Claire snapped out of her darker thoughts. The damage was done, Shepherd had heard her. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know what I’m doing.” She wasn’t even sure if she was talking about the baby anymore. Something was very wrong with this meeting, with how hard Maryanne was trying. The whole damn world was wrong.

“Well,” Maryanne cocked a little smirk back on her lips. “First you’re going to sit down, you’re going to take a deep breath, and then you’re going to eat the rest of those fries.”

Feeling manipulated and cagey, Claire did as she was told until her plate was clean. When it was done, her eyes wandered to the window. It was nearing nighttime, the last of the blue sky peeking between the swollen clouds. Beyond the Dome was the real world, a place she no longer understood, no more than she understood her own thoughts as the hours wore on.

It was obvious that Shepherd, Jules, even Maryanne had been especially obliging lately. And of course, because she felt crazy, Claire’s paranoia only grew at their unlikely dispositions. Shepherd had brought her to this room almost every time she’d been awake, listened for hours as she played the piano or just sat with her in the chair, always touching her belly, cupping, stroking, changing his patterns of touch so she could not disregard them and focus on whatever she was doing.

Had the circumstances been normal, it would have been cute—the fanatic Alpha father already bursting with pride... just like her dad had been. She’d lost her temper with him twice for no reason. She just could not stand another moment of being touched. The thing about it that had been most unsettling, was that Shepherd had actually acquiesced.

Then what had the bastard done? He’d pulled out one of his forbidden books... and read to her. And she’d actually liked it!

While he was reading, Claire had glanced at the shelves, Shepherd’s windows, and glared at the spine of the baby book she avoided like the plague, wondering if there had been some suggestion on soothing pregnancy tactile aggravation with story time. She hated that book, hated that its bright white cover did not fit in with the other books, hated that she was always tempted to look inside, but had to fight herself, to keep distant, because she was afraid.

To stop the whirlwind in her thoughts, she had pressed closer to Shepherd in that confusing moment, sniffing and humming, eyes closed as her hand stroked up his thigh straight towards the distraction she wanted. She’d fondled over the fabric of his cargo pants until he was as hard as she was wet.

Claire O’Donnell had initiated sex.