Title: Spy
Author: finkpishnets
Character/Pairing: Peter/Claire
Rating: PG
Warnings: Pure fluff
Spoilers: All to be safe but not really any.
Summary: She wasn't exactly sure how she'd manage to talk her way around why she was concealed behind the mops and sitting on an upturned bucket in the dark. Maybe he'd just accept it as one of her crazy quirks?
A/N: Another one. It's all from my prompts. This one is pure fluff written at 1:30am and unbeatad, so excuse that :)

She hadn't meant to spy on him. She hadn't woken up that morning and thought, 'I know – I'm going to spy on Peter today!' Even so, it was undeniably spying when you spent five hours following someone around without them noticing. It wasn't as if he was even doing anything particularly interesting; he was just filling in some paper work for the hospice he worked for, doing some chores around the studio and apartment and occasionally drinking stupid amounts of coffee which made her nose wrinkle in distaste.

And it wasn't as if she didn't have better things to be doing with her time either. It would have been much more productive for her to be researching internet college courses or tidying up her room which you currently had trouble finding floor space in. Heck, she could even be helping Isaac out in deciphering more of the paintings or practicing her cheers with Hiro who was always a willing audience and keen to join in.

But no, she was spying on Peter as he did laundry. How pathetic was she? Her crush on him was totally obvious (as Simone had rather bitchily pointed out) and she was incredibly naïve if she believed he could ever see her as anything other than a child. Of course he smiled that gorgeous half smile at her; he smiled like that at everyone. Of course he asked her how she was; he was the most caring and considerate member of the group.

She watched from her hiding place as he got frustrated with the dryer and kicked it uselessly, glaring and ranting when all he managed to achieve was a sore foot. She bit back a laugh but a treacherous snort escaped and she was sure for a moment that she'd given herself away. She wasn't exactly sure how she'd manage to talk her way around why she was concealed behind the mops and sitting on an upturned bucket in the dark. Maybe he'd just accept it as one of her crazy quirks?

It didn't matter anyway as he seemed not to notice the disturbance, instead giving up on the dryer with a sigh of defeat and disappearing back up the steps. Claire waited a few minutes before carefully untangling herself from her hidden spot and then screaming whilst running in circles when she realised there was a spider in her hair. When the evil spider was gone, she moved over to the pile of abandoned laundry and eyed it critically, hoping desperately that she wasn't about to find his underwear which would certainly lead to a mortifying situation. Luckily, it was just a pile of mismatched shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans, and so, with one last look to make sure the coast was clear, she opened the dryer (you had to give it a slight push and life before it would open properly) and proceeded to make sure Peter's clothes would actually dry rather than sit around, wet, until they smelt and needed to be cleaned again.

Carefully, she made her way back up to the next level, eyes darting back and forth to make sure she wasn't spotted. Isaac was in the studio but he merely gave her a quick raised eyebrow before going back to his sketching. So much for her being discreet.

Hearing cluttering in the kitchen and assuming it to be Hiro who had a fondness for baking, she walked in with a bright smile, glad for the distraction, only to be faced with Peter blowing hair out of his eyes and eyeing up two different baking tins critically. As she skipped in, he looked up at her with casual friendliness, offering her one of his heart melting half smiles that always made her stop short.

"Uh, hey," she said after a moment, realising that she looked like an idiot just standing there.

"Hey," he grinned. "Um, d'you know which one of these I'm supposed to use for a banana loaf?" He scratched the back of his neck and looked so thoroughly confused that Claire didn't think he'd ever been more adorable.

"You can use either," she smiled. "My mum used to make them for me all the time back home. They're my favourite."

"I know," he told her distractedly before his eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut. Both her eyebrows sprung up in disbelief and she could feel her jaw dropping open.

"What?" she asked quietly, aware that she must look like a gaping fish.

"Well, you mentioned that they were your favourite and you've been seeming sort of down lately, so I just thought…" he let him admission hang and it only took a moment before she'd crossed to the other side of the kitchen counter and flung her arms around his neck tightly.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she squealed loudly, too shocked and pleased to think about how completely unattractive she must have seemed.

"You're welcome," he muttered, his ears turning bright red.

After a few more (milked) moments, she let him go and stood back, cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"So, you gonna help?" he asked, his usual calm exterior back in place.

"Sure," he gave him her biggest smile and set about digging out the ingredients from the cupboards. She had just reached for the flour when he spoke again.

"Claire," his tone was serious and immediately put her on edge. "Can I ask you something?" She turned to face him slowly, her heart beating furiously in her chest.

"S-sure," she replied, her throat suddenly dry, feeling unnerved by his serious demeanour.

His face broke out into a giant grin. "Did you really just do my laundry?"