Chapter 28- Freudian Slip
Sylar eyed the transporter pad with something approaching suspicion. He had long ago worked out the physics of how the process worked- or rather a hypothesis on how it could work based on particle physics- but the technical report his aptitude had generated was of little comfort to him. It wasn't so much the possibility that the transporter could fail that bothered him as Dr. McCoy had ominously voiced to anyone that would listen, but rather an uncertainty on his part regarding his regenerative ability. He simply wasn't sure if his healing ability was up to pulling together his vaporized atoms should they inadvertently become scattered. Worse yet, if Peter's ability also survived- which he knew for a fact it would because he had fixed it himself- would the two get mixed up in a scramble to reassemble particles? It was bad enough that he carried traces of Peter's emotional nature as it was. It was uncomfortable and most inconvenient. The last thing he wanted was physical matter mixing with his, making him some chimera with attributes of both men. He had no idea what that would look like, but he sure as hell knew he didn't want to find out.
Almost as if on cue, Peter brushed past him and took a spot on one of the ovals on the pad. He was a little apprehensive of the transporter, remembering how it made him sick the last time he used it, but he was mentally prepared this time and he took a few deep breaths to steady his nerves while McCoy, Spock, Scotty, and Jim surrounded him as they took their respective places. He readjusted the medical bag that was slung from his shoulder for the hundredth time and tried to think about the task at hand and all that Jim had told him about the Klingons. While he was rehearsing the information in his head, his field of vision was filled with a brilliant shade of red and he glanced up to see Sylar glaring down at him with an expression so vicious he suddenly understood why Sulu thought he could make people's heads explode with only eye contact. "Sylar." He greeted in a low voice. "Surprised to see you here."
"I have my reasons." The taller man quietly sneered. "And they have nothing to do with the greater good." He took the only available position left next to his nemesis with no amount of pleasure. The truth was, once again Spock's logic was flawless and he appealed to his almost incessant need to acquire knowledge. Wouldn't encountering a truly alien race with unknown technology be a great fix? Even though every fiber in his being screamed for him not to go, his hunger demanded it and in the end he relented…again. He didn't know if alien beings had special abilities or if he could even harvest them the same way he did humans, but he secretly aimed to find out.
"No doubt." Peter sighed. The very sight of Sylar made him feel intensely guilty and he wanted to explain, or at least apologize, but he knew it would do no good. He had every right to be pissed and this was one time he would have to sleep in the bed that he made. There was a tension between them that was almost palpable and as everyone was waiting for Chekov to arrive and run the transporter, they all stood in awkward silence and tried to ignore it until Peter broke the ice by giving Sylar a small smirk and complimenting, "Nice shirt."
Sylar tugged at the left sleeve of his red uniform shirt self consciously. His limbs were a bit too long, leaving the sleeve to end just above his wrist. "I look absolutely ridiculous." He groused. "And why red? Why primary colors for that matter? We look like a box of preschool crayons."
Jim turned around to chuckle at his joke while Scotty answered, "Red is Engineering, which you are for the time being, lad. An' a damn good one ta boot Ah hear." Sylar didn't know about Scotty's legendary status as the galaxy's best engineer ever in the history of humanity, so the compliment was wasted on him.
"That is your mission, Mr. Sylar." Spock reminded. "To act as a member of the engineering team under the auspice of repairing the vessel while you gather information on the ship's exact status."
"Yes, I know." He droned a bit irritated. His memory went a bit longer than that of a gold fish and it was all fairly simple. He would do as he was asked, along with a few side projects he had in mind…
"And you hang with me." McCoy stated nodding toward Peter. "We will probably have the most freedom to move around the ship, so that should give you plenty of opportunities. Now remember, Klingons are not humans- they don't take kindly to compassion so if they refuse treatment don't force the issue. Just move on and keep triaging. Leave the more technical stuff to me." Peter gave a determined nod and moved his supply bag yet again. He didn't know why he was so nervous, this was essentially what he did as a paramedic yet he just hoped that he could blend in well enough to get the job done. He didn't want to let Jim or Dr. McCoy down.
Chekov ran through the door breathless as though he sprinted the entire way and took his place behind the console with a meek apology for keeping them waiting. He had just finished delivering the rest of the evolved humans to the bridge to witness the ship's crew in action- so long as they stayed out of the way- per the Captain. Jim felt as though it might make things go smoother if they felt like they were involved and at the very least not cooped up in the rec room like gerbils in a fish tank. He was late because it took quite a bit of convincing and finally intervention by Noah to keep Nathan from storming down to the transporter room to drag Peter off the pad by his new blue shirt. To say he was upset would be an understatement. It was something of a relief to the young Russian to know that his only ability was flight which seemed fairly harmless in such a confined space, but Nathan was a much larger man and very strong…and very, very determined. And it didn't help that Claire was watching the whole exchange with such sadness in her eyes it made him wonder what was going through her mind. He looked at the pad to get a headcount for the logarithm he was programming and when his eyes settled on Sylar, he gave a broad smile and a light chuckle. "A red shirt? That's funny."
"Why is it funny?" Sylar asked narrowing his eyes dangerously at the young man. He didn't make a habit of killing ordinary humans, but if the kid was making fun of him he would make an exception.
"Oh…" Chekov stammered. He didn't want to make the murder man angry. "It's just ironic. Now we have a red shirt that von't die."
McCoy noted the confused look on Sylar's face and he dryly said, "Forget it. Inside joke." He shot Chekov an icy glare that clearly demanded he not say another word and added. "Ready when you are, Ensign. The sooner the better."
"Ah, yes Sir." He eagerly nodded getting the message. "Energizing."
Sylar's mind noted the strange sensation that flooded his body when his molecules began to slowly drift apart until even his mind was disintegrated. When he reappeared in a dark hallway with the others, his aptitude gave a small shout of victory and surprise when he realized that his hypothesis was most likely correct. It had been a long time since he felt the joy of discovery and it brought a smirk to his face. The excitement was short lived, however, when he heard a hoarse coughing by his side. Peter had involuntarily reached out and grabbed Sylar's arm for support as the other arm wrapped around his stomach and he doubled over with nausea. Sylar looked at Peter's hand grasping his shirt as though he were looking at a python dangling from his arm. He was filled with revulsion and felt a distinct impulse to pull away, but he was paralyzed by an opposing urge to remain there. He almost growled when he realized it was Peter's residual empathy acting on its own volition. Uncomfortable and inconvenient.
Jim gave the suffering man another reassuring pat on the back and Bones tended to him until he recovered, apologizing profusely for his natural reaction to the transporter. He really tried to hold it together and he thought he was prepared this time, but he was apparently wrong. "When it comes time to leave," he panted breathlessly, "I think I will just teleport myself. I can handle that." Even though it only took a few minutes for Peter to recover, it was Sylar who felt infinite relief when Peter finally let go of his arm.
On the bridge, Sulu sat in the Captain's chair with a sense of purpose and dedication. He was an affable man most of the time, but when it came to being in charge he took his duties very seriously. "They are aboard, Sir." Uhura reported just as though Jim had been there. The chain of command was in place and Sulu had been placed in charge as the highest ranking officer on the ship. She was fine with that because she respected him and she knew that someday it might be her that was appointed. Who knew, perhaps she might one day have command of her own ship.
"Thank you." He nodded sternly. "Monitor all communications. Chekov- reroute transporter controls to the bridge and come back up so you can be prepared to snatch them back at the first hint of trouble."
"Aye, Sir." His best friend's voice streamed from the intercom on the chair's control panel. It felt strange having Chekov address him so formally, but he knew it was just protocol.
"I can't believe this." Nathan muttered as he paced at Spock's station like his pants were on fire. "What the hell was he thinking? Does he have some kind of death wish or something? I am telling you, Sylar did something to his head because his brain isn't working!"
"You can't blame this on Sylar." Noah said calmly. He couldn't believe he was defending the evil man, but it wasn't fair to damn him for something he didn't do. There was no doubt Sylar had a laundry list of evil deeds stretching from Earth to Alpha Centauri that he hoped he would burn in Hell for, but this wasn't one of them. "Peter made the decision to go and it was of his own volition. He understood what was being asked of him and he agreed."
"Come on, Nathan. Don't tell me you wouldn't have gone in a second if Jim asked you." Matt nearly laughed. He understood Nathan's protective instinct, but he understood his hypocrisy far better. He was a politician and it was in his nature to live a life of double standards.
"That's different." Nathan all but whispered as he shot the law man a cold glare.
"Peter has many powers and he can use them for good." Hiro said as he pushed his glasses up on his nose with determination. "He is an honorable man."
"Honorable is fine." Nathan spat. "I just don't want him dead and every time he runs out into the wild blue yonder like this that is how he almost always comes back. 'Oh Nathan, I can fly- Nathan, I am going to blow up New York. Nathan, I have to save the cheerleader- Nathan, I nearly drowned in a pool of my own blood after a deranged serial killer threw me over a wall.' It never ends well."
Claire listened with wide eyes that began to tear up slightly. Peter was a hero, he saved her life and she had no idea that his own brother- her father- resented him so much for it. If he hadn't come for her then or even in Mexico, she would have died. How could she mean so little to him? His own flesh and blood? Noah gave Nathan a hard glare as he passed him to give Claire a warm and supportive hug. He knew he couldn't make her forget what she heard, and he would have entertained that possibility if the Haitian were around, but he hoped that in some way he could remind her that she was important and worth saving despite what her callous asshole biological father had to say.
Sulu and Uhura tried to busy themselves with the task at hand and try to ignore what was obviously a private and awkward moment, but they were interrupted by Chekov's arrival. He stopped short when he saw Noah embracing a quietly sobbing Claire and the evil looks Ando and Hiro were shooting at Nathan while Matt and Mohinder talked amongst themselves with an air of disbelief. Sulu frantically motioned for him to get to his station and go about his business and he gladly complied. He didn't know what had transpired in his absence, but he knew he didn't want to be a part of it.
He glanced over his shoulder and tried to ignore Claire's distressed sobs and he remembered the sad look in her eyes. He felt bad for her and wanted to console her as best he could by telling her that whatever made her cry was only temporary and she could be happy again, but he knew it wasn't his place. But if it was, if he could ever mean anything to her, he knew he would never make her cry. He would do everything in his power to keep a smile on her face because something told him it was all she ever really wanted. He turned back to his station and made sure all of the controls for the transporters were functional and he sighed despondently. He wanted to mean something to her, but he probably never would no matter how hard he tried.