"Annnnd...checkmate," Nathan Petrelli declared.
Claire flopped back in her chair in defeat, enjoying the sun streaming through the pristine windows of her biological father's Washington, DC office and hoping he wouldn't ask her to play....
"Again?"
"No, thank you," she replied, the hint of irritation in her voice matching the edge in her smile.
"You're not going to give up just because you're losing?"
"Because I lost four times in a row?" she countered. "I'm a little sick of it. I'll pass."
Nathan smiled and pulled the chess pieces toward him. "I taught Pete how to play on this chess set," he said. "It only took a couple of times before he was beating me. Give it one more try."
"Yeah, well, my dad taught me how to play, and I could always beat everybody but him."
"Really?"
Somewhat offended by the skepticism in his voice, Claire insisted. "Yes, really. Why so surprised?"
"Not exactly surprised, it's just...."
"Just what?"
"You have some pretty obvious tells."
"'Tells'?"
"Yeah. Like how you don't just take in the whole board at once, you shift your focus from piece to piece. Or how you leave your hand on your piece a few seconds longer when you see you've left another piece vulnerable."
"Everybody...."
"And that last one becomes a big liability in combination with the way you bite your lip just a little bit when you're hoping to distract your opponent from the move you have planned afterwards."
Claire laughed. "Pretty observant chess player."
"Hey, I'm in politics," he joked. "You always need to know how the game is played."
She got up and moved from the table. "I'd better go. My dad's going to pick me up outside in half an hour."
"Yeah, okay." He rolled his eyes at her.
"What?"
"I won't make you play again if you don't want to, Claire. You don't have to make up stories about Noah coming to get you when he isn't."
"Sure he's coming."
"Not in half an hour, though." He paused, unsure of the reasons behind his certainty. "He...he just isn't."
She sighed, sat back down. "Fine. I was lying to escape the torture of chess."
"Try again."
"Try again?"
"You're lying about why you're lying. Kind of ridiculous."
"When did you become the human lie detector?" she asked, and her genial grin froze before the words left her mouth.
He shrugged. "Politician. Want a soda?"
Claire watched him walk over to the mini-fridge in the corner of his office and gasped as blue electricity arced from his fingertips. There was a hissing noise, and the hum of the fridge ceased.
"That's the second fridge in as many days," grumbled Nathan. "I swear, it must be these new shoes. Let me see your soles." He gestured to Claire's feet and she lifted them, angling the bottom of her shoes towards him. "You see? You're not getting electric shocks from crossing this room."
"I can't believe this."
"I know!" he exclaimed, reaching a hand to her as if her statement were an empathetic one. "Let's just hope the taxpayers don't find out. Replacing two mini-fridges isn't exactly on government bailout level, but still...."
"I really have to go," she said. "Have you seen your mom?"
"She's coming," he said.
"When?"
"She's on her way right now. I'd recognize those footsteps anywhere, wouldn't you?" he laughed. "She's on the warpath over something."
Claire strained her ears, but heard nothing. She moved to the door, opened it, and saw Angela heading their way. From the far end of the hall.
"Don't have any soda, but here's an iced tea if you want," she heard from behind her. "Catch."
"I'm really horrible at catching..." she began, turning to see him throwing the bottle in her direction. It wobbled a bit in the air and flew right into her outstretched hands.
"See? No, you're not," he said. He crossed the room and put a hand on her shoulder. "You gotta have more faith in yourself, Claire. Like I do." He began running his hand up and down her arm absent-mindedly as he leaned forward and kissed her forehead, leaving his lips against her skin a few seconds longer than any of her family members ever had before and inhaling deeply. "Mmmm," he said, pulling back. "Sometimes I wish I were a girl just so I could use that shampoo. Here it is years after the sexual revolution and men still aren't supposed to smell like lavender."
At the knock on the door, Claire's hand shot out for the knob. "I have...things to talk to Angela about before I go meet Dad," she said.
"Female bonding secrets?"
Claire's chuckle was high-pitched. "Secrets. Got it in one."
"What can I say? I'm on a roll. See you later, Claire. I love you."
She took a deep breath. "I love you, Nathan," she said, and left the room, grabbing the arm of a startled Angela Petrelli and pulling her along. She slammed the door behind them.
Nathan thought it was funny how Claire had closed her eyes when she said she loved him. But then, she seemed to be having an off day. Kind of like he was. He kicked his shoes off and looked down at his thumb. It looked fine. Must have just been an odd nerve pinch, then, which was lucky. It had hurt pretty badly when Claire slammed the door on it.
He turned to see a pigeon heading straight for the window. Automatically, he waved his hand at it, as if to shoo it away. Some sort of draft caught it and it lurched backwards, recovered itself, and flew in the opposite direction.
Satisfied, he sat down and reached to open his laptop. Electricity shot from his hand and the computer sizzled.
"That's it," he said, picking up his phone and punching at the buttons in frustration. "I'm ordering a humidifier."