"Nah- nah no. Dat's not the best part." He's smiling again, and she's changed her mind, it's not just cute, it's hot. Despite the Brooklyn accent (good Lord, he might not have a specific home anymore, but he still sounds like a New Yorker deep down). "The killin', you know, exciting at first, but it wears off. Nah. I like the knowin'."

Claire has not felt this good in decades. She isn't worrying about anything, she isn't feeling guilty or angry, she's relaxed. She's also kind of dizzy. But that's okay. Seriously. "Gabe."

"Sylar," he reminds her.

"Gabriel, then. This- this is a good idea." She nods twice, emphatically, but doesn't nod three times because that makes the spinning in her head worse. Besides, people only nod three times when situations are dire. "We should totally do this again. Yeah."

"Solar eclipses happen, eh, 'bout twice a year," he mutters, squinting at his empty glass as if wondering where his drink went. "It's a fan-tas-tic way t'forget. S'my personal holiday."

For some reason, she thinks that's incredibly funny, and she starts giggling uncontrollably. The bartender wanders over, shaking his head. "Good God, you kids have no tolerance level, do you? Best be headin' home before you get in trouble."

Sylar's eyebrows furrow down low over his eyes, and he furtively raises his hand, pointer finger extended, but Claire grabs his hand in hers and hops off of her stool. "That's prob'ly a good idea. Thanks, sir!"

"Don't do anything foolish, now," he calls after them as she drags Sylar out of the building.

"What'd you do that for?" he grumbles as they stumble out into the night air, which is pleasantly cool since they're only in Costa Verde, after all. "I was gonna, oh, I dunno, make'm walk away or somethin'."

"Don't have your powers right now, remember?" She frowns, still walking forward and tugging him behind her. She isn't quite sure where she's going, but she knows she'll figure it out eventually. And besides, she's badass. Nothing bad could possibly happen. "How long do eclipses last?"

"He called us kids, too," Sylar mutters, frowning. "We're twice his age, at least. He should respec' his elders, you know?"

"Gabriel. Eclipses. How long do they last?"

He looks at her, puzzled. "Eh, it varies," he hedges. "The effects, though, they last an hour or two, maybe."

She thinks (the cool air is calming her down, helping clear her mind a bit). How much time has passed since Sylar suddenly went all stiff and funny-looking and said that 'it was starting'? At least three days. No, wait, that doesn't add up. Thirty minutes, maybe, plus five outside, minus eight from the fact that her cell phone's clock is a bit off, and… "What's thirty-five minus eight? "

He snickers. "Can't even do basic math, 'den? God, I can't believe you're so drunk after one shot. It's pathetic."

She drops his hand and whirls around to glare at him. "Stop being such a jerk, you… jerk. Anyway. You're drunk too."

"Am not."

"Are t-" she takes a deep breath, reminds herself to act like a responsible adult instead of a petulant teenager. "Whatever. I'm going home." Oh, right- she's walking in the direction her apartment's in. Funny that it took her so long to figure it out.

"Shit, you actu'ly still live here?" Sylar looks surprised.

"Sometimes." She doesn't want him stalking her… much.

"Neh. Didn't think you did." He shrugs. "I mean, after everyone you knew here dying and all."

"You're a dick, you know that?"

He smiles, and she turns to leave him in disgust, but when she starts walking again, he's right there next to her. "Doesn't make what I said any less true, does it?"

"Why do you care?" she asks, feeling very tired. Her building is only about a block away, but she's tempted to lie down on the sidewalk and take a nap.

"About what?"

"Me." She frowns- it doesn't sound quite right, but she doesn't exactly mind the connotation, either. "Why do you keep tryin' to figure me out? 'Cause I'm still special?"

He actually laughs this time. "Yeah, but not 'de way you mean it. You're an unusual person, Claire. You keep changin' on me." He looks at her, and she can't help looking at him. "I think I like that, from you."

"You don't make much sense," she complains.

"Good," he says, inordinately cheerful.

And suddenly they're standing in front of her building's door. She's tempted to invite him up to her room, like people always do in the movies, but she's not that drunk. This is still Sylar.

Except… he is Sylar. Sylar, who is always there, who doesn't die. Sylar, who always watched out for her in a perverse sort of way. The devil to her angel, people used to say, until she started looking after herself and people stopped calling her an angel.

So, if she wasn't an angel, was he still a devil?

"Your place," he observes. "I guess you want me gone, neh?"

"When did you last kill someone?" she asks.

He backs up a step, staring at her.

"From earlier. You said knowin' was the fun of it, not killing. So, have you been killing?"

He scoffs at first. "'Dat's none of your business." She glares, and he relents. "Well. I mean, I don't keep track, but… I've been trying something different." He glances at her, glances away. "Empathy."

She doesn't understand what he's saying, but she gets the gist of it. "Spit it out, Sylar. Admit it. At the moment, you're not a murderer."

He sighs. "As of the last decade, yeah. I've made, eh, mistakes. But overall, I'm succeedin'."

She doesn't know what to say. She knows that, deep inside, he's still a ruthless, power-thirsty man who will do anything to get the knowledge he craves. She knows that he will kill if it's necessary, and that he's tried to do good before, tried and failed. She knows that he could be lying.

She doesn't know what to say- so she stands on her tiptoes and kisses him instead.

So, I have practically no experience with drunk people/being drunk. Sorry if they're unrealistic.