A/N: I can't really blame anyone for this little fic, except myself. People should never give me reading lights... This was originally going to be called just 'Returning A Gift' on the cover but then it evolved. It's set after Season 4, so I guess spoilers for Sanctuary For None and surrounding matters. I own nothing and hope you enjoy Helen throwing gifts back in baldy's face...literally. Don't worry, it all ends Magnitt!

If anyone knew how to return a gift, it was Helen Magnus. Not because she was ungrateful in any way - she simply couldn't keep them. So, after enduring the faces of many heartbroken admirers, she had devised a strategy to let everyone (man or woman) down gently and be rid of the more troublesome ones. Like the love sick puppies she encountered on trips abroad or the know-it-all, middle-aged women who commented on how good she looked for her age - they had no idea. But the most pesky and persistent of them all was Montague John Druitt. She hadn't entirely been worried when she received no word from him following her journey to Victorian London. After all, John had always seemed to find his own way. And she was starting to wish he had continued to do so. The first 'surprise' gift had arrived (it truly had been a surprise, that time) and, slowly but surely, it became a regular thing... Much to Helen's chagrin.

Maybe I'll get lucky today, she thought. No presents in two weeks, it could be a record.

"Tea, Helen," a deep, rumbling voice emanated from the doorway. She looked up from the pile of paperwork and smiled at her old friend. He moved forward to balance the tray in his hands on the edge of her desk. Tea never failed to calm her nerves, even on the days when Henry was worrying over new technology, Kate was squirming with the presence of a new enemy and Will was trying to psycho-analyse her latest stunt. Helen scowled. She thanked her old friend and watched as he left her office. It was just her and bliss in a cup. Helen picked up the warm beverage, sipped a tiny drop from it and moaned as the warm sensation hit the back of her throat. The remedy postponed all brain function for a fleeting moment. Then her original train of thought returned - her 'secret' admirer, as such. She 'fondly' remembered the first time she'd received a gift from him that wasn't a corpse or likewise, since they'd unceremoniously separated in the 1800s.

Dying rays of sunlight cast shadows across the corridor as Helen made her way to her office. The day had been so hectic - abnormals scrambling for the surface, paperwork piling up and the plumbing in one of the residential bathrooms breaking down - that she hadn't been able to lock herself away and work through her paper duties properly. She'd knew she'd regret it. Upon pushing the door open, her eyes widened at the mountain of folders on her desk - she was right.

"Dear Lord," Helen muttered. "And how often do you find yourself saying that, hmm? Well, I'd better make a start. Hadn't I?"

She sat at the desk and reached for the first file, when a shape caught her eye. A box. Wrapped with innocent, white wrapping paper and adorned by an immaculate bow. Hesitant, she reached out and pulled it from its precarious perch on the corner of her desk, contemplating whether or not to tear open the packaging and peek at the contents. Oddly, Pandora's Box sprung to mind - now that she thought about it, anything could be in the box. It could be a bomb or a harmless chocolate cake. Well, harmless to everything except her waistline. Curling her lip, Helen frowned upon her wandering mind but decided to open it regardless. She tugged at the ribbon, flinching a little, and held her breath as the white sheet fell away. Before she realised that it was just a small black box (that wasn't going to shatter her and everything around her into pieces) then proceeded to lift the lid.

"Oh..." she breathed. It was a sapphire pendant, held by a silver chain and surrounded by gems she believed to be diamonds. Just its presence at her fingertips warmed her heart. And her cheeks. "Now, who are you?"

Helen pulled the white wrapper into her lap and fumbled about for a tag or a note. Just then, her fingers struck gold - pun intended - with a clean, crisp and square piece of paper. The text was typed, which only served to make her even more intrigued (not to mention suspicious), but her urge to discover the mystery gift-giver's identity told her to overlook that fact. So she went right ahead and read through the note.

'Dear Helen,

It's been a while.

Love John.'

And her euphoria was over. Helen Magnus saw red. John was surely dead after his sacrifice for her in Praxis' ruins. How dare they stomp on his memory with a ridiculously expensive gift and imply that she had no romantic appeal, at the same time? Whoever 'they' were, and however they had gathered the funds, they had no right. Helen narrowed her eyes - part of today's intake had been a pair of rather humorous humanoid abnormals (one a telepath and the other an empath).

It has to be them, she thought.

"If you find this is any way funny... So God help me, I'll-" Helen stormed into their room, formalities and pleasantries forgotten. They spun round to face her and stared. Their expressions were pure shock.

"Dr Magnus, what are you talking about?" the empath (a female) asked as she sensed her rage and backed away.

"You think we sent you a gift. You think we invaded your mind..." the telepath realised. "It wasn't us, I assure you."

Helen held her apprehensive gaze.

"Hmm... It wasn't you?" they their heads. "Then who was it?"

"We don't know," they replied in unison. She gulped and left the room, heading for her own.

Something's very wrong about this, she thought. She wandered down the corridor and pushed open the door to her rooms, clutching the black box. What on earth was she to do with it? Before she could decide, there was a blur of colour and a figure invaded her vicinity. She'd know that man anywhere.

"John," she acknowledged him without looking at him. His disappointment was audible. Perhaps he'd expected her to be ecstatic or relieved, to embrace him and kiss him senseless. Wait, where did that last one come from?

"Helen. I see you got my present," he gave her a smile - an honest one - albeit somewhat weary. His eyes sparkled with affection.

"This is from you?" her jaw almost dropped. In fact, she was pretty sure it did and John was simply being polite by not mentioning it.

"Yes. Do you like it?" he raised his eyebrows, stepping closer. Affection was reinforced by hope. And, suddenly, the room became a few degrees warmer.

"Like it? John, you go mad, electrocute yourself, disappear and then expect me to come running back into your arms when you return," her glare seared holes in his shirt.

"Of course not! Can't I just give you a present? One small piece of jewellery. Meaningless, if you want it to be," he pleaded. Helen sighed and laid a hand on his arm, her expression pitiful. Despite their century-long 'relationship', she didn't have any qualms about pulling off a fowl trick. He wasn't immune to her methods. So she widened her eyes a fraction and formed her most gracious smile.

"John, I can't accept it," she told him. "Don't be insulted, it's just difficult at the minute."

Really? What does that even mean? I thought you were past clichés, she berated herself.

"But, Helen..." he began but then froze and realised that her charms had melted his resolve. "Alright. Leave it at the tip of your windowsill before you go to sleep and it shall be gone in the night."

"Thank you, John."

Little did Helen know, the box would be there when she woke up. It certainly had been gone in the night. But it had been returned in the morning...

And it was the same with every 'surprise' since. She would find it (along with the occasional note) and return it in the evening just like they'd arranged. Only to be lumbered with them, again, the following day. Most of the persistent man's gifts were hidden away in her bedroom. However, the first one... She dropped a hand to the stone suspended at her chest.

And I told Kate it was from an old friend. Only half a lie, she mused. A tiny grin made its way to Helen's face but disappeared when a yawn captured her. Better get to bed, then.

She trudged her way along the mostly silent corridors. Residents had retreated to their rooms and her team had made their stand in either their bedrooms or their labs. Chuckling, she thought fondly about how Henry would be one of the ones choosing the latter. But her light mood was drowned out when she heard low, shifting noises from inside her bedroom. Plucking a gun from about her person (after all, it was almost second nature), she stepped cautiously up to the door. And flung it open.

"Helen!" a baritone voice exclaimed. Helen found herself face to face with John Druitt.

"John, what are you doing here?" her eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Stupid question - he hadn't left a present in a while. She should've been on the look-out. Without the time to become angry about it, she turned her attention back to him. He stood in his usual attire - a long coat to cover whatever he wore beneath and heavy, dark shoes (she'd bet half the money she paid Will that they were barely younger than her).

"I knew you would get bored with my usual choices so I decided to make a change."

"Your gifts mean nothing. I wasn't interested to begin with!" Helen claimed, chest rising and falling rapidly. The jewellery suspended just below her collar contradicted her.

"Mean nothing to you?" he stood bemused, noticing the same thing. "And you're certainly not wearing the necklace I gave you, are you?"

"I-" an indignant blush rose to her cheeks.

"As I was saying, I couldn't find anything left to give the woman who has everything. So I only had one thing left. Myself," he gave her a peaceful smile and stepped closer. "Do you like your present?"

Helen stared straight into his eyes. Her brain was mussed - no certain negative or affirmative. Only one thing seemed obvious. She couldn't return this gift.

John's hand reached up to stroke her cheek. She closed her eyes to the sensation. His lips pressed against hers and his tongue traced her lip, as if requesting permission to take 'them' further as well as the kiss. Helen smiled and allowed him entrance. Something about her wasn't scared anymore, instead she had a new impulse. An impulse to find out just how he'd changed since the 19th Century. Just then, he pulled back and stole her mind away from that particular train of thought.

"Yes," she beamed.

"Yes?" he frowned, amused.

"Yes, I do like my present. Very much."

John grinned. Helen Magnus knew a lot about returning a gift. But some things even a master couldn't refuse.

A/N: How was it? Let me know, it's my first time writing Magnitt. :P Thanks for reading!