It wasn't as poor a fit as he once might have imagined. In the end it was a matter of simple geometry, of pieces interlocking together to create a picturesque whole.
His right arm clasped lightly around Heidi's waist as she smiled plastically, bright. She was leaning into him—slightly, but not too close. The calculated show of intimacy was so hot and cold he almost admired it. The two boys stood in front holding polite smiles like well-trained dogs. His left arm hung around Claire's shoulder. Peter stood on Heidi's right. Angela and Noah bound them in like book ends, each beside their children. That struck him as particularly fitting. After all, in their own way they were the mother and father of this sick little family unit, this lie. Their painted masks of familial warmth, each perfected by years of deception, put even Heidi's practiced publicity smile to shame.
They were both well aware of who he truly was, he was certain by now. Though, he was left to wonder whether they realized that he was in on the joke as well. That uncertainly had quickly evolved into a tense dance of restrained hints and clever denials. It was a new sort of game altogether from the old, perilous and thrilling. Even those unaware of its play could become pawns.
It had been Claire's idea to include Noah in the photograph, of course. For his part, he'd been unable to repress the ghost of his old smirk as he supported her invitation. Insisted. As subtle as it was, the expression had been a challenge he was sure Noah could not have missed—but he could not afford to answer it either. A dangerous maneuver, flirting with exposure, but the shadow of revulsion that had flitted briefly through Bennet's eyes had been so worth it.
Peter and Claire. He knew their ignorance is not feigned. Lovely, vibrant, Claire's smile was so sweet and bright. One would never believe her capable of murderous hatred if they hadn't seen it. Of course, he had. At times that memory—her fierce, violent beauty—burned like a searing beacon when so much else in his past seemed to elude him. Peter, always a slave to his own emotions, wore a sincere smile that would have been impossible for the man had he knowingly stood beside his brother's widow. Their comparative innocence in all of this was near farcical. Almost endearing.
Moments before the shutter clicked, he struggled against the mischievous urge to drop the façade altogether. Their imagined reactions of horror and rage flashed through his mind, almost too enticing to resist. But the moment passed, the light flashed, and things developed as they must. It was a very pretty picture indeed, of a family whose smiles hid how broken they really were, and at the center Nathan Petrelli hiding one shark's grin under another.
What did it really matter, after all, if he spent a few years as Nathan? Just a decade. Maybe two or three. The fact was that he had an eternity ahead of him. He and Claire. The fingers of his left hand curled possessively on her shoulder.
He had the time to waste on trifles.