Peter knew it was a sad day when his brother was the prosecutor standing in front of him.

He was only vaguely aware of Nathan’s stoic questionings, the handcuffs on his wrists, the glares of disgust coming from the judge, jury, audience, and Tom Bennet; everyone in the room pretty much. The only thing he could see was the broken blonde, a young woman sitting by her foster father at the plaintiff’s table.

“I’m sorry,” she mouthed, eyes glistening in the dim courtroom light. Peter didn’t move an inch, but on the inside his blood was boiling, and a bitter realization crept into the base of his skull. Maybe that’s what that stupid dream sequence had been about. She’d come running right into his arms to suddenly pull away, say she was sorry, and run for the hills. But deep down, Peter knew that was just the resentment talking. Claire had nothing to do with this; it was all the work of her two fathers. Her adoptive father, Bennet, was the man actually suing Peter for statutory rape and forced incestuous relations…while Peter’s own brother was the man presenting the case.

“Mr.Petrelli,” Nathan was snapping, ripping Peter out of his reverie. The young man wanted to chuckle grimly at the title Nathan had just given him. Like good ol’ Nate could ever fool the audience into thinking that he wasn’t sending his own flesh and blood to the gallows.

“I repeat, did you or did you not force Miss Bennet-Petrelli to say that she’s in love with you?”

“I didn’t force anything.” replied Peter monotonously. It was the truth, but sounded like the antithesis from the way he intoned it. But who gave a care anymore? It’s not like that tweedy little defense attorney could convince a judge that Peter was so in love with Claire Bennet (he never called her by her now duel surname, never reminded himself of the golden statuette that had tarnished) that he’d become an insomniac, a recluse, never able to get her out of his head. How could an attorney that only half-believed Peter’s tale himself convince his own mother that Claire matched all of those feelings, illegal and sinful desires for her knight in shining armor…or her uncle too, as it was. Peter’s self-control around Claire had always been fragile, but on that ordinary Sunday, when she pulled back his shower curtain and sandwiched him between the cool tiles and her own warm body, there was no hope for him at all.

“So you’re admitting to manipulating her into sleeping with you and thinking that she loves-?”

“No. I didn’t manipulate anything.”

Beside Bennet, Claire was burying her face in her hands. Her bespectacled father tried to wrap her up in his arms but she angrily shrugged him off. These two men, both of which she no longer could call Father, were about to lock up the one person she couldn’t live without.

When she was a little girl, she always wanted a Prince Charming to come save her from evil, and then they’d ride away in their little marriage cart, living happily ever after. She’d gotten her first wish by far; Peter was the epitome of the handsome hero, even if he was more Batman than Lancelot. He died for her before they’d even exchanged names, and for that, Claire fell enraptured to the very thought of him.

She when she’d gave him oh so many Looks in that jail cell. How ironic; they’d shared their most tension filled, surreptitiously intimate moments in Peter’s cell of all places. Right where he was about to end up again for taking the next step forward with her. Three weeks after that, she came to see him again. There was no resisting the needs that tugged on her heart-strings anymore. Not only the need to fall into his arms, inhale his scent, taste every inch of him…but for answers, and safety. However, instead of seeing that endearing smile open the door, it was a woman the spitting image of him, claiming to be her over-protective grandmother. That’s when Claire was sure her whole life stalled.

Peter died that night, and was revived the next morning with Claire by his side. He’d morphed so much in just half a month, but his world lit up again to see her gorgeous form leaning over. Then, as soon as she revealed how she ended up in Petrelli manor, the life burnt right out of him, joining hers in the cemetery of lost hope. Since Sylar had dug a fatal shard of glass in his skull, Peter’d never really come back to life.

One year had passed since then, and caring about what other people thought, and what they shouldn’t be doing was thrown aside with their clothes. Claire found solstice in perspective. What are we really doing here? Kissing Peter, what’s so wrong about that? We’re simply putting lips against lips.  It’s just like touching elbow to elbow or hand to hand. And what about the sex? The only reason that’s forbidden is because of the mutated offspring, but we’ve always been safe about that…and when you think about what sex literally is, it’s really not that sensitive, is it?

Peter didn’t call for other comfort though; the feel of his niece’s soft head resting against his bare chest in the mornings was all he needed.

Nathan was sighing, rubbing his forehead tiredly. Peter remained stock still in that hard wooden stand. He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore, only hearing the judge’s call for a courtroom recess out of his tunnel like hearing. He hardly heard the bustle of fatigued attendants getting out of their benches and beginning to chatter. Nor could he see his brother leaning against the wood that divided them, desperately whispering for Peter to cooperate.

“Listen, Pete. You did something to my daughter that I’m never gonna be able to forgive you for,” Nathan said softly, bitterly, inaudible to anyone else. “But you’re my brother, and I still love you. Just, tell the truth. It’ll be easier that way, I swear. Your sentence could be half as long if you just give it up on this charade, man. We all know you did it, just own up to it and we can all put this behind us.”

Peter’s attention was captured by the last half of Nathan’s plea. “I am telling the truth,” he hissed.

Nathan groaned, ignoring the bailiff that was coming to untie Peter’s cuffs. Nathan muttered something to the officer about the cuffs not being necessary, and he offered a hand to help Peter down. Claire was still weeping, her sobs starting to echo in the room that was rapidly hollowing itself out. Peter tried to walk over to her, but Nathan placed a firm hand on his chest.

“You stay away from her,” Nathan growled, grip tightening on Peter’s dress shirt. His younger brother abruptly felt weak, and nearly collapsed onto Nathan for support.

“I’m in love with her, you’ve gotta believe me, I’m not just using her, Nathan, you know me-,”

He was begging now, clutching his brother’s shoulders madly, while staring as deep as he could into Nathan’s hazel eyes. This was becoming more than Nathan himself could handle.

“I knew you, Pete,” he sighed. “I dunno what’s up with you anymore. I dunno what goes on in that head of yours, how you can love your own damn niece. What I do know is that my supposedly responsible brother had sex with my naive, underage daughter. I don’t care how you feel, I don’t care why you did it, and though it pains me to say it, I really don’t care how she feels. At the end of the day, it’s still sick, wrong, and most importantly, illegal.”

“You don’t understand,” muttered Peter, releasing his brother as if he was covered in something revolting. Bennet was now trying to wrangle Claire out of the empty courtroom, but she was resisting vehemently.

“Just let me talk to him!” she protested, not caring that Peter and Nathan could hear every word.

“No, that man has tricked you-,”

“He has not! I’ve felt like this since before I can remember!” She stared through her foster father’s horn rimmed glasses, into his blue eyes.

“Please,” she cried, and Peter watched from the other side of the room, heart shattering. It was a bad situation to be put on trial for his misunderstood sins, but to have Claire forced through this…Jesus, it was tearing him up to know that it was all his fault.

It was in that moment, when he saw Claire’s pleading eyes shoot into him from across the room, that he’d have to do what Nathan advised. Of course, that would require lying, but that was okay.

Nathan seemed to be channeling Matt Parkman’s ability. “If you really love her,” he whispered in Peter’s ear, “you’ll let her go.”

Peter sniffed, running a slender hand across his face. He nodded absently, finally accepting that there had to be consequences to his actions. When he’d been with Claire, he’d never thought about the next day. All they lived for was the upcoming seventh heaven. Peter had obviously thought out the religious consequences of it all, but with all the abilities that he had obtained, he’d tried to convince himself that there was no such thing as God. Why would God give a mortal man such power, to match the infinite being himself? Especially if God knew that this particular man would yearn for his own niece.

“Just because it doesn’t make sense doesn’t mean there isn’t a God,” Claire would frown sometimes. Peter could never have any response but doubt. He wanted to prove to himself that he was God, but even after all his self-lectures, he still could never get that aching uncertainty out of his head. There was no way to deny that something had to bring Claire and Peter together. Someone had to be out there, twisting the universe so that Claire and Peter would undergo temptations, trials, and disappointments. Someone had to create this fate.

But now, the religion didn’t have a thing to do with it. It was society that they had to deal with. God could forgive, while man could not. Nathan and Bennet would never give up, and instead of putting up a good fight, all Peter was doing was prolonging Claire’s stress and heartache. His selfless nature couldn’t take it.

“Good man,” Nathan patted his shoulder. “Tell you what. When this is all over, I promise I’ll bring her by the jail sometime.”

Peter snorted. Nathan probably thought himself a saint for such an offer, but Peter saw right through it. A jail would be a “safe” setting, one in which he could feel positive that Peter wasn’t going to throw Claire down and start ripping off ever piece of fabric tangible. Not to mention that it was pity for a brother, not mercy for an equal, that fueled Nathan’s proposition.

Yet, Peter still mutely accepted. Acceptance. It was becoming too much of a habit, all of a sudden. Not for long though, he thought to himself, as his squirmy attorney and the bailiff escorted him out of the room. We’ll find a way around this, after it’s all over. We’ll move away, change our names. And when Nathan and everyone, when they’re all dead, Claire and I won’t have aged a day. Patience...that’s all it’ll take.

After all, why let man’s laws interfere with God’s destiny?