yourselves that I can proudly say that the biggest threat this country has ever known has been brought to his knees." He waited for the swell of cheers to subside before continuing. "But it was not by our effort alone that Sylar was captured. Ladies and gentlemen, for far too long we have been operating under the assumption that all those with abilities were dangerous, myself included." The crowd suddenly turned on their hero, booing his insinuation that they had been wrong all along, but Nathan patiently waited them out. "In this nation's great history we have been forced to admit that we were wrong in our perceptions and prejudices and it is only when we can admit our errors that we can heal the rifts that threaten to tear us apart. There was a time when we believed that the Native Americans were an inferior race although they showed us how to survive in this land and healed us with their medicines. We once believed that the Chinese and the Germans and the Irish were all disposable even though they risked their lives to build our railroads and engineer our greatest cities. Even though they were strong enough to work in our factories and give birth to our children, we didn't trust that our women had the mental capacity to have an informed and intelligent opinion on political matters, so we didn't allow them to vote." He paused and gave an easy laugh. "I, however, recognize that women make up 68% of my base, so I very much value them." The crowd roared in laughter and it was amazing how he was able to so quickly win them back to his side. "But most recently we thought that blacks didn't deserve to attend the same schools, drink from the same fountains, or eat at the same lunch counters as anyone else. We were wrong. Embracing differences is what has made this country great. Specials too have made contributions to our collective welfare, both large and small. But tonight, they gave you Sylar." The crowd was stunned into silence, unsure of what to make of the proclamation. "In time perhaps we too can have the courage to look back and say that we were wrong, but the first step in the journey begins with faith- faith that specials everywhere honored by banding together to end Sylar's reign of terror through a program called the Chimera Project. A program conceived of and sponsored by Senator McCaskey." The crowd began to softly cheer, although they were still skeptical. Nathan gripped the sides of the podium and prepared to fall on his sword in a final attempt to sway them. "FDR once said that we have nothing to fear but fear itself. I stand before you all tonight and take full responsibility for my part in overestimating the danger of those with abilities. It will perhaps be my biggest mistake and I fully support Senator McCaskey's effort to unite this country through his program to bring together those with abilities and those without so we can all move forward and end this war. We have for too long allowed our hatred and fear blind us. Both sides have suffered when all along we have all been striving for the same goal: mutual respect and safety. Tonight, it begins. Tonight, Sylar will be executed and it will be televised." Once again, the crowd roared with approval and it made him sick to think that the people he sought to represent were not the noble individuals he hoped they were, but a band of barbarians. He forced himself to give a quick smile, but was sure to keep his voice stern like the only adult in a room of millions of rowdy children. "We are not glorifying his death or making him a martyr for his cause, but it is our hope that with all of us as witnesses, we can finally close perhaps one of the darkest chapters of our history and begin a new one, written with eternal hope and enduring determination- coauthored by specials and non-specials alike. Tonight we leave behind the darkness of night and welcome the light of a new day and a new era. Tonight is the end of Sylar."