The sound of a man with a deep, familiar voice speaking French was what finally made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Claire had come close to this reaction when the older woman had said her name so nonchalantly, but this... The Haitian stood still, looking at her with a kind of exasperation.
She stared at the woman. "Who are you?"
"I'm your grandmother," the woman replied.
Even before the shock could flow through Claire completely, the woman continued.
"...And I've been trying to protect you, but you haven't made that very easy." At this, the woman glanced at the Haitian.
Claire said nothing. She felt paralyzed.
"Quite stubborn, aren't you?" She said, a little smile creeping onto her face. "Just like your father."
Claire stared at her still, allowing the woman's words to sink in. Everything felt distant, far away and foreign. At first, she assumed by "father", the woman meant her horn-rimmed-glasses wearing, paper company-fronting, not-so-secret agent father, who meant more to her than Meredith Gordon or this woman ever could, and then the actual meaning came through.
"My...father?"
The woman's smile widened ever further. "I'm impressed you got as far as your mother. It's surprising she didn't tell you. Of course," a nasty glint momentarily appeared in her eyes, "she'd have little to gain by telling you, wouldn't she?" The dark-haired woman looked back at Claire fully, her smile returning. "Nathan, your father, is my son."
Something clicked in Claire's confused by desperately fighting brain. Signs everywhere...an expensive car...flags pins on tailored suits...a tall man with dark hair...
"Nathan...Petrelli?" At that question, Claire's voice cracked. The moment she said the name, a tiny voice inside her clarity-hungry brain wailed. Dark, beautiful eyes in a soulful but blood-spattered face appeared in her mind, smiling at her with wonder. Petrelli...oh God, please let her say no...
"The very same," the woman (...Mrs. Petrelli? She couldn't think of her as "nana", who was a short, blue-haired woman in Austin who raised cocker spaniels) replied. "You know Peter, his younger brother..."
It was that word, that one hateful word, that made Claire finally lose what little control she had left. She gasped, her bag falling from numb fingers to fall to the floor, spilling it contents. The piece of paper she had been holding, the one that had contained the address of the preview to hell that was this Manhattan apartment, followed the mess, floating gently. Oddly, Claire saw its leisurely succumbing to gravity as paralleling her own lagging mind.
Her...uncle? That just wasn't right. It couldn't be...
She had flirted with him, felt an immediate attraction to him. Sure, he was older, and a lot of her outright boldness had been the by-product of the knowledge that no matter what she did on the night of homecoming, she would still be punished. But it was deeper than that.
And now...
And now...
And now.
Suddenly, her self-hatred over her power seemed like a tiny cut next to the gaping wound that was Peter Petrelli. Her uncle. By blood. Oh God.
Why didn't you say anything? I trusted you.
Mrs. Petrelli said nothing, but continued to smile her awful, empty smile, as she bent down to pick up the address.