Strike A Match

Characters/Pairings: Peter/Sylar, Claire/Gretchen, Lyle/Luke, implied Noah/Janice (yes, really), Angela, Noah (the younger)

Author's Note: I cannot believe I actually wrote this. This is actually one of my dearest, most cheesy romance plots, where two people who supposedly hate each other have to pretend to be married. God, can't believe I wrote this. Anyway. This is quite long.

Warning: None. I think. Length? Meh. Some sexytimes, I guess.

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. Nor do I own this quote.

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"And all the young ladies said that a love match was the only thing for happiness, where the parties could anyway afford it," – Maria Edgeworth

It was a beautiful day. The sky was blue and all the clouds were of the small, fluffy, white variety. Claire walked down the street, smiling to herself. It was the kind of day when people smiled back, some even going so far as to wave. This was the life. This was what they were fighting for.

If only she could convince them of that. In fact, she wasn't even asking that they realise what they were fighting for. She'd give anything for them to just stop fighting. It was pointless, really, all this yelling and snarling. It wasn't productive – in fact, if anything it was decidedly unproductive. There weren't enough fingers – hell, even toes – to count the many times their fights had almost cost them their lives. Like that time with the bouquet of flowers. It had been an apologetic gesture apparently but Peter had taken it as an affront to his manhood.

Claire sighed. If only he hadn't been so vocal about it while they were spying on those burglars. That had not been a very good night. At least two of the burglars had managed to escape. Yes, they'd eventually captured them, but it was the principle of the thing. You just didn't have a lover's spat (because that was what it was, no matter how many times both of them denied it) while on a mission – it was a serious no-no.

Of course, because Samuel had far too much on his plate (or so he insisted) and Dad had gone off on some pilgrimage in order to discover his True Path (yes, he'd even capitalised it), it fell to her to have a talk to them. She'd spoken with Angela on how to proceed. She'd asked Gretchen whether she should be subtle or whether she should just come straight out and say it (Gretchen's reply was a smirk, accompanied by "Say what?"). Both had merely given her a raised eyebrow and an "I'm sure you know best, dear."

Well, that hadn't been at all helpful.

But what was she supposed to say? "You two should just fuck and get it over with"? No, that lacked finesse. Maybe they were just surprised to find themselves attracted to another man. She found this hard to understand though. Sylar flirted with everyone, be they male, female or inanimate object. And everyone knew Peter had had a torrid affair with that Claude fellow, the one who always had those pigeons following him around. The one Dad had taken one look at and then promptly decided he needed to find his True Path. So, it wasn't that.

Then what was it? Sure, there was the whole Nathan thing. A person just doesn't forget the death of a beloved brother. But it wasn't as though Claire was going to ask whether Peter was in love with him, even though she had the sneaking suspicion that was exactly the problem. No, Claire just had to convince both of them that they needed to fuck. After that happened, everything would be on its way to being normal. Claire liked normal. When things were normal, she got to spend more time with Gretchen. Oh, and actually go to her classes. Hmm, maybe she should mention how her grades were suffering (well, okay, they weren't – she'd have to exaggerate) from their prolonged bitchfight.

She'd asked them to meet her at their bench, and there they were. Sylar was sitting on the corner of the left hand side, Peter on the corner of the right hand side. They had their legs crossed towards each other, but with their faces turned away. Only occasionally did they turn to look at each other, mostly to glare. As she watched, Sylar turned and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could start yet another fight, Claire moved forward and they both caught sight of her.

"Claire!" they said in unison, both smiling in relief at the sight of her. Then they realised they'd spoken at the same time and exchanged glares.

She sighed. This was going to be harder than she'd thought.

Claire sat down in the middle of where they'd been seated. They resumed their seats and gazed at her. "Well?" Sylar asked, starting to become impatient as Claire remained silent.

She stifled a sigh – she was doing far too much sighing these days. Before she could let herself chicken out, she blurted out, "You guys have to fuck." She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening. Oh dear. This was going to get ugly.

"Is that...our next mission?" Peter asked, hesitant. He gave Sylar the once over, looked faintly nauseous and then turned back to Claire.

Claire had just had a revelation. That was it! Disguise it as a supposed mission! Brilliant! Her eyes shining with the light of a thousand light bulb ideas, she grinned. "Yes!" she said, just a little bit too loudly. She coughed, embarrassed. "Uh, I mean, yes, it is your next mission." She thought fast. "You two have to pretend to be married..."

"Why us?" Sylar asked. She shifted under his suspicious gaze.

"Well," Claire began, "Peter and I are related, so that's out. And you and I..." She speared a thought for that particular idea. "Ew," she said, wrinkling her nose. She ignored the hurt look on Sylar's face, and the smug grin Peter gave him. "So that only leaves you two."

Peter's smug smile vanished. "But," he tried to say. Claire held up a hand and he subsided into silence.

"The mission is this..." She cleared her throat. "You're going to be staying in this bed and breakfast – the people who own it have come under our suspicion. So you have to pretend to be married and win their confidence." She winced inwardly at the amount of work she'd have to put into this plan – she'd definitely be asking Angela and Gretchen for help.

"Why do we have to pretend to be married?" Peter asked. "Why can't be just stay there as friends?" The way he said friends made it very clear that this would also be pretend.

Claire scrambled for some sort of answer. "Because only married people can stay there!" she exclaimed, again a little too loud. "And they check whether you're doing what married people do!"

Peter and Sylar were both silent. They gave each other faintly suspicious glances as though they knew the other was behind this obvious scheme. Neither would ever suspect that Claire had come up with it all on her own. They believed her to be an innocent young flower (well, Peter had seen her as Evil Bitch but that was all good – her hair was still blonde). If only they took the time to notice that Gretchen wasn't merely her friend...or even, that they realised she'd grown up in a house with the Noah Bennet. His gray-area-ness would have rubbed off on her somehow. Also his deviousness. That deviousness would come in handy in the times to come.

"Why can't we just, you know, pretend?" Peter asked, hesitant. "Make noises and stuff?"

Claire tried to come up with a plausible excuse. "Because they check the sheets," she said, trying to be serious. "Yes, they do. So it has to be real." She hoped they wouldn't start asking about taking pretend sperm or something. Now that conversation would get awkward real fast.

Thankfully this idea did not occur to either of them. Instead they appeared to be contemplating the plan. Claire held her breath.

"Well, since it's for a good cause..." Peter began, then frowned. "It's for a good cause, right?"

"Oh yes." Claire nodded. "Very good." She paused. "They hurt kids," she added, saying whatever came to mind first.

Both men looked serious. "Oh, well, if that's the case," Sylar said, also frowning.

"Yeah, if that's the case," Peter murmured, stealing a glance at the other man. He caught Claire watching him and looked away. Claire saw the beginnings of a blush and allowed herself a tiny smile.

***

Angela's eyebrow rose elegantly when Claire told her the gist of her plan but had to concede that it was the best plan they had. She immediately began work on the preparations. She recruited Lyle and his new "friend" Luke as her helpers but ended up doing the majority of the work herself since neither Lyle nor Luke did anything except make eyes at each other and walk into things. She blackmailed Noah into coming back from his True Path Quest and had him disguise himself as one of the owners of the small B&B she'd set up with the non-help of Lyle and Luke. She recruited Janice Parkman to play his wife because she had a baby ready at hand. It saved hiring one.

Gretchen just laughed when she heard Claire's "genius upon genius" idea. "It's going to blow up in your face," she predicted. Claire merely glared at her and denied her a few of the much needed Claire things she'd enjoyed in recent months. Gretchen held out for a few days but then caved when Claire spent an entire day dressed like a hooker and yet insisted that the other girl not touch her. She conceded that, with the right preparations, the plan could work. Key word being could.

When Peter and Sylar arrived at the B&B, Noah and Janice – disguised as John and Daisy Summers – were there to greet them. Being the absolutely fantastic actors they were, Peter and Sylar managed to bullshit their way past the so-called owners, without actually paying attention to what they looked like, and were finally able to get to their room half an hour after they had arrived. Their bags had already been taken up and so they really had nothing more to do than collapse on the bed and dread the coming night. Well, Peter collapsed on the bed (only because he was marginally faster); Sylar had to make do with the chair located in the corner. He glared at the other man for awhile, just on principle.

Claire appeared just as their door closed. "So, how's it going?" she asked eagerly. Noah jumped at her sudden appearance.

"Claire-bear, if you're going to be around here, please disguise yourself!" her father admonished, hand over his pounding heart.

Claire grinned and took a brown wig out of her bag. She placed it carefully on her head and then brought out a pair of glasses. Placing them firmly on her nose, she smiled up at her father. "There, is that good enough?"

Noah was speechless. Seriously, going on that True Path Quest had done nothing for his ability to use words. In fact, it had seriously damaged it. Or so it seemed to Claire.

Janice smiled at her. "It's going fairly well," she said, ignoring the blustering Mr. Bennet standing beside her, furious that she had interrupted him before he could say something truly witty and endearing. No wonder Parkman had divorced her twice (little did he know that she had divorced him). "Of course, it's only the beginning. Tonight will seal the deal."

They grinned at each other while Noah fumed in the background.

***

Sylar had decided that he'd had enough with the chair. He stood up, stretched lazily and then sauntered over to the bed. Peter eyed him warily and stiffened when he sat down on the bed. "What are you doing?" he asked, suspicious.

"Why, nothing out of the ordinary for a married couple." Sylar smirked and leaned in closer until his face was inches from Peter's own. "This is what married people do."

Peter sniffed and moved away. "They do not. I have never seen my parents act that way." He paused. "Well, when they are alive anyway."

Sylar had to concede that he had a point. He could not remember his parents acting this way either. Then again, he was younger than they were when they'd "adopted" him. Maybe that explained it. "Whether they acted this way or not, the owners of this place expect us to act like this," Sylar said. "So you'd better get used to it." Then he moved closer still and, a hand reaching up to cup Peter's check and bringing him even closer, pressed their mouths together. Better to get it over with.

Peter tried to squirm out of his grasp but Sylar was having none of that. He'd decided to go for it – nothing was going deter him. He moved so that he was now completely on top of Peter, kept kissing him as he positioned their bodies more comfortably. Peter moaned into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip themselves into Sylar's hair. He turned the kiss harsh, brought teeth into the equation, drawing a moan from Sylar.

He groaned as Sylar thrust down and then – although he would have denied this vehemently – whimpered just a little when Sylar pulled away to gaze down at him, a lazy smirk on his lips. He ignored the way his hands wanted to pull Sylar back down, the way his lips tingled, even the erection making his trousers too tight to be altogether comfortable, and simply glared up at the man above him. He had never wanted to punch someone so much. But then, that was his default position around Sylar. Nearly everything the bastard did made him crave violence. Especially the type of violence that meant he could beat Sylar senseless. That was always fun.

"You are a bastard," Peter growled out.

Sylar looked hurt. "Really? You're too kind," he said sarcastically and moved even further away. Peter was thankful that his back was turned, otherwise he might have seen the way Peter's hands – of their own volition, mind you – tried to pull him back. He glared at them and managed to bring them back to his side by the time Sylar had turned around. Peter was surprised to realise that Sylar looked almost, well, sad.

"You really don't like me all that much, do you?" he asked, his voice soft.

"No," Peter agreed, disregarding the past few minutes entirely. "I don't like you at all." He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. Why? It was true, wasn't it? He couldn't stand the man. This, okay, wasn't exactly the same as not liking him, but it was close enough. "And anyway, why do you care?"

Sylar smiled at him. "Who says I care?" he said, and didn't sound defensive at all. In fact, he really did sound carefree. But then, Peter reminded himself, Sylar had just, not half an hour ago, pulled off the act of being madly in love with him. It wouldn't be hard to act carefree after that.

He found it hard to concentrate when Sylar kept smiling at him like that and so turned away. He brought his knees up and rested his chin on them, and began the assiduous task of trying to calm his body down. Sylar continued to watch him.

This went on for a few minutes until there was a knock at the door. Peter gazed at the door, somewhat transfixed, and then without another thought pulled Sylar into his embrace. He began kissing along his jaw line and down his neck as Sylar keened softly, his eyes fluttering shut. "Come in," Sylar murmured, fingers reaching up to run themselves through Peter's hair.

Peter moaned softly at the feel of Sylar's fingers beginning to massage his scalp. He didn't even notice when the door opened.

"Oh," a familiar voice said. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you." The familiar sounding girl had gone by the time Peter was able to form a coherent thought, let alone turn and look at the door. However when he was able to do this, he immediately extricated himself from Sylar's rather greedy hands – oh god, those hands – and moved over to the other side of the bed. He cleared his throat and avoided the other man's gaze.

Sylar watched him for a moment then sighed. He buried his head into the nearest pillow and swore quietly. This just kept getting better and better. He really hoped the mission was worth this.

***

Claire was almost giddy with joy. She pumped her fist in the air a couple of times but eventually that grew tiresome. She settled for jumping up and down and yelling. Thankfully she was alone in...whatever room she was in. She glanced around – another bedroom, it seemed. Whatever.

She was bouncing with glee at the thought of what she'd just walked in on. The plan was working! Gretchen had been wrong – it wasn't blowing up in her face. In fact, if anything, everything was going according to plan.

She deflated. Oh dear. In stories that was when you had to watch out. That was right before everything blew up in your face. She'd have to be extra careful.

She shrugged. Oh well, nothing she could do about it now.

She grinned and went to tell the others what she'd witnessed. Dad looked a bit nauseous. Janice positively glowed (Claire had suspicions that this was not all due to her news). Luke and Lyle both looked bored – in fact, neither even glanced up from whatever game they were playing on Lyle's PSP. She sniffed. Boys.

Really, she needed someone she could really be, well, bouncy with glee with. She decided to call Gretchen right away. Gretchen let her talk herself into silence and the smirk was plain in her voice when she finally said, "You know, someone else who didn't know you very well would think you want them to get together, not just to fuck."

Claire cleared her throat. She hadn't been that transparent, had she? She had to keep a low profile – even control her thoughts, what with the whereabouts of Matt Parkman being unknown at present – and not let anyone, not even Gretchen, guess that she harboured matchmaking tendencies. After all, she'd been the one to introduce Luke to Lyle. She glanced over at them, feeling smug. Look how well that had turned out.

She turned back to the conversation. "Of course not!" she scoffed. "How could you even think that? I would never!" She paused. "Ew," she added for good measure.

When Gretchen laughed at her through the phone, Claire had the feeling she had not been fooled. Just a feeling, of course.

***

Dinner was served in their room, by Lyle who neither of them had ever caught more than a glimpse of. Sullen because he was away from Luke, he mumbled replies whenever Sylar or Peter asked him a question – his name, for example – and eventually they told him to leave. He did, relieved to get back to Luke.

An awkward silence descended as Peter and Sylar ate. Both picked at their food, neither even realising what they were eating (an insult to the chef Angela had hired). Eventually Sylar glanced up to find Peter staring at him, mouth half open. Thankfully he was not eating anything at the time or Sylar would have had to act disgusted.

He smiled. He was rather surprised when Peter began choking on what was basically just air. His smile slowly widened.

Peter was blushing furiously. Why the hell had he even looked in Sylar's direction anyway? Yeah, okay, the way he'd been sucking on that spoon had been very distracting but that wasn't really much of an excuse. After all, he wasn't attracted to the guy (again, he conveniently forgot his actions only about an hour ago). Maybe he just needed to get laid since the last time he'd had sex was...good lord, it must have been with Emma. That date and the subsequent sex, followed by that excruciatingly awkward morning after, had led them both to consider friendship as the only other viable option. And that had been...well, a long time ago anyway. No need to go into detail. So, yeah, maybe his body was trying to tell him something. Maybe he needed this. Only one night, of course. This couldn't go past tonight.

He shifted nervously. He wasn't really a one night stand kind of guy. Most of the time he wanted something deeper, more permanent. But this time, well, maybe he just needed to fuck. And okay, he'd prefer it to be someone other than Sylar but desperate times called for desperate measures.

His mind made up, he stood and walked across to the other side of the table. Sylar gazed at him surprised, his eyes widening considerably more as Peter straddled him, silently thanking whoever had created these chairs, since they had excluded arms. Otherwise the situation and their positions would have been infinitely more difficult and not a little uncomfortable.

"Peter, what..." Sylar began but was cut off when Peter leaned down and kissed him. He really had nothing else to say after that. He had to admit, though, that he had not anticipated Peter being the one to make the first...okay, third...whatever move, the one that led directly to them having sex. He thought he'd have to take matters into his own hands, which he had done, only to be rebuffed. And then Peter had kissed him, as though for the first time. Maybe it was for him. Maybe he didn't count those first few kisses.

Sylar wanted this. He'd wanted it for awhile. Telling Peter outright was a bit too frightening even for someone like him, so he'd gone the gesture way. Big gestures, little gestures, in-between gestures, he'd tried them all. Chocolates, flowers, tickets to sold-out shows (he'd had to promise Angela so much for those), even a little kitten. Peter hadn't accepted any of them. Maybe he'd been going about it the wrong way. Judging from Peter's reactions to the Direct Approach maybe he should have just jumped him. It would have been much faster.

He kissed a trail down Peter's neck, groaned softly as Peter's shirt got in the way of moving lower. He had to move away in order to pull Peter's shirt up and off him, smiling at the whimper Peter made at the distance between their bodies. He quickly closed the gap, much to Peter's satisfaction.

If he was brutally honest with himself – and, sadly, this was not often – Peter also wanted this. He hadn't always wanted this. There had been a time when he'd have been disgusted at the very thought; sometimes it felt as though that time had never really passed. But then, he wasn't really disgusted with himself – it was more like he was wondering what other people would think if they found out just how much he wanted Sylar, his brother's killer. He'd been using the Nathan excuse for far too long because, oh god, how he wanted Sylar. And he'd give in, just this once.

Well, if Sylar would stop that...oh yes...that...it would be only this once. But if he continued...oh yes yes...well, Peter could feel his resistance slipping...and vanishing altogether. He stood up, pulling Sylar up with him. He manoeuvred him to the bed and pushed him down, climbing up him to get to his mouth. Kissing Sylar felt like coming home and, with that thought in mind, Peter let himself pretend that this night would last forever.

***

Claire was ecstatic. She had walked past their room – nonchalantly, of course – and had heard the customary noises associated with sex. Her eyebrows rose at the amount of noise coming from the room, and wondered whether some of it was faked. She certainly never made that much noise.

But still. She was ecstatic. She immediately rang Gretchen to gloat. Gretchen listened to her, laughter evident even though she hadn't said more than "Hello."

From their combined knowledge of chick flicks and some real life situations, they speculated on which one would be the one to have the major panic attack in the morning. Both concluded that it would definitely be Peter. Claire, who was only eternally optimistic when it came to the matches she tried to make, remarked wistfully that it would be lovely if neither of them had a panic attack. A moment of silence passed before they both burst out laughing. They'd just remembered who they were talking about.

Eventually Claire had to end the call and inform the others of the progress of her fantastic plan. Noah continued to look nauseous. Claire gave a moment's thought to the way Janice looked concerned and touched his arm but dismissed it for another, later date. She grinned inwardly though – she could feel another match just willing itself to be made. Lyle and Luke were again not all that interested. Whatever game they were playing must have been absolutely fascinating.

"I don't see why you have to keep informing us of every little detail, Claire-bear," Noah said, sitting at the kitchen table, conspicuously ignoring Janice's hand on his arm. "I don't think whatever Peter yells when he comes is relevant to the plan."

Janice nodded, agreeing, although she had appeared rather interested in this part before he'd spoken.

"It is when it's Sylar's name," Claire insisted. Noah groaned and banged his head against the table. Claire fell silent, but glared at her Dad just to show she was not impressed at his childish reaction.

"I think maybe we should all go to bed," Janice said soothingly.

Claire nodded, suddenly aware of how tired she was. She yawned and made her way to bed, but not before asking Lyle what he said when he came. She was hoping to embarrass him and so was rather surprised when he merely looked up at her and smiled. "I don't say anything, Claire." He turned that smile onto Luke, who blushed. "I don't need to."

Claire felt awkward, which, she supposed, should have been the usual response when one asks such a personal question of one's brother. Why she'd done it, she did not know. Possibly she was still a bit high off the happy feeling that her plan was working. She'd gotten a bit carried away.

She skedaddled as fast as she could, closing her bedroom door with a sigh of relief.

***

When Peter woke up the next morning, he did not have a panic attack. At first he did not recognise where he was. He had to take a moment to remember, a frown furrowing his brow. Then when he finally realised where he was, he turned slowly and saw Sylar just inches away from him, and became aware of the arm slung across his waist. He froze.

This could not be happening. He could not be in a bed with Sylar. In a bed naked with Sylar. Naked in a bed with Sylar. In bed with Sylar naked. Okay, enough of that.

He took a deep breath. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a dream. His frown deepened. A dream? A nightmare more like! Okay, maybe not a nightmare per se. More like, yes, like a bad dream. No. Actually a pretty good dream, if his memory was correct (and he hadn't been drinking so he knew it was). A very good dream. He let out his breath in a whoosh of air, which ghosted over Sylar's face and made him shift, the arm slung over Peter's waist gripping tighter and pulling him closer. Peter didn't struggle, even – okay, he'd admit it – enjoyed it a little.

How could he ever think he'd be able to do the one night stand thing? It just wasn't possible, not when he could watch Sylar sleep like this all the time. Sylar looked almost vulnerable and Peter had the unexpected feeling of wanting to protect him, wrapping him up and keeping him all to himself which, okay, might have had more to do with having sex with him whenever he wanted than it did with protecting him – the protective vibe was still there though. He brought a hand up and stroked Sylar's cheek, a gesture he'd probably only get away with when the man was asleep.

Sylar blinked awake slowly. He shifted, a movement which alerted Peter to the fact that he was in fact awake. Peter removed the finger he was stroking Sylar's face with and waited for the man to awaken fully.

Sylar's grip on Peter's waist tightened, fingernails digging in, making Peter gasp. He glanced up into Sylar's eyes and caught the glint of amusement in them. His glance turned into a glare right away and he tried to pull away. Sylar pulled him closer until their bodies were flush against one another, a gesture that said clearly enough, "You're not going anywhere."

Peter couldn't resist and closed the gap between their mouths in mere seconds. Sylar smiled through the kiss and, when it ended, showered Peter's face with light kisses, starting with his nose and ending by sucking at the lobe of one ear. "You stayed," he whispered and with that Peter was lost. Or rather found, because if kissing Sylar felt like coming home, those words were the basic equivalent of "Honey, I'm home!"

"Of course I stayed," Peter said, trying not to grin back at him. It was a close call. "Why wouldn't I?"

Sylar's reply was merely to kiss him and make him weak with the desire to fuck him into the mattress, rationality and logic long gone, their spaces filled with a need so great it was liable to drown them.

***

Claire felt rather smug. She'd just taken another nonchalant walk down the corridor past their bedroom and it appeared that neither Peter nor Sylar had had a panic attack. Good news all around, she thought. Her plan had worked. She immediately called Gretchen to tell her the good news.

Now, hopefully they wouldn't remember they were supposed to be on a mission.

They didn't.

***

"...and that's how your Daddies got together," Claire finished. Noah gave her the Look.

"Really?" He seemed suspicious. Claire hadn't a clue why.

"Yes, really," she insisted, rather annoyed that he hadn't believed her. She turned to Peter and Sylar, who would be able to corroborate her story but found them blissfully asleep in each other's arms, curled up on the couch together. She sighed, frustrated.

"Aunty Gretchen, Uncle Lyle," Noah whined. "Is that really how it went?"

"Don't bother your Uncle Lyle, sweetie," Gretchen said. "He and your Uncle Luke are in the middle of a game."

"YES!" Lyle yelled in the background. "Take that, you bastards!"

"So, Aunty Gretchen," Noah persisted. Claire groaned softly. "Is that really how it went?"

Gretchen smiled at her. "Well, she might have embellished it in parts, but it's mostly correct. Why?"

Noah grinned up at her. "Because old people can be so sweet!" he said triumphantly, having been wanting to use that reference for the past few weeks.

There was an awkward silence.

"Has Grandma Janice been letting you watch her chick flicks again?" Claire asked.

"Yeah," Noah said sullenly, knowing that he'd said something wrong but still convinced he hadn't.

"The butterflies, Sylar!" Peter shrieked suddenly. "They're coming to get us!"

Sylar pulled him closer and shushed him, rocking him gently back to sleep. "They won't get us. I'll rip their wings off if they hurt you," he murmured, obviously still asleep otherwise he wouldn't have been that verbally violent towards pretty insects around Noah.

Peter smiled and settled back down, his head again resting on Sylar's shoulder.

There was another awkward silence.

"They're weird," Noah said, his nose wrinkling slightly.

Claire had to agree with him.

Yup.

*twiddles thumbs*

Review please.