I dunno... this is just an idea that's been floating about in my head for quite awhile. Instead of a oneshot, this will kind of be a two-to-threeshot. But mixed up with other stuff, because I can.

Also, it's much more Sylaire-shippy than most of the other parts have been. And slightly more Claire-centered.

Takes place waaaaay far ahead in the future.

It's December 31st, 2099, and Claire Bennet is ordering another beer.

The bartender gives her a funny look, and she can't blame him- she's been through three already. By now, most girls of her stature would have been swooning and giggling and would need to be sent home with a designated driver. Of course, Claire is nothing like most girls.

She takes a sip from the glass, reveling in the strength of the taste. Flavor doesn't matter. All she really wants is something to take her mind off of the fact that it's New Years Eve- again- and she doesn't have anyone to celebrate it with. Which is silly, since she's grown used to being alone. Really. Something as stupid as a holiday shouldn't matter in the least.

It's just… she remembers 1999, flickeringly, just barely. She can remember sitting with her family around the television set, counting down the seconds 'til midnight. She can remember her brother being completely convinced that everything was going to crash, or the world would end, or something, and her dad laughing it off. She can remember everything being simple. Happy.

There's a slight buzz in the background that's associated with someone walking through the metal detector, and the bartender looks up to ask what the new guy would like to drink.

"What she's having," he replies, and Claire stiffens at the dark tone of his voice. Well. Maybe she can't quite say that she's always alone.

"Sylar," she murmurs coolly as he slides onto the stool next to her. He looks the same as always, though he now has his hair spiked up in the front.

"Cheerleader," he rejoins, almost cheerfully. "You've dyed your hair again, I see. Back to blonde."

"It's been blonde for nine years," she replies drily, tapping the outside of her glass.

"Ah." He rests his elbows on the counter, watching the bartender. "That's right- I haven't seen you since '87, I think?"

"Mmm. At the omni-linguist's apartment." She's surprised that she can still remember the occasion. "I was trying to get information, and then you waltzed in, ready to steal her power."

He smiles sarcastically. "And you told her to run, and she started cussing us both out in twelve different languages. I think one of them was… bird."

"I threw you out of her window. Third story, right?"

"Fourth, actually." He curls his fingers around his glass a second after the man behind the counter slides it towards him. "You caught me by surprise. I hadn't expected you to take my suggestion and learn some form of karate."

"Tae Kwon Do, technically." She shrugs, struggles to keep from smiling. "Well, it was a good idea, even coming from you."

Sylar runs his pointer finger around the rim of the glass, not drinking, just thinking. He hesitates before speaking again, and when he does, his words are slow and confused, as if he's not sure why he's saying them. "I… I missed your hundredth birthday, didn't I?"

The man sitting at the other end of the bar is staring at them, muttering something about having had one drink too many. Sylar glances back towards him and flicks his fingers, causing the man to suddenly develop an intense headache and realize that he really ought to be heading home. This gives Claire a chance to recover from surprise and collect her thoughts.

"Well, yeah." She looks down, frowning. "Doesn't matter. It wasn't anything special."

The corner of his mouth twitches up at the last word, but then he gives a little shudder and flicks her a glare. "Claire, what have I always said about lying?"

She hunches her shoulders, bites her lower lip. Damn abilities. "Fine. It wasn't anything… good, okay?"

He tilts his head to the side, watching her.

"He died." Her voice is strangled now, a mixture of grief and anger being fought back. "Peter. I- I kept trying to keep him alive, giving him my power whenever he lost it, but then he'd keep taking risks and needing to borrow other powers, and he'd age every time he did. I don't think he ever realized how old he was getting. Not 'til it was too late." She's not sure why she's telling Sylar all of this, except that he's the only other person left from the old days. And, though she'd never let him know, sometimes she kind of wonders what he's doing out there, how he spends his days as the only other immortal in the world.

"Huh." Sylar's still watching her, expressionless. "Well. Petrelli acted stupid, played the hero, and got himself killed. That figures."

"Shut up," she says curtly, grabbing her glass to take another drink.

"Why are you bothering with that right now?" he asks, curious. "I know it doesn't do any good."

She sighs, holding the drink an inch from her lips. "It's the same with you, then? Alcohol doesn't affect you?"

He nods. "Alcohol is usually drained out of the system slowly, causing intoxication in the process; with your ability, any foreign substances are eliminated almost instantly, so you can't feel the effects. It's truly marvelous, the breadths towards which your power can be extended."

Stupid Sylar, always trying to teach her about her own ability. Claire glares at him. "Well then, Mister Serial Killer, why'd you come to a bar in the first place?

He stares at her for a moment or two, and then his face lights up in a smile that actually makes him look human. Claire blinks. "Aha- looks like someone didn't realize that there's an astrological phenomenon scheduled for tonight."

Blink. Blink.

"There's going to be an eclipse, Claire," he says slowly, still smiling.

He's kind of cute when he's smiling like a real person instead of a homicidal maniac. Just her type, too- tall and dark. Then Claire mentally roundhouse kicks herself, trying to put her hormones (which are, unfortunately, perpetually in the aggravated state of a 17-year-old girl's) into order. "But we won't be able to see it," she mutters finally, tearing her eyes away.

"Doesn't matter. It'll still have the same effect." He checks his watch- she glances over, and notices that, though he's got one of those new wireless ones that are really more like mini computers than watches, he's also still wearing his broken analog watch- and nods. "Should be starting in five minutes. I'm planning on spending it like I always do."

"You're going to get drunk?"

"Indeed."

It's a stupid, stupid plan. "Mind if I join you?"

He pauses, and then shrugs. "If you want to, Claire."

And, you know? She actually does.