Fic: Dirty Little Secrets
Title: Dirty Little Secrets
Author: kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Claire
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: around 3700ish
Warnings: Spoilers through Building 26, Language, Incest, Sex, General Mind-fuckery
Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.
A/N: I cannot thank eeyore9990 enough for the beta work! Without her help and encouragement I would probably stop posting fanfic and drown in the unfinished docs on my computer.
A year had come and gone since people like her, people with abilities, had stopped being Heroes and started being the hunted. She had adapted, they had all adapted because there was no other choice.
Claire lived a double life: by day she was a college student who worked as a waitress on the weekends for extra money; at night she broke the law and did everything within her limited power to undermine the government's program to capture and imprison innocent people against their will. It had become a kind of underground organization; they warned people and, when all else failed, they hid people. Sometimes entire families made their way to new names and hidden lives through her. She would laugh that it had all started with a boy from a comic book store who slept for a week in her closet, eating Pb and J's and sneaking to use her bathroom at night. She would laugh, except it wasn't funny. Claire sent Alex on his way with a bus ticket and a new identity, provided by people she didn't know, with instructions texted to her from Rebel. There were a lot of unknowns in her life now, so she held tight to the things that she knew without a doubt:
Nathan Petrelli was the enemy.
Rebel (whoever "Rebel" was) was their savior.
*
******
*
She'd avoided Nathan for months when the ads started showing up. At first it was a section in the Sunday paper, and then the billboards appeared overnight. Ultimately it was the TV commercials that garnered the most attention. White words on a black backdrop that urged people with "special abilities" to come forward and turn themselves in to the government. Then they urged parents to turn over their children and neighbors to inform on each other. Each incarnation was more insidious than the next, until people were terrified and untrusting of everyone around them. Changes were happening all over the country, and people were starting to notice. Claire had little doubt who was behind the ad campaign, and if anything, it strained her relationship with Nathan even more.
The phone call from Angela wasn't entirely unexpected. Claire's grandmother kept her distance, but refused to disappear entirely from Claire's life. She sent checks that went uncashed and gifts that were stamped 'returned to sender,' but when she called no one dared ignore her.
"It's Nathan, dear." Her voice sounded cold and emotionless in Claire's ear.
"What about him?"
"Your family needs you now. I've already booked you a flight for tomorrow morning."
"Nathan is not my family. I don't know what you expect me to do."
"He is your father, Claire. If nothing else, you have a biological connection to him. I need your help." Claire had never heard Angela plead for anything before and felt a strange compulsion to do whatever she asked. "After all he's done to protect you and your family, you owe him this."
"I don't know what you expect me to do." She could feel her barriers breaking down and the need to give in became stronger. "It's not like he cares about me or will listen to anything I have to say." The unspoken words in that statement were evident. Claire hated Nathan, and she was certain the feeling was mutual.
"That's where you are wrong. We'll see you tomorrow then. Good-bye."
The dial tone clicked on when Angela ended the call, and Claire hung up the phone. She didn't want to go to New York, but she reached for her overnight bag and started packing anyway.
*
******
*
He wasn't even there when she arrived at the house the next day. Angela led her to the room that they now called "hers" without preamble. Memories of the first time she had wandered these elegant rooms assaulted her as she followed Angela up the stairs. Claire's chest ached when she thought of Peter's continued absence from her life. Her sole comfort was her belief that he was the elusive "Rebel", the hero that was stealthily leading the resistance under the government's nose. She held out hope that he was out there somewhere, and one day soon she would see him again.
Angela kept mostly to herself during the day, with the exception of the horribly uncomfortable dinners the two shared in the too-big dining room. They made small talk about school and Claire's family, but mostly they ate in awkward silence. Claire still wasn't sure what she was doing there, but could only guess at her grandmother's machinations. The answer came when Angela handed her a platinum credit card with her name, Claire Petrelli, emblazoned across the front.
"We'll be hosting a benefit for the local homeless shelter this Saturday. You'll need a dress." Angela paused for a moment before continuing, "And shoes. Take the car."
Claire didn't think she'd ever get used to the lavish lifestyle of her biological family. She sat stiff and uncomfortable while the chauffeur drove her around the city, stopping at exclusive boutiques so she could shop. Finding the right dress proved a harder task than she thought, it wasn't until the last store that she spotted the pink Versace gown. An over-eager sales clerk hustled her into a changing room to try it on, one look in the mirror and she knew this was the dress. One look at the obscene price on the tag and she nearly fainted. Then she smiled and handed over her new credit card, refusing to give it another thought. It wasn't her money, after all.
*
******
*
Nathan arrived the next day and promptly disappeared into his suite of rooms. But something in the air had changed, shifted. The atmosphere in the house became heavy with anticipation and maybe, electricity. Claire hadn't seen him in months, and she dreaded the inevitable meeting that she knew would leave them either stammering with nothing to say or shouting at each other with accusations and pent up anger. It was hard to believe that a few months ago she had hoped for some kind of friendship with him. He was a part of her and a connection to her past, but those expectations had died a spectacular death after the plane crash. Human lives weren't the only casualties of that disaster. Claire's trust in the people closest to her had disintegrated like the hull of that aircraft.
She didn't see him until that night at yet another awkward dinner. He greeted her with raised eyebrows and a slight nod. A glass of brown liquor sat beside his plate; Claire watched as he sipped from it throughout the night and ignored the food on his plate.
"I hope you remembered your tux, Nathan." Angela, of course, was the first person to break the silence. "It's been too long since we've had guests in this house."
"Whatever you say, Mother."
Claire worked up the courage to join in the conversation and immediately regretted it. "How are Simon and Monty?"
At the mention of her half-siblings' names, Angela lowered her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line.
"Heidi moved overseas with the boys six months ago." Nathan reached for his glass and finished the drink.
"Sorry." She hated how lame and insincere her apology sounded to her own ears.
"Don't be. It was for the best." He paused for a moment and let his eyes meet hers. "I always take care of my family."
Claire's jaw clenched and she realized she wasn't hungry any longer; the smell of the food on her plate was making her queasy. She watched as Nathan pushed his chair back from the table and walked the short distance to the liquor cabinet to refill his drink.
"Your grandmother still hasn't explained to me why you're here." He carried his glass back to the table and resumed his seat. "Don't you have school?"
"Really Nathan, there's no reason to be rude at the dinner table," Angela snapped before Claire could say anything. "She's here to help me with the benefit. In years past, it was always Peter who would lend a hand."
The mention of Peter's name made his absence more tangible; he was no longer the ghost in the room but a missing element that they all felt. She and Angela sat in silence when Nathan threw his linen napkin across his plate and stalked out of the room without another word.
"That went well, don't you think?" Angela smiled and resumed eating. Claire excused herself from the table and ran to her room. She was nothing more than a pawn in a game that she knew nothing about.
Her home and life in Costa Verde had never seemed so far away.
*
******
*
The next day a flurry of activity overtook the house. Caterers and extra staff arrived along with fresh flowers, crisp white table linens, and extra tables and chairs. Angela directed from the center of it all; Claire had never seen her look so happy and animated before. It was all she could do to stay out of the way of the preparations going on all around her. Every time she turned around, she was in someones way and after nearly knocking over a table of wine glasses, she decided to hide in her room.
A few moments later when she was laying her dress out on the bed there was a soft knock on her door. She yelled over her shoulder for whoever it was to come in and ducked in the closet for the shoes she had picked out. A young woman in a business suit was waiting, hand extended, when she turned around.
"My name is Sasha, Mrs. Petrelli's stylist." Claire didn't know what to say and looked at her wide-eyed when she noticed the large black bag in her other hand. "Shall I get started then?"
Two hours later, Claire was stunned with the results. She obeyed when the other woman handed her a tissue and directed her to "blot" her lipstick. Whenever she'd gone to a big dance or prom, it had always been her mom who helped with her hair and make-up. A pang of homesickness shot through her chest, but she reminded herself that in two days' time this whole ordeal would be behind her. She stood, grateful when Sasha helped her into the dress and then steered her to the floor length mirror.
"Lovely," she said to Claire's reflection.
It was an effort to walk down the stairs in high heels and not trip on the hem of her dress, but she managed and viewed it as her first victory of the night. Now if she could make it through the party without falling over, spilling food down her front, or revealing that she was working with an anti-government agency to help hide people, she would count the whole thing a success.
People had already started to arrive and were gathering in small groups to talk and laugh. Wait staff circled the room with trays of champagne, and the entire house had been transformed. Claire tried to quell the nervous flutters in her belly and smiled when an older man approached her and stuck out his hand. She clasped his hand in hers for a moment and felt a nervous smile cross her face.
"Hello, I'm Michael. Nice to meet you." He tipped the flute of champagne and drank heartily.
"There you are! Claire, I'd like you to meet Mayor Bloomberg." Angela inserted herself between them and made introductions. "This is my niece, Claire, visiting us from out west." She slid her arm through the mayor's and leaned her head on his shoulder coquettishly. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight."
"And miss one of your benefits? Never!" He laughed. "Where's the senator? I heard he'd be here tonight."
"Nathan's here; he made a special trip from Washington."
Claire watched, amused as Angela steered him away from her and towards a waiter bearing more drinks. So she was family, just not immediate family. She wondered if she could avoid these in the future if she announced to the whole room that she was Nathan Petrelli's illegitimate daughter. If things got bad enough, she might.
She circled around the crowd, New York's elite political set she assumed, introducing herself when asked but otherwise keeping to herself. She admired the dresses and excessive jewelry but found the whole thing boring in an hour's time. The champagne helped, dulling her senses a bit and relaxing her body. When she spotted Nathan at the bar, she headed toward him, unsure of what to say when she got there. He was wearing a black tux like the rest of the crowd, but on him it looked right. Like he was made to wear it, not playing dress up like everyone else. She imagined him twenty years younger and understood why her biological mother would have fallen for him.
"Are you enjoying the party?" he asked when she was close enough to hear.
"I guess," she shrugged.
Nathan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He stared at her for a moment and then looked away.
"That color. You look like your mo-" He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Meredith."
She wasn't sure if she should thank him or not, if he was complimenting her or just stating the obvious. The dress was pretty, the material moved around her when she walked and she felt glamorous while wearing it.
"I shouldn't have come here; I have work to do." A muscle in his jaw twitched in anger. It seemed no one was free of Angela's machinations. Claire found that having common ground with him was disconcerting.
"It takes a lot of time and effort to orchestrate a genocide, huh?" It was a cheap shot, but all the alcohol had loosened her tongue. Nathan's eyes narrowed, and he set his drink down on a nearby table.
The feel of his fingers wrapping tight around her wrist was unexpected, to say the least. "Let's take this conversation somewhere else." He had to lean down to whisper against her hair and then she was being lead through the room. She could have tried to stop him, but that would have made a scene.
"This is better, " he said once they were inside his office and alone. "Lock the door. Keeps the riff raff out."
Claire obediently shut and locked the door, then leaned against it, waiting for the inevitable blow-up.
"Do you know why you're here, Claire?" He walked around his desk, but didn't sit down. The question was surprising, but that she didn't know the exact answer was even more so. Angela had asked for her help with Nathan, but had told Nathan she was there to help with this party. She truly had no idea why Angela wanted her here.
"I don't know. She called and asked." Claire brushed her hair off her shoulder nervously. "I felt I had to come here."
"Mother's clever that way." Nathan loosened his tie with practiced ease while he continued to pace. "I think she was hoping that having you here would draw out Peter."
Claire studied her shoes like they were the most fascinating things in the room. "Oh?"
"Her plan failed though. Peter's gone too far underground for her to reach him." He stopped moving and stood motionless in front of her. "I made sure of it."
She could feel him looking at her, his gaze a heavy weight on her chest. Did he know that Peter was Rebel? Was he aware of all the lives they had saved from his people these past few months? She felt hot and cold at the same time and could only breathe in shallow gasps.
"What's wrong? You look scared." He tsked and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "You haven't hurt your cause or outted anyone. Relax."
Claire let her head loll back and hit the door. None of this made any sense. No one could keep up with the intrigues and secrets of the Petrelli family.
"You see, what you and my brother fail to understand is that not everyone can run around being 'rebels'. Some of us have to do the real work, even if that means being the bad guy."
At the mention of rebels, Claire flinched. She raised her head and looked at him, really looked at him. The similarities to Peter were evident; they shared dark hair and eye color, their faces had the same chin. But that's where their likeness ended. Nathan was self-possessed where Peter was impetuous and quick to anger. Nathan was a politician and knew how to keep his own secrets; Peter was an open book to anyone who bothered to pay attention. Everything she had ever believed about Peter was the truth about Nathan.
"You're Rebel." She stated simply. All the puzzle pieces fell into place and her entire world turned upside down.
"You think it's easy to, how did you say it, 'orchestrate a genocide' and save as many people as you can at the same time?" Nathan tapped his foot and frowned.
"And Peter?"
"He gets to run around like a Boy Scout and rescue people; he's every one's hero." There was a tone of bitterness to his words now. "You're just like him. You look like Meredith and you take after my brother; I wonder if any part of you is mine?" He leaned forward and studied her face, as if he expected to find the answer written on her skin. The touch of his fingers on her cheek made her blush and blink, remembering a time when it had been Peter who comforted her.
"What happens now? Does Angela know all this?"
"Whose idea do you think it was?" His breath tickled her hair and neck, making her shiver. "But she hates that I'm the one in control now. I won't bow to her wishes any more, and I don't know how much longer I can hold on before it all falls apart."
The kiss surprised her, but she felt her body responding to something her mind was still working out. Nathan was beautiful and dangerous and not at all what she thought. She opened her mouth to him and moaned when he pressed his body to hers. This wasn't supposed to happen, but she doubted she could stop it if she wanted to. His hands burned her bare shoulders and back when he touched her. The swirl of arousal and euphoria that enveloped her became stronger the more he kissed her, the longer he held her.
She panted the one word that was repeating over and over in her head. "More."
Nathan pulled her to the desk and lifted her up, knocking pens and books to the floor in the process. He stood between her legs and pushed her dress to her thighs, skimming his hands up her legs while he bit softly at her neck. Claire became obsessed with the feel of his hair when she ran her fingernails through it. The stiff collar of his shirt smelled spicy and distinctly male, all him. When he kissed her again, it was rougher and less controlled than before. She heard fabric rip and felt cold air and then his fingers exploring her sex. She spread her legs wider to give him more access, the delectable sensations circled through her like electricity and made her whole body shake.
"Christ, you're wet," he growled in her ear as he moved his fingers in a slow, sweet rhythm.
She rocked against his palm and wanted to feel more, more contact, more friction, more of him. Claire began to shake from the pleasure that was coursing through her veins and realized it was the same for him when he clasped her hand and pressed it to his fly. He was hard and hot where she touched him through his pants, his whole body trembled when she caressed him. The zipper was difficult to navigate with her fumbling fingers, but she managed to finally lower it enough to reach inside. Nathan jerked his hips and groaned when she wrapped her fingers around his length. The loss of contact when he removed his fingers and moved away made her whimper, until she realized he was pulling her closer.
"Lift up a little." His hands on her ass guided her to the very edge of the desk, and she gasped when the tip of his cock pushed against her. He gripped her tighter and thrust hard, filling her to the brink.
"FUCK." She hadn't meant to yell, and only realized how loud she was when Nathan covered her mouth with his hand and shushed her.
"Did I hurt you?" He lowered his hand and pressed his forehead to hers. She liked the way his hair had fallen across his brow and she smiled.
"No. Doesn't hurt."
"Good." He moved slower this time, holding her tight against him as he rocked his hips.
Claire moved with him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt a delicious ache in her lower belly that grew stronger with every thrust. Nathan kissed her again and again, his tongue exploring her mouth until she was dizzy and gasping for breath. His hand slipped between them, his thumb pressing against her just as he thrust once more. Clenching tight around him, Claire climaxed so hard her vision went grey. Nathan was there with her, coming with a harsh grunt.
The quiet laugh from him startled her. "I guess there is a part of you that's mine."
Pulling away from her, Nathan helped her sit upright as he pulled her dress back down. Claire was overwhelmed with shyness and looked away when he adjusted his own clothes and straightened his tie. What do you say after fucking your biological father on his desk? She doubted that even Miss Manners would have an answer handy. Nathan walked to the door and looked back at her.
"Shall we?" He opened the door and waited for her to join him. Claire stood on unsteady legs and tried to catch her breath. "Lesson one for being a Petrelli, Claire. Learn to hide your secrets." Nathan smiled at her and then disappeared into the throng of party-goers.
Claire now knew three things for certain:
Nathan Petrelli was still the enemy and Rebel was the hero. And they were, amazingly, the same person.
A/N: To see the fun conversation Eey and I had while working on this fic go here:
http://eeyore9990.insanejournal.com/263197.html
(We crack ourselves up.)
Author: kathrynthegr8
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Nathan/Claire
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: around 3700ish
Warnings: Spoilers through Building 26, Language, Incest, Sex, General Mind-fuckery
Disclaimer: I own nothing you see here.
A/N: I cannot thank eeyore9990 enough for the beta work! Without her help and encouragement I would probably stop posting fanfic and drown in the unfinished docs on my computer.
A year had come and gone since people like her, people with abilities, had stopped being Heroes and started being the hunted. She had adapted, they had all adapted because there was no other choice.
Claire lived a double life: by day she was a college student who worked as a waitress on the weekends for extra money; at night she broke the law and did everything within her limited power to undermine the government's program to capture and imprison innocent people against their will. It had become a kind of underground organization; they warned people and, when all else failed, they hid people. Sometimes entire families made their way to new names and hidden lives through her. She would laugh that it had all started with a boy from a comic book store who slept for a week in her closet, eating Pb and J's and sneaking to use her bathroom at night. She would laugh, except it wasn't funny. Claire sent Alex on his way with a bus ticket and a new identity, provided by people she didn't know, with instructions texted to her from Rebel. There were a lot of unknowns in her life now, so she held tight to the things that she knew without a doubt:
Nathan Petrelli was the enemy.
Rebel (whoever "Rebel" was) was their savior.
*
******
*
She'd avoided Nathan for months when the ads started showing up. At first it was a section in the Sunday paper, and then the billboards appeared overnight. Ultimately it was the TV commercials that garnered the most attention. White words on a black backdrop that urged people with "special abilities" to come forward and turn themselves in to the government. Then they urged parents to turn over their children and neighbors to inform on each other. Each incarnation was more insidious than the next, until people were terrified and untrusting of everyone around them. Changes were happening all over the country, and people were starting to notice. Claire had little doubt who was behind the ad campaign, and if anything, it strained her relationship with Nathan even more.
The phone call from Angela wasn't entirely unexpected. Claire's grandmother kept her distance, but refused to disappear entirely from Claire's life. She sent checks that went uncashed and gifts that were stamped 'returned to sender,' but when she called no one dared ignore her.
"It's Nathan, dear." Her voice sounded cold and emotionless in Claire's ear.
"What about him?"
"Your family needs you now. I've already booked you a flight for tomorrow morning."
"Nathan is not my family. I don't know what you expect me to do."
"He is your father, Claire. If nothing else, you have a biological connection to him. I need your help." Claire had never heard Angela plead for anything before and felt a strange compulsion to do whatever she asked. "After all he's done to protect you and your family, you owe him this."
"I don't know what you expect me to do." She could feel her barriers breaking down and the need to give in became stronger. "It's not like he cares about me or will listen to anything I have to say." The unspoken words in that statement were evident. Claire hated Nathan, and she was certain the feeling was mutual.
"That's where you are wrong. We'll see you tomorrow then. Good-bye."
The dial tone clicked on when Angela ended the call, and Claire hung up the phone. She didn't want to go to New York, but she reached for her overnight bag and started packing anyway.
*
******
*
He wasn't even there when she arrived at the house the next day. Angela led her to the room that they now called "hers" without preamble. Memories of the first time she had wandered these elegant rooms assaulted her as she followed Angela up the stairs. Claire's chest ached when she thought of Peter's continued absence from her life. Her sole comfort was her belief that he was the elusive "Rebel", the hero that was stealthily leading the resistance under the government's nose. She held out hope that he was out there somewhere, and one day soon she would see him again.
Angela kept mostly to herself during the day, with the exception of the horribly uncomfortable dinners the two shared in the too-big dining room. They made small talk about school and Claire's family, but mostly they ate in awkward silence. Claire still wasn't sure what she was doing there, but could only guess at her grandmother's machinations. The answer came when Angela handed her a platinum credit card with her name, Claire Petrelli, emblazoned across the front.
"We'll be hosting a benefit for the local homeless shelter this Saturday. You'll need a dress." Angela paused for a moment before continuing, "And shoes. Take the car."
Claire didn't think she'd ever get used to the lavish lifestyle of her biological family. She sat stiff and uncomfortable while the chauffeur drove her around the city, stopping at exclusive boutiques so she could shop. Finding the right dress proved a harder task than she thought, it wasn't until the last store that she spotted the pink Versace gown. An over-eager sales clerk hustled her into a changing room to try it on, one look in the mirror and she knew this was the dress. One look at the obscene price on the tag and she nearly fainted. Then she smiled and handed over her new credit card, refusing to give it another thought. It wasn't her money, after all.
*
******
*
Nathan arrived the next day and promptly disappeared into his suite of rooms. But something in the air had changed, shifted. The atmosphere in the house became heavy with anticipation and maybe, electricity. Claire hadn't seen him in months, and she dreaded the inevitable meeting that she knew would leave them either stammering with nothing to say or shouting at each other with accusations and pent up anger. It was hard to believe that a few months ago she had hoped for some kind of friendship with him. He was a part of her and a connection to her past, but those expectations had died a spectacular death after the plane crash. Human lives weren't the only casualties of that disaster. Claire's trust in the people closest to her had disintegrated like the hull of that aircraft.
She didn't see him until that night at yet another awkward dinner. He greeted her with raised eyebrows and a slight nod. A glass of brown liquor sat beside his plate; Claire watched as he sipped from it throughout the night and ignored the food on his plate.
"I hope you remembered your tux, Nathan." Angela, of course, was the first person to break the silence. "It's been too long since we've had guests in this house."
"Whatever you say, Mother."
Claire worked up the courage to join in the conversation and immediately regretted it. "How are Simon and Monty?"
At the mention of her half-siblings' names, Angela lowered her eyes and pressed her lips into a thin line.
"Heidi moved overseas with the boys six months ago." Nathan reached for his glass and finished the drink.
"Sorry." She hated how lame and insincere her apology sounded to her own ears.
"Don't be. It was for the best." He paused for a moment and let his eyes meet hers. "I always take care of my family."
Claire's jaw clenched and she realized she wasn't hungry any longer; the smell of the food on her plate was making her queasy. She watched as Nathan pushed his chair back from the table and walked the short distance to the liquor cabinet to refill his drink.
"Your grandmother still hasn't explained to me why you're here." He carried his glass back to the table and resumed his seat. "Don't you have school?"
"Really Nathan, there's no reason to be rude at the dinner table," Angela snapped before Claire could say anything. "She's here to help me with the benefit. In years past, it was always Peter who would lend a hand."
The mention of Peter's name made his absence more tangible; he was no longer the ghost in the room but a missing element that they all felt. She and Angela sat in silence when Nathan threw his linen napkin across his plate and stalked out of the room without another word.
"That went well, don't you think?" Angela smiled and resumed eating. Claire excused herself from the table and ran to her room. She was nothing more than a pawn in a game that she knew nothing about.
Her home and life in Costa Verde had never seemed so far away.
*
******
*
The next day a flurry of activity overtook the house. Caterers and extra staff arrived along with fresh flowers, crisp white table linens, and extra tables and chairs. Angela directed from the center of it all; Claire had never seen her look so happy and animated before. It was all she could do to stay out of the way of the preparations going on all around her. Every time she turned around, she was in someones way and after nearly knocking over a table of wine glasses, she decided to hide in her room.
A few moments later when she was laying her dress out on the bed there was a soft knock on her door. She yelled over her shoulder for whoever it was to come in and ducked in the closet for the shoes she had picked out. A young woman in a business suit was waiting, hand extended, when she turned around.
"My name is Sasha, Mrs. Petrelli's stylist." Claire didn't know what to say and looked at her wide-eyed when she noticed the large black bag in her other hand. "Shall I get started then?"
Two hours later, Claire was stunned with the results. She obeyed when the other woman handed her a tissue and directed her to "blot" her lipstick. Whenever she'd gone to a big dance or prom, it had always been her mom who helped with her hair and make-up. A pang of homesickness shot through her chest, but she reminded herself that in two days' time this whole ordeal would be behind her. She stood, grateful when Sasha helped her into the dress and then steered her to the floor length mirror.
"Lovely," she said to Claire's reflection.
It was an effort to walk down the stairs in high heels and not trip on the hem of her dress, but she managed and viewed it as her first victory of the night. Now if she could make it through the party without falling over, spilling food down her front, or revealing that she was working with an anti-government agency to help hide people, she would count the whole thing a success.
People had already started to arrive and were gathering in small groups to talk and laugh. Wait staff circled the room with trays of champagne, and the entire house had been transformed. Claire tried to quell the nervous flutters in her belly and smiled when an older man approached her and stuck out his hand. She clasped his hand in hers for a moment and felt a nervous smile cross her face.
"Hello, I'm Michael. Nice to meet you." He tipped the flute of champagne and drank heartily.
"There you are! Claire, I'd like you to meet Mayor Bloomberg." Angela inserted herself between them and made introductions. "This is my niece, Claire, visiting us from out west." She slid her arm through the mayor's and leaned her head on his shoulder coquettishly. "I'm so glad you could make it tonight."
"And miss one of your benefits? Never!" He laughed. "Where's the senator? I heard he'd be here tonight."
"Nathan's here; he made a special trip from Washington."
Claire watched, amused as Angela steered him away from her and towards a waiter bearing more drinks. So she was family, just not immediate family. She wondered if she could avoid these in the future if she announced to the whole room that she was Nathan Petrelli's illegitimate daughter. If things got bad enough, she might.
She circled around the crowd, New York's elite political set she assumed, introducing herself when asked but otherwise keeping to herself. She admired the dresses and excessive jewelry but found the whole thing boring in an hour's time. The champagne helped, dulling her senses a bit and relaxing her body. When she spotted Nathan at the bar, she headed toward him, unsure of what to say when she got there. He was wearing a black tux like the rest of the crowd, but on him it looked right. Like he was made to wear it, not playing dress up like everyone else. She imagined him twenty years younger and understood why her biological mother would have fallen for him.
"Are you enjoying the party?" he asked when she was close enough to hear.
"I guess," she shrugged.
Nathan smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He stared at her for a moment and then looked away.
"That color. You look like your mo-" He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "Meredith."
She wasn't sure if she should thank him or not, if he was complimenting her or just stating the obvious. The dress was pretty, the material moved around her when she walked and she felt glamorous while wearing it.
"I shouldn't have come here; I have work to do." A muscle in his jaw twitched in anger. It seemed no one was free of Angela's machinations. Claire found that having common ground with him was disconcerting.
"It takes a lot of time and effort to orchestrate a genocide, huh?" It was a cheap shot, but all the alcohol had loosened her tongue. Nathan's eyes narrowed, and he set his drink down on a nearby table.
The feel of his fingers wrapping tight around her wrist was unexpected, to say the least. "Let's take this conversation somewhere else." He had to lean down to whisper against her hair and then she was being lead through the room. She could have tried to stop him, but that would have made a scene.
"This is better, " he said once they were inside his office and alone. "Lock the door. Keeps the riff raff out."
Claire obediently shut and locked the door, then leaned against it, waiting for the inevitable blow-up.
"Do you know why you're here, Claire?" He walked around his desk, but didn't sit down. The question was surprising, but that she didn't know the exact answer was even more so. Angela had asked for her help with Nathan, but had told Nathan she was there to help with this party. She truly had no idea why Angela wanted her here.
"I don't know. She called and asked." Claire brushed her hair off her shoulder nervously. "I felt I had to come here."
"Mother's clever that way." Nathan loosened his tie with practiced ease while he continued to pace. "I think she was hoping that having you here would draw out Peter."
Claire studied her shoes like they were the most fascinating things in the room. "Oh?"
"Her plan failed though. Peter's gone too far underground for her to reach him." He stopped moving and stood motionless in front of her. "I made sure of it."
She could feel him looking at her, his gaze a heavy weight on her chest. Did he know that Peter was Rebel? Was he aware of all the lives they had saved from his people these past few months? She felt hot and cold at the same time and could only breathe in shallow gasps.
"What's wrong? You look scared." He tsked and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "You haven't hurt your cause or outted anyone. Relax."
Claire let her head loll back and hit the door. None of this made any sense. No one could keep up with the intrigues and secrets of the Petrelli family.
"You see, what you and my brother fail to understand is that not everyone can run around being 'rebels'. Some of us have to do the real work, even if that means being the bad guy."
At the mention of rebels, Claire flinched. She raised her head and looked at him, really looked at him. The similarities to Peter were evident; they shared dark hair and eye color, their faces had the same chin. But that's where their likeness ended. Nathan was self-possessed where Peter was impetuous and quick to anger. Nathan was a politician and knew how to keep his own secrets; Peter was an open book to anyone who bothered to pay attention. Everything she had ever believed about Peter was the truth about Nathan.
"You're Rebel." She stated simply. All the puzzle pieces fell into place and her entire world turned upside down.
"You think it's easy to, how did you say it, 'orchestrate a genocide' and save as many people as you can at the same time?" Nathan tapped his foot and frowned.
"And Peter?"
"He gets to run around like a Boy Scout and rescue people; he's every one's hero." There was a tone of bitterness to his words now. "You're just like him. You look like Meredith and you take after my brother; I wonder if any part of you is mine?" He leaned forward and studied her face, as if he expected to find the answer written on her skin. The touch of his fingers on her cheek made her blush and blink, remembering a time when it had been Peter who comforted her.
"What happens now? Does Angela know all this?"
"Whose idea do you think it was?" His breath tickled her hair and neck, making her shiver. "But she hates that I'm the one in control now. I won't bow to her wishes any more, and I don't know how much longer I can hold on before it all falls apart."
The kiss surprised her, but she felt her body responding to something her mind was still working out. Nathan was beautiful and dangerous and not at all what she thought. She opened her mouth to him and moaned when he pressed his body to hers. This wasn't supposed to happen, but she doubted she could stop it if she wanted to. His hands burned her bare shoulders and back when he touched her. The swirl of arousal and euphoria that enveloped her became stronger the more he kissed her, the longer he held her.
She panted the one word that was repeating over and over in her head. "More."
Nathan pulled her to the desk and lifted her up, knocking pens and books to the floor in the process. He stood between her legs and pushed her dress to her thighs, skimming his hands up her legs while he bit softly at her neck. Claire became obsessed with the feel of his hair when she ran her fingernails through it. The stiff collar of his shirt smelled spicy and distinctly male, all him. When he kissed her again, it was rougher and less controlled than before. She heard fabric rip and felt cold air and then his fingers exploring her sex. She spread her legs wider to give him more access, the delectable sensations circled through her like electricity and made her whole body shake.
"Christ, you're wet," he growled in her ear as he moved his fingers in a slow, sweet rhythm.
She rocked against his palm and wanted to feel more, more contact, more friction, more of him. Claire began to shake from the pleasure that was coursing through her veins and realized it was the same for him when he clasped her hand and pressed it to his fly. He was hard and hot where she touched him through his pants, his whole body trembled when she caressed him. The zipper was difficult to navigate with her fumbling fingers, but she managed to finally lower it enough to reach inside. Nathan jerked his hips and groaned when she wrapped her fingers around his length. The loss of contact when he removed his fingers and moved away made her whimper, until she realized he was pulling her closer.
"Lift up a little." His hands on her ass guided her to the very edge of the desk, and she gasped when the tip of his cock pushed against her. He gripped her tighter and thrust hard, filling her to the brink.
"FUCK." She hadn't meant to yell, and only realized how loud she was when Nathan covered her mouth with his hand and shushed her.
"Did I hurt you?" He lowered his hand and pressed his forehead to hers. She liked the way his hair had fallen across his brow and she smiled.
"No. Doesn't hurt."
"Good." He moved slower this time, holding her tight against him as he rocked his hips.
Claire moved with him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt a delicious ache in her lower belly that grew stronger with every thrust. Nathan kissed her again and again, his tongue exploring her mouth until she was dizzy and gasping for breath. His hand slipped between them, his thumb pressing against her just as he thrust once more. Clenching tight around him, Claire climaxed so hard her vision went grey. Nathan was there with her, coming with a harsh grunt.
The quiet laugh from him startled her. "I guess there is a part of you that's mine."
Pulling away from her, Nathan helped her sit upright as he pulled her dress back down. Claire was overwhelmed with shyness and looked away when he adjusted his own clothes and straightened his tie. What do you say after fucking your biological father on his desk? She doubted that even Miss Manners would have an answer handy. Nathan walked to the door and looked back at her.
"Shall we?" He opened the door and waited for her to join him. Claire stood on unsteady legs and tried to catch her breath. "Lesson one for being a Petrelli, Claire. Learn to hide your secrets." Nathan smiled at her and then disappeared into the throng of party-goers.
Claire now knew three things for certain:
Nathan Petrelli was still the enemy and Rebel was the hero. And they were, amazingly, the same person.
A/N: To see the fun conversation Eey and I had while working on this fic go here:
http://eeyore9990.insanejournal.com/263197.html
(We crack ourselves up.)