Chud sat at the edge of the bathroom sink. His tiny little eyes blinked as he watched his owner prance around the small space. Her hips shook from side to side as she sang off key to a Katy Perry song about peacocks.

Winifred continued to bob her head back and forth as she riffled through a bag she had got from the drug mart. It hadn't taken her long to find what she was looking for. She set the boxes next to her turtle and grabbed the towel off the rake behind her. It was thrown around her shoulders with an almost maniacal grin on her painted red lips.

It was two hours later that Michael appeared on her stoop with a pursed lipped, disapproving glare on his face. His dark eyes went from her pale face to her newly dyed hair before going back to her face.

"Back to being a brunette I see."

She ushered him into her apartment with a smile and a shrug. "You know what they say, once you go black…"

"Hm." Michael smirked to himself. He refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was mildly amusing. "I heard you had some trouble with your tracker."

"I wouldn't say trouble…" Her voice trailed off as she shut the door.

The younger woman crossed her arms over her chest as she followed him in to the living room. He had taken a seat on the couch, and not wanting to make him uncomfortable, she dropped into her globe chair. Spinning it idly, she smiled at him.

Michael took this as a cue to continue. "How did you shut off your tracker, McKellen?"

"I didn't." She shrugged absently. "I just jammed the frequencies streaming out of the apartment."

"Oh, is that all?" He snidely asked.

Winifred nodded, not catching his sarcasm. Or perhaps simply not paying it any mind. "Mhm. Any techie can do it."

He stood. His dark eyes glowering down at her, he demanded she hand over the device. She refused. Michael's gaze turned dangerous and he unbuttoned his jacket. Rolling up his sleeves, he asked her once more. She arched a brow and dropped her hip. With crossed arms, she coaxed him with her index finger.

Twenty minutes later, Birkhoff would walk in on them fist fighting. For a second, he was too stunned to do anything. He just stood, silently, watching them. The moment passed, and he bellowed, "What in the fuck are you two doing?"

The taller man's head snapped toward the voice. The nerd gaped at them, wide eyed from the doorway. Michael had a fist full of Fred's hair, and she had him by the collar, a knee pressed against his chest. The agent cleared his throat and let her go. She took this opportunity to lay a final slap on his cheek before stepping away.

Birkhoff shook his head and dropped the bag of Chinese food on her counter. "Whatever," He gestured with his hand, "I don't even want to know."

"We were just… talking," Michael adjusted his tie as Fred crossed the room to the Engineer. His dark eyes dropped to the floor as they shared a quick kiss. So much for modesty. He went on as they parted. "She won't tell me how she got her tracker to malfunction."

Winifred smiled. Bouncing on her toes, she sauntered around the counter (pranced, really) to get them some plates as Birkhoff frowned at the man. "So? It's not like she's going anywhere."

"We can't have a break in Division security, you know that."

The shorter man scoffed. "It's Fred."

"Just for the record," The newly dyed brunette piped in, "I can hear you." She set the plates down and motioned for them to sit. "So, can we drop this?"

Michael frowned at her. She mocked it back at him. Birkhoff glanced between them. After a tense lull, he cleared his throat. "Well. Not that this hasn't been fun, but I'm starving so…"

Without another word, the agent grabbed his jacket and left. When Birkhoff turned back to his… lady friend, she was staring intently at the door. He nodded behind him, "Wanna tell me what all that was about?"

"Not really." Fred went back to her gathering the plates and glasses. She carried her cargo over to the table.

Birkhoff rolled his eyes. He should've known Fred wouldn't be able to play nice with the other children. Instead of commenting on this, he asked if she had seen his glasses. With an overly innocent look, she pointed toward her bedroom. He threw her a questioning glance before making his way over. She took this as an opportunity to open both fortune cookies.

When Seymour returned, his glasses were on the end of his nose. Unsurprisingly. He narrowed his eyes at her as she cracked open the second cookie. "Hey!"

"Shush!" She snapped at him, she dropped back to the small strip of paper. "Slow and steady wins the race." Fred blinked, looked down at the paper and growled at it.

The man cocked a brow. Stifling a laugh, he asked. "Something wrong?"

"That's not even a fortune!" She shrieked, "That's a parable! What the fuck!"

"What's the other one say?" He dropped down on to the couch beside her and began piling food on to one of the plates she had set out. "And why do you set the table for Mikey, but make me eat in the living room?"

"Because I like you better." She folded her legs and pulled apart the first cookie. Fred was more interested in breaking the cookies than actually reading the saying inside them. "I don't have to impress you."

He shook his head, shaggy hair moving with him. "Says who?"

Fred absently flashed him her bra. His brows shot up. Her shirt went back down. She pointed at him. "See that? That goofy look of joy all over this?" She motioned to his face before poking his forehead. "That says we don't have to eat at the table."

He just smirked at her. It was all he could really do after her little show. After a few seconds he composed himself and asked what the other cookie said.

"Good things come to those who wait. What the fuck kinda-"

Birkhoff shoved the ruminants of the cookie in her mouth. "Shut up and eat, McKellen."

Fred spit the cookie in to her lap. "Do not call me that." She wiped her tongue on her hands. "Ugk. Why'd they have to go and put in that pissy lemon flavor?"

The techhead wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Yeah, I hate that."

"It's so freakin' unnecessary." The woman complained, picking the crumbs up with a napkin. She eyed Birkhoff curiously. He didn't so much as move. With a tilted head, Fred asked, "What're you doing here?"

"Eating." He said emotionlessly. He put all his concentration into chewing his orange chicken.

Her blue eyes narrowed in response. "But why are you eating here?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Well, no."

Birkhoff shrugged, "Then just so you could bask in the glory that is me."

A smile twitched at her lips, and they said no more.

A/N: Read and Review. Next chap. takes place inside Division. Michael and Fred need to learn to play nice.