Peter Petrelli lays on his bed, waiting for sleep, or something like it, to take him. It's 2:00 pm, but there is nothing he feels he can do with the death of his brother looming in his every thought. The phone rings quietly, he ignores it, and the call goes to the answering machine.

"Hello, Mr. Petrelli? This is Victor Angoissant, I am calling with the New York Newspaper, I'm writing the obituary for your brother, Nathan Petrelli, and I-"the voice is cut off, Peter has picked up the phone.

"Hello?" he says solemnly.

"Mr. Petrelli? This is Victor Angoissant from-"

"I know, I heard your message. Just tell me what you want."

"Yes, sir. Well, I, uh, needed to know something concerning, well you know...I mean we already know a lot about your brother because he was a politician and everything, but we need to know the cause of his death." Victor says. The line is silent, so he continues. "I mean, no one has been able to find out and the doctor who administered the death certificate refused to tell us anything, Dr. Mohinder Suresh."

"Did Suresh tell you to call here?" Peter asks.

"No, sir, I mean, I can't tell you that but, if you decline us any information on the cause of death, O'm afraid the obituary won't print."

"It was my fault."

"What?" Victor asks, puzzled.

"It's because of me that Nathan's dead." Peter whispers in an almost sickly way. He hangs up the phone heavily.

At the Moving Bookcase, a store filled with historical books, classic novels and plays, encyclopedias, and first editions, Mohinder Suresh sleeps, seated at the cashier desk. The store is never very busy, and there is not much to do after reading's gotten old. A man walks into the store, but Mohinder doesn't wake up. The man leaves at the sight of him dreaming on the ebony desk.

An hour later, two girls walk in and see Mohinder sleeping. They giggle quietly and the npull out Sharpies from their bags and draw on his face. Once they've finished, they quickly leave the store, closing the door loudly behind them The sound wakes up Mohinder. He looks at the time. It's 5 o'clock, only one hour until closing. He glances around, then slides the pile of books next to him closer and opens the book on top and begins to read to pass the time, completely unaware of the drawings on his face.

Claire and Noah Bennet are in the car. Noah focuses on the road, Claire's eyes remain fixed on him. She is not happy.

"Why do you want to get rid of me again?" she asks with angst.

"It wasn't my idea at all. It was Lyle's brilliance." he jokes, smiling at her. She does not mimic the expression.

"I'm not laughing, dad." she says. "I don't want to move with this woman I don't even know, I want to go home."

"I told you Claire Bear, it's not safe at home. I know you think Sylar is dead, but I have this feeling that tells me he's not. Our home is the first place he'll coming looking for you. At least here he'll have no idea where your staying and you will be very well protected." he finishes, but Claire continues to glare at him, unconvinced. He turns back to the road.

They arrive at an apartment complex of modest standing. They go up in an elevator to the eighth floor carrying Claire's bags. The doors open to a long hall. They knock on the door 816, and a woman of about 28 opens it.

"Hey, Claire," she says. "Please, come in." And moves aside for the two to enter. "I hope you had a good flight."

"We did, thank you." HRG says with a smile.

"Let's take a those bags into the bedroom." says the woman, taking the bags that Claire is holding. She offers to take the ones HRG is carrying, but he declines and insists on helping her. They leave the room, closing the bedroom door behing them. Claire knew too well what that meant: they were discussing something concerning herself.

Claire looks around. The small apartment was not at all disorderly. The woman must have cleaned before their arrival. It is an ordinary apartment. Everything is what one would expect in an average apartment of that size. The walls were blue. The only great distinction there was was the pictures on the walls. They were all done by hand with various mediums, but none Claire recognized. There were many different scenes on the sketches and paintings, but, strangely, especially in Claire's mind, there was not a single wooden frame holding a picture of the woman or anyone who could be her family. Suddenly, the door opens and the woman and HRG walk out. Claire turns around to look at them and smiles politely.

"Claire," HRG begins, "this is Rosemary Vane. I know her through a work connection. She's agreed to look out for you," he tells her. Upon his last words, Claire has another unconvinced look. He continues, "...until I'm sure it's safe for you to come home." That look seems to be attached to Claire's face, but then, luckily, disappears for a repeat of her polite smile.

"Hello, Claire" Rosemary says.

"Hi," Claire replies. There is silence between te crowd. HRG, being a man, assumes there is some sort of female mind linking occuring, so he decides it best tp escape with haste.

"I guess I'll be going then," he says, interrupting the deadly quiet cadence. He looks at Claire. "Good bye, Claire" he says as they hug.

"Bye, Dad," Claire says, trying to hold back tears. "I love you." she tells him.

"I love you, too." HRG says back, letting go. "I'll be in touch," he promises, then turns to Rosemary. "Thanks, agains, for taking her."

"It's no problem, I could use some company, anyway," she says. HRG leaves the apartment and Rosemary locks the door behind him. She stands facing the door for a moment, then turns around and smiles brightly at Claire. "So, Claire, have a seat, make yourself at home." Claire sits down on the sofa, Rosemary smiles casually while Claire stares at her expressionlessly. "We could talk about this." Rosemary says helplessly trying to lighten the overwhelming awkwardness. Claire doesn't even blink. "No? Okay, uh..." She looks around the room, keeping the smile, desperate for something, anything to melt the ice between them. "Are you hungry? I could order pizza...Or if your, like, a vegan I've got the number of a place."

"I'm not a vegan. Pizza sounds good." Claire says with a welcoming smile, but that same upsetting expression.

"Alright, hang on." Rosemary walks to the phone and dials a number. She places the order. "Any toppings?"

"No, thanks." Claire replies with a quick smile.

"Ok." Rosemary says, happy that Claire seems to be lightening up. Just the prospect of pizza is enough to turn a heart of stone into gold. She finishes on the phone and walks back over to the chair.

"I like your pictures." Claire tells her.

"Thanks, I did them all myself." Rosemary says while sitting down, giving the paintings a quick glance.

"Wow. They're beautiful." Claire says with a sincere smile. "But, none of your family?" Claire asks.

"No...But I've got an album with some photos of them that I could show you sometime."

"Alright." Claire says nodding.

"Ok...So, do you want to watch a movie? I've got some, or maybe if you brought some, or if you want we could rent one."

"Let's see what you have."

"Alright. Come here, they're in the cabinet."