Chapter 35- Epiphany

Nathan was exhausted. Throughout the past few days he had been on an emotional roller coaster that never seemed to end when all he wanted was to just get off and throw up. More and more he found himself wondering if it all was just the result of a bad taco or something, he found some relief in just believing it was all a dream. How was it possible that Peter had been in a coma? In the real world- the one he chose to believe in- that would never happen because his little brother was immortal, unable to be hurt and certainly not come that close to death. And as if he needed any more evidence that things were not as he knew them to be, Sylar's actions had defied all logic. It was unpredictable and unexpected- therefore it was impossible that the maniac killer would even entertain the idea of keeping his word or apparently staying with Peter to protect him from…whatever… because in Nathan's world he had already established that Peter didn't need anyone's protection but his from time to time. The only thing Peter really needed to be saved from was himself.

Claire watched Chekov's fingers fly over his console with expediency and it gave her some comfort to think that at least one other person was working hard to try to get them back. The look of intense concentration on his face made her hopeful that they would be found. For perhaps the first time since she had come aboard, she began to realize how vast and empty space was. The idea of space had previously been an abstract one, but now it seemed like an endless horizon in every direction. Infinity was a concept that she was having to come to terms with, both in her surroundings and the length of her lifespan. She glanced around the ship at the other worried faces- both of her own kind and the crew of the ship- and her heart sank a little when she thought about this only being a brief moment in her long life. One day all of these people would be gone. One day, Hiro, Jim, Matt, Uhura, Mohinder, all of them would die and leave nothing but memories and dust behind, yet she would remain to mourn them. If Peter and Sylar were never found, she would have to suffer it alone and she didn't know if she could. She would always know that they were out there somewhere, but the eternal separation threatened to crush her soul.

"Sir!" Chekov cried excitedly as he nearly jumped out of his seat. "I think I have found a trail, Sir! There is a recent disturbance from this location on a trajectory to the Romulan star system. Our maps of this area are incomplete, but the two planets of Romulus and Remus are listed." His blue eyes were wide with hope and perhaps just a bit of trepidation. He may have been young, but he was wise enough to know that charging headlong into Romulan territory uninvited was not going to be easy or pleasant.

"Makes sense." Jim shrugged. "Of course they would take them back to their home world- Spock as a prisoner and the others as prized possessions. Noah, what are the chances that Peter and Sylar could escape on their own?"

"Fairly good." He guessed. "That is if they work together, which is a big if. Peter will probably try to escape quietly, but I could see Sylar slaying his way out. With his powers, the body count could be quite impressive."

"Do you think he would do that?" McCoy asked horrified, "Kill hundreds of people just because he can?"

"He already has." Nathan muttered miserably.

"And it isn't like the Romulans have any real defenses against them, either. It's not like you guys are susceptible to kryptonite or anything." Jim laughed. "Which leaves us with only one option: we have to follow that trail and get them back before they cause an intergalactic PR nightmare for us. Chekov- plot the course so Sulu can get us there posthaste. Let's just hope they can entertain the Senate with magic tricks until we get there."

Peter blinked his eyes as his pickaxe fell from his hands with a clatter. The rock wall before him swirled and danced in the most sickening way and it wasn't because of the flickering light from the torches that lit the dark and cold pit he was forced to work in. Maybe the pit wasn't cold- maybe it was just him that felt that way since the woman next to him was sweating and staring at him with fear in her eyes. He didn't know if he was dying, but he knew that without his powers the chances were exponentially higher.

"Why do you stop?" The guard behind him growled. "Did I tell you to quit working?"

Peter turned his head slightly as though he couldn't comprehend what the man had asked him. His thoughts along with his body were moving much too slow, this he knew and he could guess that the outcome would not be good but he simply couldn't force himself to go any faster. He was all out of strength and feeling very sick from breathing in the soot and mineral dust. His eyes went wide and he gasped in surprise and pain when the guard gave him a solid whack across the back with his whip. "Get moving!" He barked and Peter found himself reaching for his tool with shaking hands.

Down the line, Sylar watched the exchange with more than a passing interest as he kept chipping away at the rock. He found himself wanting to yell at Peter to just pretend he was working- anything to make the guard go away. Deep down he knew the guard took pleasure in the suffering of others- lording over his group of slaves and enjoying the power it gave him because that was a very familiar feeling. And he also knew that once he identified Peter as being weak, the bullying and harassment wouldn't stop until he was dead. He got the distinct impression that there would be no accountability for the death of a prisoner- no one would give a damn and Peter's lifeless body would be dragged out and tossed away like the piles of waste rock that were hauled out by the cart load from the mine. He sneered when the guard struck him and he watched Peter's face go pure white with shock. "Hey!" He yelled casually resting his tool against his shoulder. "Don't you know who we are?! I demand to speak to Mendak! We will not be treated this way!"

Everyone in the mine turned to look at him, even Peter who looked dazed. The guard slowly made his way to a defiant Sylar and demanded, "Explain yourself."

Sylar regarded the man behind the protective suit as though he could see through it. After a moment or so of glaring at him, he gave a contemptuous smirk. "We came as guests of Mendak and this is how you treat your gods?" He asked in a low voice. "Lucky for you we are patient and merciful or I would have cooked your brain in your skull and sucked it out your eye socket." He paused for a few seconds to let that unpleasant image settle in the Romulan's mind before adding, "Now release us and take us to Mendak before I get bored with you and have your brains for lunch." The guard had probably heard just about every excuse from prisoners as to why they should not be there, but this one took the cake and he began to wonder if they really did know Mendak. Sylar patted his stomach and said in a menacing growl, "Time is ticking and all of this work is making me very hungry." There was something in the man's dark eyes that made him go running off to verify his story.

Down the line, Peter gave Sylar a weak smile. His back stung and he felt like passing out, but at least he bought them some time. He leaned on his pickaxe like a crutch and wondered just how long the eclipse was going to last. As soon as he got his powers back, everything would be ok- he knew it would. It was just a matter of living long enough for the sun to come out again.

Hiro and Ando tried to hide their excitement as the ship raced across the vast expanse of space. It was like a boyhood dream for them to actually be in a space adventure. "How fast do you think warp speed is?" Ando asked with a giddy grin.

"I don't know." Hiro admitted as he pushed his glasses up. "But it can't be faster than the speed of light. Nothing travels faster than light and Einstein is never wrong."

"Never?" Ando laughed. "He couldn't tie his own shoes and you trust a guy who wears sandals to tell you how fast you can go?"

"Lots of brilliant people wear sandals, but that is beside the point. We are actually racing across space to another star system populated by aliens to save the world!"

"Who's world?" Ando chuckled. "Not ours, and Peter is hardly a damsel in distress- forget Sylar."

Hiro's smile fell and he muttered, "Yes, Peter. Ando, something must be wrong. Why didn't Peter just teleport back with Sylar and Spock? He has my ability now and he knows how to use it, so why doesn't he?"

Ando's smile also evaporated and he shook his head sadly. "I don't know, Hiro. But something must be keeping him from coming back. I wouldn't worry too much about Peter, he always finds a way, right?"

At least enough of Sylar's story checked out that they were removed from the chain gang and placed in a cell on the surface of the dark planet. Sylar craned his neck to peer up at the sky through the rusty blackened bars of the only window in the room. He could just see the rim of the eclipsed sun, a bright and shining ring against an otherwise black sky.

"Still nothing?" Peter asked letting his head fall against the rough hewn stone wall. Of course he knew the answer to his own question- he still felt horrible and none of his powers worked. As if to give a sarcastic answer, Sylar reached out his hand. Peter supposed that if his telekinesis worked, he would be choking to death- so, the answer must have been no. "I'm sorry." He said quietly. "I'm sorry for getting you into this mess. I had a plan, I really did and it would have worked except…" He gestured to the roof and let his hand fall in his lap in frustration.

As Sylar sat there and watched Peter stew in his own misery, he had something of an epiphany. Without his powers, the ever present and all consuming hunger he normally felt was gone. And with it, the intense cruelty he would have normally assaulted him with. But also gone was the nagging empathy Peter had accidently infused him with and all that was left was Gabriel- the long buried watchmaker. All that he was before the powers, before the murders, who he was as a person was sitting on the floor of the cell looking across the room at his former arch nemesis- but for the life of him he couldn't find a reason to hate him now. He didn't particularly feel sorry for him, but he didn't hate him either.

He hadn't been Gabriel for so long he felt kind of naked and vulnerable without his powers to protect him. He thought back to when he first came on the ship and he wanted to die because the thought of immortality was overwhelming. Now that he was again mortal, he longed for its protection once more. When people had powers as he did, he tended to see the world through very different eyes: actions had no real consequences- only inconvenient pauses. There was almost no situation that made him feel any real fear or apprehension because he knew he would live through it no matter what. Now that assurance was gone and he couldn't tip events in his favor. He had simply forgotten how to get by as a normal human being and he was a bit envious of Peter because he was much more practiced at living his life.

Spock stared at the ceiling of the lab, pondering if would be best to remain conscious or just give in to the urge to pass out. The tangy copper smell of his own blood made him feel nauseous as did the sticky sensation of it on his skin and clothing, but he tried hard to block it all out along with the stinging sensation of the many, many cuts the Romulan had inflicted. This was just a warm up and the worst was yet to come.

He tried every possible method available to him to escape, but he had been unsuccessful in his attempts. He tried to seek solace in meditation and the knowledge that his discomfort had saved the lives of the Klingon ship, but more often than not the pain would pierce its way through and bring him back to the present- the unsanitary lab. If the Romulans wanted to kill him, he understood and just wished they would get it over with already, but that was not their way. They were just as methodical as their Vulcan cousins and they could drag this out for days. He shifted as much as his restraints would allow and clenched his teeth when some of the wounds on his torso reopened with his movement, sending a fresh swell of green blood to be soaked up by his shirt.

Spock was nothing if not a realist. He knew the Romulans left his clothes on not out of a sense of modesty, but as yet another source of torture. The wounds would itch against the fabric and he would be unable to scratch them. His blood would form a scab interwoven with his shirt when it dried, giving them yet another way to inflict pain when they slowly peeled it off, tearing the scab away from the wound and reopening it yet again. One wouldn't normally think of a shirt as a torture device, but then again, most people weren't Romulans with a half Vulcan victim at their disposal.

As he lay there, he tried to calculate the probability of a successful rescue by Jim but he soon realized the error of his ways. Jim Kirk defied all laws of logic- both literally and figuratively so there was no reliable way to formulate it. He found this to be both infuriating and encouraging.