Hey, guys! Sorry this is late, and that I didn't get the chance to reply individually to your wonderful reviews. Life got a little hectic there for a while. Thanks so much for all of your supports as I've been posting, and without further ado, here's the finale chapter!

Chapter 12 - Confessions

Claire stared resolutely at the changing numbers above the shining metal door of the elevator on her way up to the executive office of the Kirby Plaza office. Memories of how she and Peter had flirted – yes, she could acknowledge that now – in this very same elevator tugged temptingly at her mind, promising a cozy relief to the sickness that knotted her stomach, the grim determination that clenched her hand until her bones creaked.

The elevator dinged, releasing her, and she walked past Angela's assistant without him even looking up from the day planner he was writing in. For a moment, Claire wished he would protest, call security, do something to throw this into proper dramatic relief. She wasn't sure if she wanted someone to stop her, or just someone to fight.

Barging through the double doors so they slammed against the wall, Claire was displeased to see Angela didn't so much as flinch. She merely turned a page on a document she was reading at her desk, raising one hand to gesture carelessly toward a couch in the receiving area.

"One moment, Claire. This is a pressing matter," Angela said.

Her words, the dismissiveness that angered Claire so frequently, slid off her back with an easiness that Claire was not accustomed to. Perhaps mind games with Peter had been a good refresher, preparing her for how to handle her grandmother.

Claire continued to stand before Angela's desk, taking in every minute movement of her pen, each sigh and disgruntled frown that punctuated her work until she flipped the file shut and called for her assistant to send it down to the research division.

Turning her gaze to Claire only once he was out of the room, Angela examined her dispassionately, clearly considering angles of attack. Claire returned the stare, her mouth a hard line.

Finally, Angela stood, laying down her pen with a dull click against the hard wood of her desk. She made her way to an alcove in the wall filled with bottles and fine glassware, pouring herself a drink as she asked over her shoulder, "Anything for you, dear?"

"No."

Claire's eyes followed Angela as she walked back to the couch, smoothing her skirt as she settled comfortably into the cushions.

"Why have you come here, Claire?"

"Thought I'd give you a mission update," Claire said sarcastically.

"There's more? I thought Fusor was already well in hand," replied Angela, expression studied.

Claire hesitated momentarily, and then decided to open with a lesser gambit, "I just thought you might know something interesting she said while kicking me in the face. She said she knew you."

"We have met before. We tried to help comfort her after her mother's untimely demise."

"At your agents' hands," Claire added, and Angela inclined her head. "But, that made me wonder. Why would you send two undercover agents after a person who knew all along their story was faked? The case was never about Fusor, was it?"

"Of course not, dear. That's hardly news." Angela replied, patting the soft leather of her couch as an invitation for Claire to sit. She ignored it, pacing instead while her grandmother watched shrewdly. "You know the threat that Bob made against my son. After everything he's been through, I just wanted to see him succeed, like any mother would."

"No! Don't say it was about Peter! I know it wasn't about him, you never planned to lock him back up – you'd never give up his power. It was about us – me and him!"

Angela said nothing, coolly rotating her wedding band around her finger with her thumb.

"The marriage license is real, isn't it? That's why the mission isn't over."

It was Elle's comment – that the Company never faked anything – that had gotten Claire thinking. As insane as it was, as much as it flew in the face of logic and the law, she knew there was something there. And it was only now, speaking the words, that she knew how true they were. The was no connection, on paper, between the Claire Gordon who died after Nathan Petrelli left her and her mother, and Claire Bennet. Nothing at all.

There was a grim smile in Angela's sharp eyes as she nodded. "You've always been a clever girl, Claire. I'm glad you've finally taken your rightful place in the family. Yes, the Petrelli name still means something with the judges of New York City. It wasn't difficult to find one who would tailor procedure to our special needs."

"Then end it! Use our name and fix it!" Claire exclaimed desperately, walking close to Angela with the intent of shaking a reprieve from her.

"That's not really what you want, Claire." A denial was on her lips, but Angela continued ruthlessly before she could voice the lie, "In any case, I don't think you want to endanger Doctor Suresh or Miss Herrera any further, do you?"

"What do you mean?" Claire asked feeling a chill sweep over her. She distantly recalled something Nathan had said to her the week before, about her adoption.

"Do you want us to throw away our tenuous truce with the government, just so you can unfile a piece of paper? They can't know how much power we have, Claire. The minute they do, they will declare war, and none of our kind will be safe."

"Did you... you tipped the government off, didn't you?"

Angela let out a startled laugh. "I don't plan quite that far ahead. And despite what all teenagers think, not everything is about you. It was merely convenient."

"Convenient," Claire repeated, shell shocked. "Why? Why would you do this? How does it benefit you?"

"It benefits all of us, Claire. As a species. We've arranged such things before – just ask your mother."

"Meredith?" Claire whispered, stopping her pacing. She felt queasy, knees weak beneath her.

"Hmm? Yes, her too, I suppose. But Sandra Bennet certainly knows a thing or two about breeding, as well you know, and she could enlighten you about the more theoretical aspects if you wish."

"You honestly just said that. You're breeding us."

"To be fair, I did think it would take more than one mission for you to come this far." Claire shivered. Once, she would have wondered just how much Angela knew, and what her sources were. The mystery made her grandmother all the more frightening. Realizing that Angela's power meant she could personally pry into her family's lives at any time she wished – that made her terrifying. "I clearly over estimated your restraint."

Claire's jaw ached as she bit out, "I don't know why I forgot for a moment that you're the real bad guy."

Angela raised an eyebrow at that and stood, setting down her untouched drink before taking two quick paces over to Claire. She slapped her sharply across the face.

Claire gasped, eyes suddenly wet as she brought one hand up to her stinging cheek in shock.

"The only thing I have done, Claire," Angela pronounced, "is give you the man you love."

Claire shook her head blindly, squeezing her eyes shut against tears as anger fled her. All that was left was self-loathing and a deep, unsettling feeling that it would pass quicker than could ever be called right.

"It's sick," she cried.

"Oh, Claire," Angela murmured, taking her granddaughter into her arms. Claire went limply, desperate for someone to cling to, wanting to cry out this betrayal, this fundamental shift in her reality on a loved one's shoulder. Angela would have to do.

Angela stroked gentle fingers through her hair, trying to hush her sobs. "Shhh."

"Why did you do this to us?" Claire sobbed.

"Because I love you. I want you to be happy. Isn't that what family is for?"

Claire hiccuped a laugh against her grandmother's shoulder. "Pretty sure family isn't for fucking."

Angela patted her absently on the back, apparently finished feeling maternal even if Claire wasn't finished feeling despair. Pulling a handkerchief from her jacket pocket, she wiped briskly at her granddaughter's tears.

"Royalty is always allowed its foibles, Claire."

Meeting her grandmother's cold eyes, Claire settled somehow inside. They didn't even live in the same world. The way Angela saw it would never be how Claire saw it, and she was suddenly, urgently grateful for that.

Frozen stillness growing between them, it was not hard for Claire to extricate herself.

Angela thought her life was a game – Claire had known that for some time, but it was a brutally crushing blow to realize it was a game Angela had won.

Claire slumped against the elevator wall as she watched the numbers tick downward this time, dejectedly shoving hands into designer jeans pockets. Her right hand bumped up against her phone, and she had to squeeze it to the side to fit her hand in it.

Wait. Claire stood up straight, an idea occurring to her. As much as her life was game to her grandmother, lesser beings were mere pawns barely worthy of her notice. And there was one thing she could do, at least, to make Angela's victory bittersweet.

"So... how'd it go?" May asked as Claire slid back into the driver's seat of the MG.

"My grandmother is a sociopath."

"Yeah, I think we already knew that. I mean how are you coping? You're the one who just went to confront her grandmother over using her in a crazy incestuous marriage scheme!"

"Turns out it's a crazy incestuous eugenics world domination scheme," Claire corrected flatly.

"Well, yeah, of course. Because that's what you do," May said, blinking.

"And it's not new. Angela brought up Meredith!" Claire exclaimed, emotion rising her voice – real emotion that felt like her own, unyielding but sane and predictable. "Oh, God, she's probably like Nathan's secret half-sister or something. I'm such a freak!"

May stared at Claire for a long moment, long enough for Claire to calm down and begin to fidget.

"Sweetie.... we knew that, too. The freak part, not the unbranching family tree thing. I mean, you cut off your own arm and then regrew it yesterday. That's pretty freaky."

Claire looked down, flexing her left hand, feeling its disconcerting lightness without her rings.

May scrunched her face in thought, and continued, "Do you really think Meredith is your aunt? 'Cause you showed me that picture that time, and I don't really think she's a Petrelli. Plus, exile to a trailer park is pretty harsh, even for the Queen Bee of Evil."

Claire hadn't really expected to have to defend that theory. Feeling slightly stupid, she replied, "Yeah. I guess. But Angela is totally trying to get me and Peter to have genetically mutated babies!"

"God, your family is fucked up."

"That's not comforting, May!"

May shrugged lightly in return, but a desperate kind of uncertainty plagued her eyes as she said, "Claire, I'm trying here. I don't know what to say. This is all scary is as hell, and I can't imagine how much worse it is for you. Are you okay? Tell me what I can do to help."

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...," Claire trailed off, slumping into her seat. Closing her eyes, she tried again, "I can't expect you to handle my insane life when I can't do it."

"Seems like you're doing okay to me," May offered, and Claire opened her eyes to look at her sardonically. She shrugged a little, saying, "Aside from the sleeping with your uncle thing."

"Thanks," Claire said.

"No, I mean it! You said your bad girl target whatever knew about you guys all along. Angela totally screwed you guys, setting you up to fail, and it didn't even make a dent on you! You totally kicked her ass."

Feeling flattered even as that long time splinter of self doubt she had about how she used her abilities worked itself free, Claire blushed. "Well, that's not quite true. Fusor dented my arm pretty good."

May let out a puff of air that lifted her bangs off her face, getting into her reassurances with manic enthusiasm, "But even then, you cut it off to fix it! That's hardcore!"

"It kind of was," Claire agreed.

A pleasant silence drifted between them. Claire watched the traffic ebb and surge, thinking of the good that could be salvaged from the mission – Peter's recovery, her own satisfaction, Grace's rescue, Fusor's capture – while May watched her expectantly.

Eventually, May prompted, "What are you going to do?"

"Talk to Peter, I guess."

"Or!" May began, "Here's a suggestion: don't. Send him a postcard, and never see him again!"

Blonde hair flew as Claire shook her head.

"No. I can't do that. He deserves to hear what's really going on from me. And then he can decide to do what he wants with her. And I–" Claire cut herself off.

"You what?"

"I want my rings back," Claire admitted.

May covered her face with both hands, letting out a distressed groan. "Do you even know how wrong that is, girl?"

Claire crossed her arms, mouth pressed into a a thin line. There was no good answer to that question. Yes, it was wrong. Yes, going back was a bad idea. And no, she didn't have it under control.

But that didn't change what she wanted.

"Okay!" May said, clapping her hands. "Here's the plan. Step one: we go together to the beach house, grab all your stuff, and move you back into the apartment." Claire's stomach flipped at the idea. "I give Peter a death stare until he's backed into a corner. Step two: buckets of therapy."

"Oh, you know of a psychiatrist who wouldn't run screaming from the room?"

"...no. But the rest is a good plan!"

"So how do you think Apple would feel about me moving back?" Claire asked, trying to cover the flicker of hope that this would burst May's bubble.

May waved a hand flippantly. "Oh, she wouldn't care. It's not like she moved in, you know."

Claire forced a smile.

"Then it's a plan."

May smiled back brightly for a long beat, but her smile faded as her dark eyes found the falseness in Claire's expression.

"It's not, is it?" she asked quietly.

Claire looked away. "I need to talk to him alone, May."

"But!" May flailed helplessly for a moment, "If you do that, you'll end up doing the incest tango again!"

Claire was silently, merely holding her friend's gaze until May backed down with a sigh.

"I love you, you know. That's why I put up with this."

A pang of guilt gnawed at Claire's heart, and she softened, saying, "I love you, too. You're like a sister to me."

May tossed her hair, working the handle to step out of the car, saying as she exited, "Just so you know, coming from you, that takes on a whole different meaning."

Claire chuckled, glad for May's jokes for once, even if the honesty in them was too harsh to confront directly. At least it gave her something to divert her attention, to allow her to pretend her hands weren't shaking and that she was not on the verge of an irrevocable decision.

And then Claire was alone, feeling a chill once more, skating along her skin even as her heart raced feverishly.

Trying to suppress her trembling, she kept a white knuckle grip on the wheel as she steered her way out of town. Claire stopped short several times, growling at other drivers and yelling a few apologies out the window as her pedal foot tapped involuntarily with nerves.

The approach to the beach house was odd, feeling to Claire both like the first time she had ever seen those roads and like they were ingrained in her memory since childhood. She parked on the drive with a jerk, eyes wide and unseeing as she unbuckled, getting out of the car on unsteady legs.

Claire's pulse pounded in her ears as she opened the door. Something in her expected Peter to jump out from behind it, maybe to sweep her up in his arms like on that first day, making her forget all the violent emotion of the day.

But Peter was nowhere to be found. Sudden panic gripped Claire. Was he even home? Was she going to have to wait for him, rings and unpacked baggage hanging over her head, pretending she hadn't already chosen?

Eventually, the sound of kitchenware clattering filtered through to her, and Claire let out a shaky exhalation of relief, making her way to the back of the house and the kitchen. There she found Peter, monitoring a boiling pot of pasta, sharp scent of garlic already in the air.

"Hey," she greeted weakly, hovering at the far side of the room.

Peter glanced up, soft smile on his face, "Hey. Thought that was you. Lunch should be done in a few."

"Why are you cooking?"

Peter thumbed the edge of a red coated spoon, raising it to his mouth to taste it. "Mohinder called me."

"Right," she croaked. "And food was the obvious solution."

"Hey, I'm Italian," he said, grinning, lightness of his tone easing Claire's nerves. "It always is."

Cautiously, she stepped into the kitchen, keeping her back to the island, her eyes on him the whole time.

"Why didn't you come for me?" she asked.

Very aware of the distance between them, aware that Claire was not ready to cross it yet, Peter met her eyes sincerely. "That wasn't the right thing to do. I trust you, and you don't need me chasing you all over the city. I knew I should be here for you when you got home."

It made sense, a deeper, more satisfying kind of sense than what the childish side of Claire still half wanted – her hero rushing to her side, banishing all doubts, shielding her from Angela's harsh reality. It made sense that Claire knew she would not regret believing years from now.

"Who did you go to?" Peter asked.

"May. And then Angela."

Peter's expression darkened, hazel eyes glinting. "What did Mom say?"

Claire smirked bitterly, replying, "What do you think? The mission wasn't about Fusor, the marriage license is real, and we're supposed to produce a legion of super powered babies for her. Oh, and she knew Fusor would recognize us and didn't bother telling us, just for fun."

Peter nodded, looking mad but unsurprised. Claire felt a snap of anger at that.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" she accused. Memories of that day filtered back to her: Peter's hesitance, Angela whispering in his ear. She'd been blind not to see it before. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know. I... suspected," Peter said, shrugging helplessly. "I know my mother."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Claire asked.

Peter's jaw clenched, guilt written on his features.

"I just couldn't push you away," he admitted.

"How would that push me away?"

At some point, Claire's caution had disappeared, and she had stepped fully into the kitchen, into Peter's personal space.

"How wouldn't it?" Peter asked, for the first time in a week looking like the exhausted, vulnerable shell of himself he'd been since his breakdown. It had been so easy to forget the hell they had both been through.

Claire felt her resolve weakening, but had to ask. She couldn't let herself wonder about this.

"I need you to tell me the truth here, Peter. Was this a plan? Were you... were you trying to get me into bed?"

"No! That's not what I care about. It was because I missed you! Okay?" Peter snapped.

"I was here," Claire said, trying to hold on to her anger. "You were just too much of a mess to do anything about it."

It was a low blow. One Claire felt ashamed of as soon as she said it, knowing her anger was forced, hiding her fear. But the beautiful thing about Peter was that he knew that before even she did.

Peter tiled his head back, hand on his neck as he looked to the ceiling. "I don't want to fight, Claire."

Neither do I, Claire thought, unsure if she was pressing this because it was important or just to dodge the issue.

"You said we'd talk about trust," Claire said, feeling like a fool even as the words came out of her mouth. After all they'd been through during the mission, after he let her work this out for herself today, what greater demonstration of trust did she really need from him?

"Okay," Peter said. "We'll talk."

He raised an eyebrow at her expectantly.

Off balance, she fumbled for words, "Well ... if you want me to trust you, you have to trust me first!"

"I'm working on it," Peter said equably, taking a step closer to her. It was very hard to argue that point, even knowing he hadn't mentioned the probable genuineness of their marriage license. She hadn't done anything because of a stupid piece of paper – and she most definitely hadn't done it because she thought it was fake.

And his behavior was already changing; she had noted it herself.

"And I was talking with May – therapy seriously may not be a bad idea here!"

He looked at her askance. "Claire, I'm in love with you. I've been through therapy, and I can tell you right now that no therapy in the world is going to change how I feel about you."

"We should still try," Claire maintained, voice wavering.

"We can, if you really want, but right now I'm not seeing the problem. We're good for each other. I want to take this chance with you, Claire. It's not like we have forever."

Why did he have to use that word? Hearing her own words echoed back to her, the reminder both of his mortality and how enmeshed their hearts and thoughts were at all times crumbled her resistance even further, until she could only sputter her final protest, "You're acting like we're the same as any other couple. We're related!"

"Claire... I've been afraid of myself, of my powers, of what I want for such a long time that I barely even remembered what it felt like to look in the mirror without flinching. I'm tired of it. I just don't care anymore – this has never felt wrong to me."

"It should."

"But it doesn't," he said simply, stepping to her.

Claire's throat tightened at his pronouncement. No matter how complicated Angela wanted to make things, it was actually that simple. And whatever else Angela had done, she had shown Claire that if she truly wanted this, she could have it.

"Angela is crazy. We have to do something–" Peter's mouth covered hers, cutting her off with a kiss she couldn't help but pour all her longing into, barely remembering that it hadn't even been a day since she'd last kissed him.

The moment was lingering and sweet. When they parted, Claire buried her head in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. We're really doing this, she thought.

"I missed you, too," Claire confessed.

Peter turned his head slightly, kissing her temple. "Your rings are on the table. I tracked them down earlier."

The image of Peter, searching every inch of the first floor on his hands and knees brought a smile to Claire's face. It slipped away, however, as she remembered her train of thought from before the kiss. Pulling back from Peter was impossible, so she hopped up onto the edge of the island counter, Peter's hands on her hips.

Clearly pleased with the positioning, he leaned in again, stopping short when Claire said abruptly, "I called Nathan."

Peter was struck by a sudden fit of coughing. "Why?" he gasped out.

"Angela was holding a threat over us," Claire said, thumping him absently on the back as his coughs subsided. "Our compliance with her plan for us, or deportation for Mohinder and Maya."

Peter winced, but his expression was resigned. He did know his mother, as he'd said.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I wish she would leave other people out of this."

"At least her world domination plot doesn't involve the deaths of millions this time," Claire said.

"I think that sentence may say more about you than her," Peter replied. "Anyway, what does Nathan have to do with this?"

Triumphant smirk on her face, she said, "He's removing Angela's leverage right now. He's got the Company clearance, so he's moving Fusor."

Realization dawned in Peter's eyes, "He's trading her to the government in exchange for the INS forgetting Mohinder and Maya exist, isn't he?"

Claire nodded gleefully.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Peter said, cupping her face to kiss her wide smile quickly. "But... from now on, can you not mention Nathan while we're making out? It's a bit of a mood killer."

Claire schooled her expression into solemn innocence, drawing an X over her heart. Peter leaned in again, and Claire couldn't resist one more jab, "So that means talking about how much my dad is going to kill you when he finds out if off limits, too?"

"Hey! I still have a lot of powers! I could survive him!"

"Uh huh, Peter. I'm sure you could."

Peter pouted, and she kissed him lightly on the jut of his lip, teasing. He seized her suddenly, pulling her into the deeper kiss he'd been attempting.

Breathing heavily, cheek pressed against his and eyes still closed, she said, "I want my rings."

Taking her left hand, Peter intertwined their fingers, pulling her down from the counter as he stepped back. The stove, Claire noticed, was off. Somewhere in all their discussions, Peter had realized he would get his way, that she would stay, and he had clicked it off with TK to save their meal. Sneaky bastard.

He led her over to sit at the table, rings shining on her place setting. Hovering over her shoulder, he asked into her ear, "Do you want me to put them on?"

Claire considered for a long moment, starting at the glint of gold and diamond that was now achingly familiar. A moment long enough that Peter prodded, "Do you want me to put them on?"

"No. I'll do it this time."

Her heart was loud in her ears, but her fingers steady as she slipped them on, feeling right for the first time since she'd torn them off in anger. She felt Peter's left hand on her shoulder, and placed her own over it, clinking the metal together. His right hand stroked through her hair, cupping her jaw to turn her gently to look at her.

And they sealed it with a kiss.