Warnings: See chapter one. Keep in mind this may contain content not suitable for some readers.

-Paroxysm-

Peter lay listlessly across his narrow bunk, staring sightlessly at the ceiling above. With a heavy sigh, he tucked his arms behind his head and shifted against the uncomfortable mattress, exhausted but resigned to another sleepless night. He closed his eyes against the glare of the overhead lights, letting out another sigh. It used to bother him that his "hosts" refused to dim the lights at night, but now he was grateful for it. The contrast illumination kept him from falling into too heavy a sleep, giving a certain degree of alertness to any unseen intruder. Not to mention, it helped to not be blinded by the dark.

Though he knew it had only been a few days, it was far too long since he had seen Claire. They took her from him that night, no matter how much he fought and protested to keep her with him. She'd cried and clung to him, stirring up even more that protective, loving instinct inside Peter. But she was tired, sore and emotionally exhausted; it didn't take long for her to give in to be led away back to her room. Peter had been dragged back to his as well. He'd flown into a rage the moment the door closed on him, throwing his bedclothes and breakfast dishes, shouting and pounding on the walls. His whole body ached to have Claire back, to have her back with him where he could protect her and keep her safe.

Most of all, he just wanted her back in his arms.

They hadn't sent the guards in. Instead, a voice had crackled and spoken over the loudspeaker, monotone as ever, but distantly amused. He was told to calm down before they were forced to tranquilize him. If he behaved, he would see his niece again soon. Peter had deflated at that, reluctantly falling into begrudging agreement. He spent the next two days in silent obedience, the only thing keeping him from lashing out at the smug guards being the lingering hope that he would soon see Claire.

The unmistakable sound of the hinges creaking in the heavy metal door leading into his cell filled the air and Peter groaned, rolling onto his side to face what he expected to be the night watchman making his rounds. What he found was nothing of the sort.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of uniform the place's guards habitually wore. Instead, the man was wearing a suit and tire, appalling tweed but classier than the white-on-white uniform Peter was used to all the same. He was middle-aged, a little stout around the middle in a way that pulled at the buttons of his coat. Brown hair was balding down the middle, a pair of glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose, and his eyes were a murky sort of hazel, nothing all that striking. Indeed, there was outwardly memorable about the man; he gave off more the impression of a mild-manned salesman than anything more sinister. But if there's one thing Peter had learned, it was to not judge a book by its cover. That, and to trust his instincts, and his instincts were telling him there was something off about the man standing before him.

Said man gave him a genial smile, raising a hand in greeting as he stepped closer. Peter sat up and faced him, tense and guarded as he regarded every move the other made. The stranger then finally began to speak, "Mr. Petrelli. I'm sorry to have woken you. I apologize for the late hour, but I've been indisposed most of the day. This was the only time I was available to come see you."

Peter narrowed his eyes, but didn't reply, only giving a curt nod in response. The other man continued. "Now, I seem to have the unfair advantage of knowing who you are without returning the courtesy. My name is Robert. I've been the one overseeing your care since you arrived."

The empath snorted derisively at his definition of 'care' but Robert chose to ignore his interruption. "There seems to have been a complication in our last procedure. I'm hoping you could help me shed some light on what went wrong."

Peter straightened, no longer bored nor amused. "What complications?"

"You seem to have difficulties following orders, Peter. Your instructions were clear of what was to happen with the girl. Full copulation…and yet, you failed to finish the process. Why?"

It took a few moments for the meaning of tweed-man's words to settle into Peter's mind, and when they did, he was surprised he didn't get sick with the way his stomach rolled in answer. He remembered what Robert saw as his blunder. He may have been coerced, but Petrelli pride forbade him from giving in completely. His brows rose, lips twisting into a look of disgust.

"You're angry that I pulled out," he murmured incredulously. He remembered that well; leaving the warmth of her body at the last minute, his guilty finish staining the sheets, bringing Claire to climax by hand. "You forced me to violate my niece in the worst way possible, and you disapprove that I chose not to hurt her again."

Robert crossed his arms across his chest, his expression stern as if lecturing a wayward student. "You don't seem to understand me, Peter. We're going to try this again, and I expect you to do so completely, from start to finish."

"You can't be serious. You know the risks to that-"

Robert held up a hand to silence him. "I'm well aware what the risks are. However, the consequences will be much direr if you choose not to do as you're told."

Peter scowled at him. "What if I said no?"

The bespectacled man gave him a queer sort of half-smile. "Then you ought to remember that there are worst things a person can experience than dying, Mr. Petrelli."

Peter blanched, and with a self-satisfied smirk, Robert left him alone with only his stunned silence for company. There was no chance sleep would come that night.

"Peter!"

Oh God. Claire.

She flew into his arms, racing across the room the moment the guard opened the door. And the way Peter had of welcoming her lifted the fear and pain her heart had known of late. He wrapped around her, holding her close but gently, brushing kisses to her forehead and cheek, before resting his cheek against the top of her head and letting out a deep, shuddering sigh. "Claire…"

Claire buried her face in his chest, hands fisted tightly against his shirt, clinging to him as if he would disappear right in front of her. And honestly, that was a plausible fear in her mind. Since she was little, one of Claire's biggest fears was to be left alone. With the solid presence of her adoptive family growing up, it had been more an equivalent of the monster in the closet, but after the events of her sixteenth year, the fear of losing her loved ones was a harsh reality. In this place, she was constantly afraid of losing the man who in two years time had become her everything.

"Peter…Peter…" the best she could do was repeating his name again and again, a mantra reflecting the fervidity with which she was trembling against him. When her knees buckled out from under her, Peter lifted her into his arms. He may not have been a very tall man, but Claire was as light as her petite frame suggested, so it took little effort to carry her back across the room. He lowered her onto his bunk, following after as she immediately scooted back to him.

"Thank God you're here." He breathed into her ear, brushing her lips against the top of her head. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too."

She turned onto her side to face him, wrapping her arms around his middle. He responded, resting one hand against her hip while the other rested over her shoulders. Claire buried her face in the curve of his neck, sliding a leg between his and Peter cradled her against him, bodies molded so close they couldn't feel where one ended and the other began. "Are you okay? I mean…" he cleared his throat, "They treated you alright?"

Claire nodded against his neck, her hold on him tightening. "It was fine. But I missed you…I hated that they took me from you." She whimpered softly, nuzzling against his throat. "I wanted you so badly, Peter."

"Me too," he kissed her forehead, her temple, "Me too, sweetheart." The endearment fell without hesitation, as he felt and heard his desperate need to be with her reflected in both her words and body language. "But I'm here now, and I'm not going to let you go again."

Claire sniffled, though she did seem calmer as she snuggled into the crook of his arm. "How can you be so sure of that?"

"They'd have to kill me first."

She shivered. "Please don't talk like that."

"Claire…" As much as he hated to do it, he had to make sure she realized the reality of their situation. That the truth is, he would do everything in his power to make her safe, but he may not make it out of this place alive.

She shook her head furiously. "No, Peter! I've watched it happen twice. I won't see it happen again."

Then I'll make sure you don't see, he thought silently to himself, but sighed resignedly and relented into letting the topic go. He ran a hand through her hair, kissed her head once more. "About the other day…are you alright? Do you still hurt?"

At the pure, awkward concern in his voice, Claire couldn't help but smile, nuzzling against his skin in appreciation. Faintly, she remembered the look on his face the first time he entered her body. Besides the pain, the one thing that would always stick with her was the pale look of horror that had been Peter's expression, so pained and so regretful at having to hurt in any way. "I'm fine, Peter. I was sore for awhile, but it's better now."

"I'm glad."

She sighed contently, cuddling further against him. Peter smiled softly at the gesture and the hand splayed against her stomach brushed upward to stroke her back. "Peter?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

He combed a hand through her hair, fingers gently massaging her scalp. Claire leaned into the touch, letting out a pleased murmur. "Of course. You know you can tell me anything."

She braced a hand against his chest, leaning up to meet his eyes. "I love you," she stated, soft and matter-of-factly. She watched as his eyes widened with surprise, but when the corners of his mouth cocked into a pleased smile, her confidence was bolstered enough for her to continue. "I know it might sound weird, 'cause we never say it with those…things between us we never talk about. But I feel like it's something I should say." She nestled back into him, resting her head against his chest. "I don't even know how to define the feeling, but I want you to know. I do love you, Peter."

Peter could only nod along with her in agreement. It was a feeling and a confusion he could share with her all too well. A deep, steady love and connection, unsure how to define it, neither feeling just familial or friendly, just romantic or sexual. It was a kind of love that transcended categorization, and after everything that happened, whether it came to the point where he found himself only doting on his favorite niece, or passionately in love with her, Peter couldn't find it in himself to care about definition.

Their hands entwined, fingers interlacing as his palm covered hers in enveloping shelter. "I love you too, Claire. I don't know how to define it either, but you mean so much to me. I think you should know that too."

She smiled, lifting her head once more to rest her hand against his chest as her fingers splayed out, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her palm. Peter returned the smile and to her surprise and pleasure, leaned down to gently kiss her. She languorously responded, reaching up to cup his jaw. And then he couldn't resist kissing her again, and again once more. They parted and he brushed his nose against hers. "Claire…"

"Hmm?" She looked up at him at him through her lashes, her eyes warm and her mouth slightly swollen from his kisses.

He brushed the back of his fingers against the side of her face, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I'm sorry. For the other day. I know I'm not exactly your first choice of lover, but in any other situation, I would have done anything to make it better for you." His eyes were dark with regret, his smile sad as he continued. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Your first time should have been special."

Claire propped herself up to be able to face him more fully. "Peter, stop. You did everything you could for me. You took such good care of me." She pecked his lips. "I don't regret it being you."

"Really?"

She smiled warmly, kissing him again with reassurance. "Really."

He hesitated for a moment and then reversed their positions. He guided her to lie on her back, leaning over her. Claire looked up at him quizzically, but he returned her gaze with a tender look to his eyes, running his fingers through the golden hair fanning out against his pillow. "I want to make it better for you."

"You mean…?"

"Hmm-mm."

She bit her lip nervously, still apprehensive, but looking up at the man she trusted more than anyone else in her life, she nodded her assent. "Okay." Peter smiled, stretching out over her, and Claire slipped her arms around his neck, more ready now to give herself over to him.

His lips caressed her cheek in slow, sweet kisses, slowly trailing down to trace her jaw-line. She let out a low murmur of content, her head dropping back to give him access to her throat, Peter moving his head to explore the new territory bared to him. He sighed softly, intoxicated with her, natural scent and creamy, smooth skin filling his senses. At the same time, his hands stroked her, running them up to just beneath her breasts down to her hips, there and back again. Her lips parted into a small moan and Peter leaned down, pressing his mouth to hers.

She mewled with approval with the slow, seductive slide of his tongue against her, the caress of his fingers as they cupped her chin. He gave her another short kiss, gently tugging down her bottoms. Claire guided his lips back to hers, eagerly wiggling out of the pants to feel the full press of his body to hers. He lifted up and shifted his weight, supported by bent knees on either side of her. He made his way down her body, earning her moans of pleasure with each wet kiss pressed to her skin through the fabric of her clothes, her breath catching as he reached his intended destination.

"Love you," he murmured once more, warm hands gliding up her legs and gently parting them, his head disappearing under the blanket covering their bodies.

Later that night, Claire found herself shaken awake in the aftermath of a nightmare. She'd been allowed to share Peter's bed that night, but after two days and three nights without him, the lingering stress wasn't allowing her a peaceful sleep. Violent shudders coursed through her, and she tightened the blankets around her into a tight cocoon, suddenly and hyper-sensitively aware of the arm resting around her waist as her movement caused Peter to shift beside her, consequently pulling her closer to mold against his body. She turned in the sheltering circle of his embrace, touching trembling fingers to his face.

Startled out of his sleep, Peter opened bewildered eyes to feel the feather-light pressure of cold fingers against his cheek, and then soft lips pressing to his. His eyes widened as he half-heartedly returned the kiss, more concerned with the moisture against her skin as he cupped her face, tracing his thumb along her jaw-line, the way her body shook as she straddled him.

The kiss was close-lipped but nowhere near chaste, and she trembled ever more fervently against him, her hands fisting in the material of his t-shirt. He broke away, pushing away stray blond curls falling in the way of tearful, fear-filled eyes staring back at him. "Claire," he breathed her name, "What are you doing?"

She shook her head and shifted against him, the soft sounds of her sobs breaking his heart even as she leaned down to him again, trailing heated kisses along his neck.

He bit back a groan, inwardly berating himself as she moved again, rocking slightly against him, and he felt himself harden beneath her. "Claire, wait…talk to me…"

She shook her head again, more forcefully this time and she bumped into his chin, soothing her blunder as she pressed a kiss against the soft stubble of his jaw, her breath fanning out against his skin ragged and baited.

"You heard them, didn't you? What we're supposed to do tomorrow, perform on cue like we're some kind of animals…I can't do it again, Peter." She sobbed again, pressing her face to his neck. "I want to be with you, for real, not when and where they order." He opened his mouth to refuse as he realized just what it was she was asking for, to tell her this was far from what she needed. "It should be about us, not them," she whispered, and then she moved against him again, fingers clenching and unclenching so that nails scratched over his chest…his resistance broke, collapsed and fell away.

All that existed after that was Claire…Claire, Claire, Claire…

There was desperation in the way her hands tore at his clothing, a quiet hunger to her kisses, and he melted into the heat of it all. Her mouth fixed over his and he buried his face in her hair as he responded, his lips parting obligingly at the insistent press of her tongue. He panted for breath as he reluctantly pulled away, "Wait, sweetheart. Slow down. Let me do this right."

Claire only shook her head and kissed him once more. "No. Can't wait."

He groaned low in his throat as her hands slipped beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, wrapping around his arousal. Peter bucked against her hand, arching up to shuck the trousers off, naked skin to naked skin as he lay back over her.

His knee nudged between her legs, her thighs parting to cradle him against the center of her body. He loomed over her, his eyes darkened with ardor but hesitating. Claire laid a hand to his cheek, guiding his face to hers. She kissed him, teasingly catching his bottom lip between her teeth and eliciting a growl from him as he instinctually rocked into her in response.

"Peter," catching his earlobe, tracing her tongue along the shell of his ear, "Want you. Please."

His hands clutched at her hips, her legs locked around his waist and he entered her. As he moved inside her, he wasn't sure whether he was destined to drown, or burst into flame in some twisted form of spontaneous combustion, threatened to lose himself completely in her.

Her hands clutched at his head, fingers tangling in his hair as her back arched, hip moving in rhythm with him, urging him on. "Harder, Peter. I won't break."

The fragility of her in his arms contrasted her statement, but he obeyed, taking her with hard, fast strokes that jolted the bed and had them moving against one another urgently.

Her appreciative moans sounded in his ears, and he buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, murmuring incoherently against her skin, babbling words he barely made out, "beautiful," listening to him answer him with heated whispers, "feel you," feeling her tighten around him, "so good." She held him almost convulsively to her as she came, the world whiting out before his eyes as he followed her into climax, emptying inside her with a last few short, stunted thrusts.

She lay there afterward, her body so sated it was a strange, boneless sensation enveloping her as she slid back against the tangled sheets of his bed, the comfortable weight of him lying between her legs. His head rested against her stomach, eyes lowered to half-mast shapes with lazy contentment as she absently combed her fingers through his hair, felt the odd sensation of his breath against her skin every time he exhaled.

She pressed her lips against his temple. "A guard tried to make a move on me earlier." She felt him bristle and tense at that, but she continued to run her hand through his coarse hair, silently requesting he calm himself. He reluctantly complied and didn't move away, allowing her to continue. "One of the doctors got in the way. He was pretty angry. Said they didn't want to take any risks when I wasn't seeded yet. Peter…does that mean what I think it means?"

"I think so."

"…oh…"