Thanks so much for everyone who has reviewed, favourited, alerted and read this story! Yep, this is the last chapter of my very first story! I hope you like it, I've never been great at ending stories. Anyway, if you do like it, I'll be writing more soon, so please keep an eye out for me! :D
Claire took a quick step backwards, and pulled the trigger again, now aiming for his stomach. This time Sylar was so close that when he flicked the bullet out of his skin Claire could see him heal. How had he gotten to her so fast? Sure, twenty feet wasn't far but... It felt like it had only been seconds before he was standing in front of her, towering over her (curse her shortness), and grabbing the gun out of her hand.
"Not there either." He informed her, leaning down so that his face was painfully close to Claire's.
...Wait! Grabbing the gun out of her hand!? Claire blinked in shock, thaen cried, "Hey!" Sylar merely smirked and stepped past her, walking out of the train station. "That is my gun!" She yelled indignantly, then raced after him. He was moving much too fast, this really wasn't fair. It took Claire longer then she would like to admit to catch up to Sylar, and fall into step with him. "Give it back. Now." The last word came out as a growl, which she had hoped to be intimidating, but Sylar just laughed.
"If I give it back you'll just shoot me again. And again, until you run out of bullets. By then I'll be covered in blood and we'll be getting even more weird looks then we already are." They weren't getting weird looks, Claire felt compelled to point out, there was no one around, they weren't really in the city yet. Just on the outskirts. But she kept her mouth shut on that matter, she had more important things to retort to.
"I'll keep shooting until I kill you," She snapped, and was about to continue, saying something about how he'd die long before her bullets ran out, when he interrupted her. Jerk.
"Claire, there are only three bullets left in this gun," Oh, did she forget to refill it this morning? Wait, how did he even know there were three? "And you've been saying the same thing for decades, what makes you think today's your lucky day?" He was much too smug.
"It just is." Claire replied stubbornly, then held her hand out across his chest in an attempt to stop him from walking any further. "Now give me back my gun! Its mine and you are stealing."
"Claire." Why does he have to say her name so much? "As you have pointed out many times before, I have killed hundreds." He said it as simply as if he were commenting on the weather and it infuriated Claire. Why couldn't she get him angry? He never seemed to lose his temper around her, while she always did. It just wasn't fair. "Do you really think petty theft is going to bother me?" With that he pushed her arm out of the way and continued down the street.
"But its mine!" Not that that would, or should, make any difference. Claire wasn't any different from any of Sylar's other victims, other than the fact that she was alive, and had conversations with him on a regular basis. She didn't expect him to give it back, but it felt important that she pointed it out.
Sylar just smirked, not responding other than quickening his pace. Claire is quite aware of where he's heading, if he were anyone other than Sylar (or herself) Claire may have been forced to take him to an intervention or an alcoholics anonyms meeting. Yes, he was heading to a bar. He always went to a bar, every day after her attempts to kill him. And Claire always went with him. Not by choice, normally he had stolen the object she'd attempted to kill him with. That or she just felt like she needed a drink. Not that alcohol did anything to her; the need for a drink was just basic instinct. Getting drunk NEVER worked.
"Give me my gun now or I will teach you what real pain feels like." Claire snarled, jogging slightly to catch up with the man (okay, this wasn't even funny. He was walking way too fast) and glaring at him.
"Come on Claire-bear, you know you couldn't do that to me." Sylar sent a sly smile her way, implying something that Claire didn't even want to acknowledge. He was such an idiot.
"So help me g-"
"Oh look! We're here!" Sylar interrupted Claire cheerfully. Cheerful Sylar was something Claire had never thought she'd see, and it still unnerved her slightly. They were indeed at a bar, there were so many in New York yet Claire had been to them all. Thanks to Sylar. She still maintained that if either of them could get drunk, he would be the one with the problem, and not her. This one had an endless supply of tequila shots, which put it up in Claire's top ten. Of course, Sylar had probably only picked this bar because it was the closest to the train station.
Stepping forward, Sylar opened the door and held it, gesturing at Claire to go through, "Ladies first." He was so good at pretending to be a gentleman. Claire of course knew it was all an act, and she shot him a glare as she stepped past him into the bar. Luckily there were two empty barstools right next to each other. Not that Claire wanted to sit next to Sylar, it was just easiest to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't kill an innocent person, that way.
"Two rounds of tequila, keep them coming." Sylar ordered as he took a seat, the bartender gave Claire an odd look, probably trying to guess her age, but shrugged without saying anything and went off to get their drinks. Another good thing about this bar, they weren't very serious about underage drinking. Claire normally had a few fake ids handy, just in case, but the majority of the time no one seemed to care enough to check.
When her shot was place in front of her Claire drank it in one large gulp, ignored the bartender's confused look, and turned to glare at Sylar. "Next time I'm not even going to bother with a gun," She informed him angrily.
"Oh really." Sylar replied, giving her a bemused look before taking a drink of his own shot.
"Nope. I'm going to use a spoon." She told him simply, ignoring the look of utter amusement that shone on his face. He could at least hide that, if he was going to let her shoot her every day, he should play his part in the bar too. Pretend to be scared or something. It was only fair. "I'll gouge your eyes out with a spoon, see if you can heal from that." Claire smirked and gulped her next glass.
Sylar burst out laughing at that, he just couldn't hold it in. He sucked. A lot. Claire hated him. He kept telling her that her attempts to kill him were just a desperate way for her to get closer to him. Then he'd say something about how she didn't need a gun to be around him. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Claire would never stop hating Sylar. ...Never. Probably.