It was one of those rare autumn days, both for England and in her experience even more so for Oxford, which were not merely warm but over which the sun shone down brightly through a clear blue sky. And rarer still, this remarkable convergence occurred on a Saturday when neither exams nor deadlines loomed over the horizon of the new week. So when John showed up at the door of Helen's boarding house that morning with a punting pole in one hand, a picnic basket in the other, and a hopeful smile on his face, she hadn't been at all surprised. Especially as he'd been threatening for months to drag her down to the Thames for that very purpose and had even been receiving instruction in the art from Griffin - a self-proclaimed expert - against the day.

After their first ten minutes on the river, for it had taken that long for John to feel confident in his new ability, she had found the experience surprisingly pleasant. Quite possibly this was because, nestled as she was in the boat's prow, she could watch John without apology as he stood at the stern, pushing them through the water. Long-fingered hands firmly gripping the pole, the smooth flow of muscles beneath the soft silk of his shirt, a single bead of sweat which slowly tracked down his temple under the exertion…

As though sensing her gaze, he looked up suddenly, catching her watching him. She dropped her eyes, pretending fascination with the fingers she trailed lazily through the water, hoping he couldn't see her spreading blush beneath the brim of her hat. "You were right," she finally said once she was certain she could trust her own voice. "We should have done this earlier."

He chuckled deep in his throat. "It wouldn't exactly have been acceptable before our betrothal."

She glanced up sharply at his words. The flash in his eyes as he caught hers left no doubt but that his double meaning had been intentional. His ability to read her… mind… could be alarming. "John," she chided.

John bowed his head in acceptance of the rebuke, but the slight smile on his lips made it clear his chastisement was feigned When he lifted his eyes back to hers, though, bright with amused understanding, she couldn't help herself. She laughed, and his laughter joined with hers. She shook her head in defeat. "You're incorrigible."

He nodded, "Yes." Then, mercifully, he changed the subject. Gesturing towards the basket sitting between them, he asked, "Lunch?"

Imagining sitting on the secluded river bank beside John made her wonder if he'd really changed the subject after all, and also whether he'd been reading her own thoughts as much as acknowledging his own.

She nodded in response to his question. He shifted the pole, preparing to steer the punt towards shore. As he did, however, a sudden increase in current combined with his change in position, unbalancing him completely. He teetered for one moment, almost regaining control, before succumbing inevitably to gravity and toppling head-over-heels into the Thames.

"John!" she cried, but before she could even lean over to look for him he had resurfaced, head bobbing above the water, sputtering for air. "Are you all right?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Yes… Though I appear to have bruised my ego."

She laughed "Well, if that's all… Get me to shore and I promise this will remain our little secret forever."

It took several minutes and no inconsiderable maneuvering, but eventually John did manage to get both Helen and the punt to shore. Even more importantly, he did it the old-fashioned way, managing to reclaim the pole from where it rested on the river bed and, after several attempts, getting himself back into the boat instead of toppling her into the water. It wasn't until they were sitting next to each other on the picnic blanket while John took a moment to catch his breath that Helen realized he wasn't truly 'all right.'

Her hand flew up to the red line which slashed across his left jaw line. "John, you're hurt."

His hand followed hers. "Am I?"

She shifted to kneel next to him, examining the cut which was only starting to show now that he was out of the water. "Yes… Just a minute…" She grabbed her handkerchief and dabbed at his face. The cloth came away bright red. "You really ought to get this stitched up. It's bleeding quite heavily."

He smiled, that exact mixture of pride and affection which, even under the circumstances, threatened to distract her. "Can't you do it, Doctor?"

"I could," she reluctantly admitted, "But I think it should be done by someone who has actually completed their training and has a bit more experience. It is on your face, after all."

"And yet, the injury's hardly likely to last out the day, whatever we do."

She sighed and nodded in agreement. His logic was irrefutable. While each member of The Five had reacted differently to The Source, one trait, at least, appeared more universal. Within a day of the injection, a molar Helen had lost in a childhood riding accident had spontaneously regrown and an old scar Tesla had received during an incident occurring years earlier involving rapiers and honor disappeared as though it had never existed. Whatever else they may have gained from the ancient blood, it seemed clear they had each received the vampires' gift of regeneration which, if the records were correct, conferred a longevity bordering on immortality. Barring fatal injuries, of course, and possibly swift diseases.

"Then there's really no need to disrupt this glorious afternoon for something which is in actuality so minor," he concluded triumphantly,

"You're still dripping wet…"

"I'll dry."

"John…"

"Helen…"

She couldn't help but laugh as he echoed her tone perfectly. Deciding to try a different tactic, she asked, "Please? Humour me? Just port back to your room and change into something dry. It will only take a few minutes…"

"A few minutes out of your presence."

Helen rolled her eyes. "We have all eternity, John. Or close to it…" she reminded him.

His face lit with unrepressed joy at the reminder, and she knew she had won. "Then, as you wish," he began. But, just as she thought he was about to teleport away, he leaned in towards her, stealing a kiss. It wasn't their first, but it was still new enough that for a moment she forgot everything in the thrill of it.

And before she could remember she ought to protest, in a flash of red, he was gone.