"You haven't forgotten what today is, have you?"

Helen took her vigilant gaze away from the man long enough to snatch a glance at the small calender that the hotel provided her. She hadn't forgotten, but she had certainly tried. It was just like him to keep track, even after all these years.

"Relax, Helen." John sighed. His deep voice could have been soothing, if it were from any other man. "I've brought you a gift." He motioned to the very expensive looking bottle of scotch in his hand before placing it on her desk. "Share a drink with me? For old times sake."

She considered saying no. She knew she should say 'no.' But when she met his eyes...

"For old times sake." She replied. It wasn't long before each had a antique snifter filled with scotch in front of them.

She watch him over the rim of her glass, and he did the same to her. In fact, he hadn't taken his eyes off of her once since he arrived. Even so, her uneasiness was fading the longer he was with her. His presence even seemed to bring a certain warmth to the room that-

Oh, bugger.

John always did have a much stronger tolerence for alchohol. "What a dirty trick." She set her glass down with a little more force than seemed proper. He seemed genuinely startled by this.

"What's the matter?" For the first time since his arrival, he stepped around the desk. She stood to meet him, and to place herself in a better defensive position. He cupped her face in his hand, rough with callouses, but gentle with expirience.

She couldn't look away. But she could close her eyes. She didn't have to see his lonely face that way. "Did you really think things would be different today?"

"No." He kissed her cheek. "But I suppose I'd hoped..."

"Please leave."

"Is that really what you want?" He breathed against her skin, unsatisfied with a simple kiss on the cheek. His lips brushed tenderly against her lips. Her response answered his question quite thoroughly.

To her suprise, he was still there the next morning. He awoke long before she did, but seemed more than content to rest beside her, entangled in each other's arms and drenched with the smell of alchohol and Old Spice.

"You're terribly cute when you're smashed." He said, a low chuckle escaping his throat.

She hid from the light, pressed her face into his chest. "My head's killing me. Take me home?"

He smiled, carressing her head for the final time. Until, possibley, next year. "Happy anniversary, Helen."