Author's Note: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to put up another chapter. It's been a hectic month. I just moved into a new place, and the packing and unpacking process was really time consuming. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it's very much appreciated. And they're helpful reminders when my head is elsewhere. xD Because this chapter is a bit… short, I'll try to post 10 in a few days. =] Enjoy.

After Claire had told him what had happened with Peter, and who Peter really was, Sylar was in deep thought. He could see this was going to be a problem in the future. Even though the two of them were too naïve to do anything remotely entertaining, he had a feeling Peter would be around a lot more often.

Claire was standing on the tip of her toes, scrubbing a sponge against the wall. Her fingers were white as she dug the material into the crimson blood. He watched her, his form surrounded by the blue bean bag. What other choice did he have? He wasn't going to sit on the floor. As he watched her, he wondered why she bothered. He could already see the walls caked with blood by the end of this, hers more then his.

When she was finished, sweat glistened across her forehead. She pulled back, and looked up. It was hardly visible, but she could faintly see very soft pink droplets on the wall. She'd have to invest in some paint. Her gaze traveled down her slender tummy, seeing the lines of red where her blood had seeped through her shirt. "Ugh," she groaned.

"Now I'm going to throw this one away. It's ruined." Turning to him, her eyes went as hard as stone. "You owe me a shirt."

"You could have mine..." The corners of his lips lifted as he grinned in her direction.

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling and she turned away, huffing quietly. "Can't you refrain yourself, just once?" She walked into her room, throwing on a simple green t shirt from the walk in closet. She'd only brought over a few outfits, she'd have to make them last until she could get all of her things over here. Hiro would really come in handy about now.

"Your living room is empty. Your bathroom is a pathetic excuse for a facility. My room is bare, your room isn't as pink as I imagine you want it to be." He stood from the bean bag and walked into the kitchen. "No surprise," he said as he opened the fridge. "And the only thing you've got in here is water."

"Isn't this the part where you turn around with a smile on your face and scream 'Shopping!!?" Claire tilted her head as she tossed the remark at him.

He narrowed his eyes in her direction. "I'm not gay, Claire."

This made her laugh, and she grabbed her purse off the counter. "Right."

"You want proof?"

"No, thanks. I didn't mean to insult your manhood." Another purr of laughter as she walked towards the door.

Sylar's lips pursed together, he shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his jeans. He liked her better when she was giving him the silent treatment. Now what had he unleashed?

--

"I don't want to buy glassware. I'll stick with paper plates." Claire argued back with him, and he continued to ignore her. For the past half hour, they'd been stuck in the same aisle, arguing about why they should or shouldn't get plates, cups, and bowls.

"Claire, it's the sensible thing to do. You've just moved into your first apartment, you can't expect Mommy and Daddy to give you their spares of everything." He was looking down at the two boxes in his hand. One was a bigger set, but a bit more plain then the elegant looking one in his other hand. "This should be something you need to experience."

"With you?" Claire flung the question at him, prying the first set of dishes out of his hands and setting it down. "I think not. I told you, I don't want the hassle of dishes when I've got to worry about the serial killer bringing home bodies and getting blood on my carpet. Speaking of which, I wonder if they've got carpet cleaners here. Steam cleaners?" She wondered aloud, and he flicked an angry look at her.

"You're just worried you're gonna buy this, and somehow we'll manage to break it," he mumbled, and she ignored him, rolling the cart down the rest of the aisle. "This conversation is over," she stated, but a second later the soft squeak of the wheels on the cart stopped, and Claire was rendered motionless in the aisle.

"God," she complained. Using his telekinesis, he had made her pause as he plucked the other set of dishes up to finish inquiring about them. "You're worse then a child in a store, you don't stop until you get your way." Unknown to her, she received a knowing smirk as Sylar finally decided and placed the dishes in the cart. When she could see his face again, the smirk was gone and they were off to bicker about something else.