Ta-tap tap tap tap. Ta-tap tap tap tap. Ta-tap tap tap tap. Ta-tap tap tap tap. Ta-tap tap tap tap. Ta-tap tap tap tap.

Sylar looked up over his book, watching as Peter cradled his guitar but instead of playing, was tapping out an irritating beat on the case. It reminded Sylar of the steady, ticking progress of a second hand and in fact, Peter's tapping was exactly one tap to the second … except for that nagging half beat every four taps. It threw the whole thing off.

Sylar itched to fix, to regulate, to calibrate. Peter had always marched to his own drummer. One of the things Sylar had to learn was that not every clock needed to be fixed.