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

-Paroxysm-

Fourteen months later…

To the normal naked eye, the facility was abandoned. However, Noah Bennet was not your average man, and skepticism and suspicion were all part of the job. Cocked gun in hand, he silently crept down the empty hallway, eyes alert to any possible movement ahead, around and behind him.

And speaking of behind…

At the sound of footsteps at his back, Noah tensed, whirling around to aim with expert accuracy, only to be face with a wide-eyed Nathan Petrelli, hands held up defensively. "What the hell, Bennet?!"

Noah rolled his eyes. He supposed he should have recognized those expensive Italian loafers, and now the fact that Petrelli couldn't take orders. "You were supposed to be checking out the back rooms," he quietly accused.

"We did," Nathan responded, narrowing his eyes as the accusation in the other man's voice, nodding in the direction behind him. Noah took the opportunity to notice Mohinder Suresh following at his heels, Detective Matt Parkman and a few of Bennet's own agents farther away.

"And?" Bennet prompted, with barely disguised impatience.

"Nothing. Zilch. Nada. It looks like everything's been cleared out."

Noah nodded curtly, turning back in the direction he had been heading. "Alright. There's one wing left." He could tell they were all starting to have their doubts, but after over a year of searching, this had been their most promising lead they had had, and Noah could only pray this would be the one.

Unspoken, they split in half, three to each side of the hallway. Six doors down the right side of the corridor, Suresh gave a sudden shout and everyone rushed to see his discovery. Crowding into the doorway, eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, they finally found what they had been looking for.

Lying tightly entwined on a small bunk against the farthest wall, were the unmistakable forms of Peter Petrelli and Claire Bennet-Petrelli. Peter was bared now to nothing more than a pair of generic, navy boxer-briefs, looking thinner and smaller in frame than Bennet had ever seen him. His face was turned away, stubbly cheek not the least bit obscured by shorn hair cut close into a near buzz-cut. His back was to them, sheltering most of Claire's body against his torso. Claire was wrapped around him, arms around his middle, face hidden in his chest, blankets obscuring the rest of her. The only distinguishing feature was long blonde tresses falling against the sheet.

Though there was no blatantly obvious match to their identities, he instinctually knew the pair couldn't be anyone but his missing daughter and her elusive uncle.

Slowly, his face clouded with trepidation and fragile hope, Nathan crossed the space between them. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out to lightly rest a hand against the sleeping man's shoulder.

Peter's reaction was instantaneous.

Peter sprang to attention, scrambling off the bed with an unexpected grace and speed. Despite being violently jarred by her bedmate, the girl behind him barely reacted, merely rolling over and nestling back into the warmth he had left behind. Peter immediately put himself into action, leaping at Nathan, his closest target.

Nathan stumbled back with surprise, trying feebly to fight off his brother's sudden furious fists. Peter landed a hard blow to his abdomen before the politician could recover enough to fight back, attempting to restrain Peter by grabbing his arms. Peter flailed with protest, growling in frustration as his brother struggled with him.

Parkman and two of the three anonymous agents rushed forward to help, forcing Peter's arms behind his back to hold him fast. Peter threw himself against their hands, pushing and pulling, his eyes wild and flashing with rage, his expression dark in a way that was almost savage. It was in that moment that Noah noticed several bruises marking his face, including a black eye and several purple and blue spots blemishing his cheek and jaw.

Glancing at the other Petrelli brother, he could tell Nathan had noticed the same thing, seeing his clenched jaw and the barely restrained anger in his dark eyes.

Peter continued to fight despite obvious reddening beginning to form around his wrists and forearms. "Don't touch her," he snarled, the venom in his voice startling despite the violence he had been showing since awakening.

"Suresh, do something!" Bennet snapped at the doctor, seeing his struggles tiring and hurting the young man more than helping him. Mohinder immediately obeyed, removing from his pocket the emergency kit they had loaded in case. Securing a medium sedative, Nathan was motioned forward to provide a more comforting touch, Noah taking the needle from the good doctor as he was more likely to be able to handle Peter's physical protests.

Peter was held tight as a stubborn vein was finally found and the needle inserted into his arm, earning growls and grunts from an irritated empath. He fell into Noah within a few minutes of injection, clearly dazed. Despite that, he locked eyes with Noah, hissing out a clear, "Mine."

His fingers flexed, seeming to contemplate reaching out for the other's throat before he was slapped away. Whirling his head around, he was faced with Nathan, and he glared again. "You can't have her," he snapped firmly, teeth bared, "She's mine."

With that, he passed out, leaving all the men around him completely bewildered.

Noah was the first to snap back to reality, nodding to Mohinder. "Suresh, check on Claire." The fact his daughter hadn't moved during the entire exchange was incredibly worrisome. Mohinder nodded, making his way to the girl's side. He knelt down, brushed the hair out of her eyes, and firmly tapped her cheek a handful of times. Receiving no response, he pulled a flashlight from his kit, pulling up lids to check her pupils. He frowned, but clicked off the light, rising back to his feet.

"It appears she's merely drugged."

"Merely?" was Nathan's piqued comment.

Mohinder glanced at him. "The prognosis could be far worse. I don't detect any outward indication of a head injury, but nothing's conclusive. My guess is some form of sedative, stronger than what I gave Peter. His physical condition is so weak nothing steroid-based was required. Claire, however, with her lack of basic responses, is likely on a tranquilizer."

With that, Bennet had had enough. "Parkman, take the men and search the offices we saw before. Files, surveillance, video footage, other equipment; anything that could give us a clue what happened here. Let's get the hell out of here was soon as possible."

Noah was the one to lift Claire into his arms, the girl hanging limply in his embrace as if a rag doll. Seeing her in nothing more than a thin, men's wife-beater, goosebumps rising up against her pale skin, he snagged the blanket from the bed, snugly cocooning his daughter with it. Seeing Peter lifted out on a makeshift stretcher, Noah followed after, carrying his little girl out into safety for the first time in one year and two months.

The private hospital they were transferred to specialized in being as quiet and discreet as they were good at their job. Peter and Claire's case was forwarded to a physician Mohinder trusted, a Dr. Andrew Carr.

Both families had been called. Heidi, along with her and Nathan's boys, were on holiday in Paris with Angela. Both wife and mother were relieved to hear the news, but would not be returning until the next weekend. Calling the apartment he shared with his family in Manhattan, Bennet arranged with his wife to have their son Lyle spend the night at a friend's house, and then Sandra rushed to the hospital to be with her husband and daughter.

After an hour of testing, examination, and admittance forms, both uncle and niece were resting in separate rooms. Nathan paced the hallway, watching, disgruntled, as Suresh conversed first with Noah. The two men's heads were bent together in conversation, but Bennet soon dismissed the doctor to comfort his worrying wife. It became obvious as he placed a hand at the small of the woman's back and guided her to a room that Claire had been cleared for visitation. Nathan was practically dancing out of his skin by the time Suresh came to him.

"…I'm still uncertain what lasting damage this ordeal may have-"

"Clarification, please."

Mohinder pursed his lips. "Peter is about five foot, ten inches. And the average weight for a male his size would probably be about 150-180. Peter's always been on the leaner side, but-"

"What's your point, Suresh?"

"What I'm saying, Mr. Petrelli, is that the exam showed Peter weighing in at barely 100 pounds." Nathan's eyes widened. "Your brother is severely underweight, Congressman. He's clearly emaciated and malnourished. He also shows signs of physical trauma, evident in several scars that didn't completely heal."

"Didn't heal? Pete's as indestructible as my daughter. Don't think I didn't notice those bruises. What the hell happened to my brother?"

"We haven't gotten back the results of the blood tests-"

"Suresh…"

Mohinder sighed, conceding to the Congressman's persistence. "My best guess is a drug to counteract his abilities. The Company had developed something similar years ago." He narrowed his eyes in thought, addressing the other man with a rare casualness. "Nathan, it's obvious your brother hasn't been able to heal in months."

Nathan's lips pursed but he said nothing else on the subject. "What about Claire?"

Mohinder hesitated for a moment and then cleared his throat, looking back down at the clipboard. "Oddly enough, Claire is the exact opposite. She's still a little undernourished, her iron and vitamin levels are a little low, but overall, she's in fair physical condition. She's actually put on some weight since her exam last year, but it's nothing unhealthy."

He looked up at a frustrated sigh leaving the other man, taking in Nathan's dark look. "Congressman?"

"Peter," he grumbled, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if his brother's name was the answer to the entire situation. For all Mohinder knew, in all that he felt he was missing, it could very well be. He sighed himself, uncomfortably patting the politician's shoulder in a faint gesture of support. "Well, then. Dr. Carr will be monitoring more closely over their conditions. If you'll excuse me…"

Nathan responded with a silent nod, and the geneticist took his leave. The Congressman took this as his own cue to see his little brother.

The hospital was quiet, empty and cold. A dim glow spilled in through the tiny window from the corridor just beyond the door, illuminating the lithe figure on the bed opposite. Bathed in the soft light, the pure white of the sheets gave him an unearthly look, making him seem to almost glow with his ashen pallor, as Nathan made his way to Peter's bedside.

It made his stomach knot as he clearly saw every point of what Suresh had been pointing out.

He was thin, so thin Nathan could see the faint outline of his lower ribcage. There was barely a pound of body fat on him; his body was small and compact, all hard angles and tight muscle.

He was not certain how long he stood there, just staring like a deer-in-the-headlights as he stood at his unconscious brother's bedside. He barely flinched when the doctor Suresh was working with, Carr, came into the hospital room.

"…from Dr. Suresh's notes, I've been told a side-effect of Claire's healing ability is an unusually high metabolism. In short, I'm guessing both your daughter's and brother's bodies' burn calories in at least half the time as say, you or I…"

Nathan flushed with shame. He hadn't known that little fact. He remembered the way Angela had been disapprovingly snide, constantly, about Claire's eating habits. The way Claire's eyes had always darkened at her grandmother's comments, ones Nathan had never bothered to contradict. It wasn't as if the girl stuffed herself full of junk food; it was just that she had a healthy appetite one didn't usually see in a "lady" as Angela would approve of. He had often wondered where a young woman her size put it all. Now he knew.

"…it's obvious the people holding Ms. Bennet and Mr. Petrelli captive didn't take that fact into account. It might explain some of their malnutrition…"

Neither had he. He remembered teasing Peter, once a forgetful eater, about the way his own appetite had increased, saying Pete was trying to keep up with a niece determined to sample every type of cuisine New York had to offer.

Into the night hours, there was a slow cycle of physicians, nurses and visitors through the two rooms. Nathan wasn't really aware of how much time had gone by, or how that time had passed. The only thing he was aware of was the repetitive beeping of the heart monitor, and the slow rise and fall of his brother's chest as he breathed with reassuring life.

Nathan was a sight to see and unusually rumpled with his suit jacket thrown aside. His tie was undone and hanging around his neck, suspenders down and sleeves rolled up. He was pale and drawn, bags under his eyes and frown lines deepening around his mouth.

Bennet had come in at some point, standing nearby, and both men made quiet conversation at Peter's bedside. "How is he?" Noah inquired.

"Stable," Nathan replied, "He hasn't woken up yet."

As if to be contrary in a way only little brother could, a low groan contradicted his statement, drawing both men to turn toward the other in the room, watching Peter's eyes flutter open as he finally came back to consciousness.

Bleary, bloodshot hazel eyes stared at them, his brow furrowing with confusion, and then wincing at the pain from his swelling bruises. He grunted, struggling to sit up. Without thinking, Nathan placed at hand against his chest to gently push him back down, only to have Peter's shot out to grab his wrist, his eyes clearer and guarded, but slowly gathering recognition.

"Pete," Nathan said calmly, "Let go. You're safe now."

With another guttural sound, Peter dropped his hand, his head rolling back against the pillow as he took in the sight of Noah. "What's going on? Why am I here?"

"You're in the hospital," Noah answered, "We found you in the facility you were being held captive in."

"…what…?"

Still hazy from the tranquilizer and his ordeal, Peter answered their bombardment of questions and inquiries the best he could, but even he could tell it was getting them nowhere. Just when Noah was about to concede to Nathan's frustration and suggest, there was a muffled padding of feet running down the hallway. Claire Bennet appeared in the doorway, blonde curls in disarray, looking disheveled in a terrycloth robe belted over a hospital gown. She ignored both of her fathers, only having eyes for the man in the bed nearby.

She shuffled across the floor, Nathan barely having time to move out of the way lest they ended up colliding. Peter was little more than half-conscious, facial expression slack with listlessness, eyes drooped and half-lidded with drowsiness. He said nothing as his shifted over, lifting up his arm. Claire did not hesitate, kicking off hospital slippers before she climbed into the bed with him, fitting perfectly into the circle of his arm. He wrapped his arm around her and she snuggled up to him, resting her head against his chest. Peter's eyes closed, and within a few moments, it was clear he had fallen asleep.

Bennet vaguely noted his wife's appearance after their daughter. Both he and Nathan were speechless, and from her place against Peter, Claire silently stared at them, wordlessly challenging them to separate them from the familiarity and safety of her bedmate.

The entwined uncle and niece left an unsettled sensation in the back of both fathers' minds. They stared, both men remembering Peter's half-coherent possessive claims back at the facility. "Sandra," Noah began quietly, "Maybe you should take Claire back to her own room."

"Pish-posh," his wife responded, clucking her tongue. "You'll leave her where she is. That girl's been crying and fussing and worrying since she woke up. This is the first time I've seen her calm all night. She'll stay right where she is. She needs the rest."

Claire closed her eyes as she visibly relaxed, breathing out a relieved sigh.

And there was little the two fathers could do but surrender.

A malicious wind swept down the empty boulevard, bending even the mightiest of the trees to its will, scattering fallen leaves and discarded litter is a flurry of movement around his feet, fluttering the edges of the long coat he pulled tighter around him against the freezing chill. And so he walked on, drawn almost against his will to a familiar vantage point that had become his haunting, staring into the lit windows of a house he knew he should have avoided for rational reasons. But his heart spoke, drawing him closer, and no amount of logic could stop him.

He stared through these windows, a stranger on the outside, and it was the girls he saw first. Nearly twins if not for the fact they were a year apart, they were mirror images of their mother, beautiful, young, and endearingly innocent in her likeness. Hair in the richest of gold, teasing, light smiles, soft, warm green eyes. They sat playing peacefully on the cream colored carpets of the living room, far too occupied with vibrantly colored toys and miniature dolls to notice anything more.

Angie. Alexis. He knew the names given to them at birth, he knew their ages, the day they celebrated each year as they turned another year older. He knew, but it was not his right to know.

She stepped suddenly into the room, and his awareness of anything more in the world disappeared just as abruptly. All things tangible or intangible, fantasy or reality, right or wrong, good or evil, all of it vanished completely in the wake of her presence.

She was like an angel fallen from heaven, even more beautiful with the years (though he knew logically she did not age) in a way that took his breath away. Sunny hair fell in silky waves down her shoulders, emerald eyes sparkling with life and vibrancy, her body lithe and perfect despite three children. He felt the familiar heartache, the pain of longing that overtook him the very instant she made herself known to him. Resting in her arms was an infant, a young child nestled against her bodice in the peaceful sleep of the well-fed and content. His coloring was his father's, but he was his mother's son, delicate features and downy hair seeming almost too fragile for a man-child.

For a single instant, he allowed himself the slightest surrender, allowed himself to imagine himself in this place. This is where he would be now, if only he had accepted the place in life she had offered him, accepted that sacred place at her side she held vacant for so many years, waiting in vain for him.

He could imagine that these children had come from him, to hear the calls of "Daddy", and know they belonged to him. He could imagine the right to sleep beside her, hold her in his arms, was his own. He could imagine that this warm home would be there to greet him at the end of each long day, banishing the cold and loneliness of the outside world. He could imagine, but he could not make that a reality.

Another man had sired these girls, earned the right to be called their father. Another man called this boy his son, would teach him the ways of the world and life. Another man shared her bed, held her in his arms. Another man would come through the doorway at any moment, be welcomed by this home's warmth; to toss aside his suitcase, loosen his tie, and hold out his arms for hugs that would be gladly given. Another man she called her husband.

He could deny it all he wished, keep up the mantra of defiance he struggled to ingrain into his mind over the years. But there was no point in the end, to deny a truth that was so concrete. He loved her still. He did not want to love her, shouldn't love her. But he did.

The feelings that once seemed so strange and new and glorious to the boyish dreamer now plagued the soul of the jaded man, festering and twisting inside his heart until it became just another invisible scar. A wound deep inside of him that refused to heal, only growing deeper as time passed him by. He would live century after century alone, for he was denied her presence at his side.

The baby, Noah, shifted and fussed in her arms. Stroking the crown of feather-soft hair, murmuring in low, soft tones, she began to sing a familiar song to soothe her infant son. And he swept away as silently as he had come, leaving behind love and warmth, listening to the bittersweet echoes of her lullaby.

Peter's eyes flew open, his body trembling as he struggled to reunite the fantasy he had been living so vividly with the realness of reality. He shuddered for breath, blinking quizzically as a small hand cupped his cheek. The other hand was placed palm side-down onto his chest, his face gently turned the opposite direction until he found himself looking into the gaze of the object of his dreamscape.

"Hi," he rasped, a shy smile tugging at his mouth.

"Hi," she softly replied with a return of his smile, undisguised feelings glowing in her eyes. Tongue-tied, he was unsure what to do or say next, but Claire made the decision for him as she tilted her head up, lifting her lips to his.