Mitchell was home. He'd been out the last few nights; Annie didn't know where. It had never felt fair to follow him. She knew he'd been preoccupied ever since that detective had come to visit. Surely it hurt to know his old friend Daisy had been responsible for the Box Tunnel Twenty, but he wanted justice all the same. Annie admired that about him. She just wished he would let her help. Could let her help.

She stood outside his closed door. The lights had been off for over an hour; he must be asleep.

Annie phased into his room. It was nice, being able to do that, not having to bother with doors. She could see in the dark—well, not really in. More like through—and that was nice, too. Well, usually. Now she could see how untidy the room was. Mitchell had thrown boots and clothes in the corner, and he hadn't even troubled to put those empty beer bottles in the bin. Seriously, human or not, when it came to certain things, all men were the same.

Mitchell lay facing her. Even in sleep, there was a tension about his eyes and brow. That wasn't normal, was it? Even for him?

Annie stood watching him for a while. Asleep, he didn't look anything other than human; the blankets rose and fell to his breathing in the normal way. She knew nothing was the same, once you'd become what he was, and yet, could it be so bad if you were still able to close your eyes and let the world fade out for a few hours? Annie nearly envied him that. She hadn't slept since, well, since she'd been alive.

But if there were things she couldn't do as a ghost, she could still enjoy other people's doing them. She'd more or less done a lot of that during her afterlife. Maybe she should have felt like some kind of creeper, watching people live the lives she no longer could, but she didn't think of it that way any more. Life was full of wonderful things, some of them extraordinary and some of them so very ordinary that nobody noticed them. But they all deserved to be enjoyed, and if no one else did, she would.

She took a step closer. How had he managed to disarrange the bed so completely already? She'd made it since the last time he'd been home. His hair was a mess, too. Without thinking, she brushed it back into place, then froze and phased back to the corner near the door. She didn't know what he'd think if he woke up and found her there.

But Mitchell slept on untroubled—no, she thought he already was troubled—but un-noticing.

Emboldened, she phased back to his side. She already knew he didn't respond to her as if she had a body, even when fully awake and able to give her his complete attention. If he was asleep, perhaps he would hardly notice her touch at all.

She wasn't going to wake him. And maybe her nearly intangible presence would be more comforting because unnoticed.

In a moment, her arms were around him, her body pressed against his back. He didn't wake, didn't stir. One of his arms lay over hers, his skin against the memory of her skin. It wasn't the same as it would have been when she was alive, that electric moment of contact that would only have been satisfied by more.

Now it was just a touch, a thing that connected two people, people who were maybe too different ever to have what the rest of the human world called love, but who, perhaps, had something just as good. Maybe better.

At the very first, Annie had been hurt, knowing that she and Mitchell would never share that intense, physical experience of love; it had reminded her a little of the feeling of losing Owen, back when she'd still wanted to love him. She had quickly realized she was silly for thinking that; she hadn't really lost Mitchell. She could still love him in all those ways that mattered beyond just a moment of desire. And so she wasn't really upset only to hold him like this, unable to have any more than his sleeping weight in her arms.

His body had been tense at first, but gradually, Annie felt him relax. His breathing seemed to have slowed a touch, as well. She smiled against the back of his neck, and just for a moment, wished she could know what he smelled like. He didn't have a heartbeat, and that was kind of weird. Didn't anyone ever notice that about him?

How many women, she wondered suddenly, had never made it far enough simply to lie there beside him as he slept? How many had died when he had finished with their bodies in one way and the other? That was what he had meant, when he had told her it was better that she and he never could have sex. She hadn't really wanted to think about it; not because she didn't know what he had done, but because she didn't like to imagine him that way. That wasn't who he was now, not who he wanted to be.

She forgave him. Someone had to, particularly if he wouldn't forgive himself. Unforgiveness: that's what hell was, she was sure, no matter what side of death you were on. Maybe her forgiveness wasn't enough to save him, but she couldn't withhold what she knew he needed most.

"I love you, Mitchell. Everything's going to be all right," she whispered. Whatever it was with Daisy, or with Herrick, things would turn out. She had faith in him.

Annie was peaceful, feeling him asleep beside her. She had tried lying still and pretending she was asleep before, but the static consciousness she had achieved then had been nothing like the release that she had remembered and longed for. But listening to someone else's sleeping body—well, it slowed down her own perceptions and let her mind relax and empty of everything but Mitchell's stillness and the slow measure of his breathing.

Once in the night, he shifted and reached for her. Annie smiled into his face—though of course he couldn't see her—and settled comfortably beneath the arm he had looped over her shoulders.

She had vanished when she felt his ribs lift for that first waking breath. She'd never meant for Mitchell to know she was there. Partly, she didn't want him to believe (and then regret) that she still wanted something they couldn't have. But even more, she hadn't wanted to spoil what small gift she might have given him by drawing attention to it. Let it be her secret.

Annie was on the stairs as Mitchell made his way out for the day.

"Good morning, Mitchell," she said in her customary vibrant tone.

"Mornin,'" he returned, feeling his mouth lift in an unexpected smile. He wasn't quite sure what he had to smile about; fate, or prophecy, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, was closing its jaws on him and he was no nearer any solution. But for that one moment, it was enough to be loved by someone like Annie. He knew she loved him, even if he had been too distracted to show it lately.

And so, before he had passed her, he drew her back and kissed her, briefly but tenderly. Then he clattered down the last few stairs and was gone.

Author's note:

I really loved that the issues which would have made Annie and Mitchell completely incapable of having a normal relationship with anybody else actually made them perfect for each other. And while they can't "sleep together," I don't see why they wouldn't actually sleep together. I think just being there beside someone without asking anything from them could be a more important (and selfless) thing to give than sex.

Also, the title is from the Queen song "One Year of Love" because I recently watched Highlander and I guess my brain decided this fic needed a reference to '80s rock ballads about star-crossed mortal/immortal lovers. Thanks, brain.