Chapter 2: Breathing

Noah became aware of a continuous, calming, reassuring, soft hissing that reminded him of the sound of breathing and he tried out the theory with a big deep, refreshing breath before he dared to open his eyes. He was in the same seat, with the straps keeping him hostage. They seemed to have been from the same material as Sylar's clothes and had adjusted themselves to Noah's measurements. They were there to keep him safe, supposedly, and with the changes in speed that he experienced when Sylar had been working the controls, he needed them.

The walls were bent and charred everywhere, just like the ground had been on the planet, but the smoke was now being sucked out into a grated hole on the floor, the explanation for the hissing sound. Most of the windowpane was crimped and undulating, as if it had been under high tempereatures too. Only a small part remained undamaged and that was where Noah could see nothing, but the dark space and far away stars. No attackers, no spaceships, no projectiles. Withal, he had to wonder how their vessel held together.

Sylar lay face down on the floor beside his control chair, in a puddle of dried blood of extensive amounts, presumably from bleeding out more than once, although no wounds were visible and his clothes regenerated along with himself. Maybe now it was time for that talk, Noah decided, especially that he was not able to get out his chair without help.

"Sylar!" He yelled, missing the chance to use his legs for a good kick. That's how you wake that excuse for a human, no? Or perhaps a lower voltage shock of a taser would do better. "Sylar!" He shouted, annoyed by his situation when he noticed that the killer did not move, not even as much as breathing would've necessitated. Apparently a lot more was needed to bring him to consciousness than the sound of his name.

From his restricted position, Noah could only try a couple more things to try to wake him up, like shuggle the chair and generally make as much noise as he could, but no matter how hard he yelled, or stomped the floor, nothing worked. He continued till he could care any about his own well being and then he was too tired to and his thirst had accentuated by his throat drying out. An eternity must've passed and by then the old and evolution imperative weary man has given into his fate. Not as if he would've known how much time had gone by or noticed the difference between day and night.

Despite his frail state of health though, Noah bolted straight up shocked as much as his restraints let him when out of the blue, loud and clear, what sounded like Claire's calm and sweet voice blasted out from one of the consoles. "Sylar, come in. Do you copy? Over."

A moment passed and his daughter's voice sounded again through the radio and across unbounded space and he had no doubts about its owner anymore. "I repeat, come in. Sylar, please come in."

"Sylar, touch that bloody button already!" Claire added a little later a tad annoyed, "we need your coordinates for rendezvous."

Noah tried to get out his bounds with renewed object, although he had no idea where to find the switch Claire was talking about. He made some more purposeful noise, but his companion remained rigid, motionless and in an unnatural position.

"Sylar, where are you, baby? Damn it, Peter, this is the same frequency we always use and he's not answering," Claire declared in a nervous tone.

"I'm sure he's all right," Peter's voice followed promptly, "Sylar, we're switching to emergency protocols..coming round moon Nabbakka L to find you. Let us know if this is unnecessary. Peter out."

"Love you, Claire out," resonated in Noah's head and if he could've, he would've pressed his palms onto his ears as this was the exact moment Claire must've decided to turn up to volume as a final attempt to get Sylar's attention. Unknowingly to her, her father scowled as if in pain, and it was more from the meaning of those words, rather then the volume they were spoken with.

Claire's idea seemed effective though as Sylar's head turned into a more comfortable and normal position. Nothing happened for a little while, but then the evolved human finally pulled himself into squatting, a small groan escaping his gritted teeth as he did so. His eyes were still half closed, reaching a shaking hand up to the consoles. He mumbled his first words on impulse, they were hardly audible. Noah could've missed them if he could not see his lips move, "love you Claire." A bit more conscious and cognisant of what had to be done, he left his microphone on to let his friends know of the required coordinates while he could and his dizzy mind let him focus enough, "266.8; 102.8..128.5.."

It was Claire's perturbed sigh that was coming through the ether next, "Peter did you get that?"

"I'm kinda busy here fighting around twelve shranriat vessels at the same time, and trying to keep us vaguely on course," came Peter's rushed answer.

"I've found your location on the stellar map," Claire reported a little later, "you're only .35 lightyears off from where you should be. What happened? You were supposed to lay low."

"Like he can," Peter laughed.

"Did you use up all your energy again, Sylar?" Claire asked uneasily. She couldn't remember how many times they'd had that same conversation, but there were about half a dozen times she could think of just over the last century when Sylar needed some sort of rescue or at least help.

"I had luggage," the accused defended himself, glancing into Noah's direction, "you're still under attack? What are your coordinates?"

"We're all right," Peter's calm voice responded, "rest. We should get to you in less then an hour if you remain where you are."

"Copy that. Sylar out," he said on a tired voice and turned off communications. He would've flied the vessel over to them if they needed him, but was in fact glad they didn't. The immortal fiddled with the controls some more, opened a hatch to take out a couple of pouches of water and took one over to Noah before opening his. Sylar never looked him in the eyes when he passed him, nor uttered a word and by the looks of it, Noah could well assume it was because he was way too fatigued and dozy for such things.

A shelf pulled out from the bulkhead and converted into a bed at the evolved human's touch. Sylar dropped onto it heavily like sack of potatoes. At this moment it appeared to Noah that his once adversary suddenly looked all the years he had experienced. For the fraction of a second, Noah felt compassion for him, after all, regardless the reason, that man shared the same burden as his own daughter.

"Wake me up in a few days," Sylar groaned before closing his heavy eyelids, "don't touch anything," he said with a sigh and then remained as motionless as if he was out cold again.

Tbc