Magnus woke early in the morning her body rested and relaxed. She hadn't changed positions the entire night and she was still facing Will, who was sleeping soundly and awkwardly in the chair, his glasses half falling off his face, the book precariously balanced with one hand and his leg, which was still resting on the bed. Magnus slowly removed herself from the mattress and covered him with the blanket she had used. Pressing a hand to his cheek softly she left the room in silence.

She made her way to her own rooms; the sun was barely making its way into the sky and she didn't see any wayward souls on her travels through the halls. Taking a deep breath she pressed her hand to the doorknob. She closed her eyes and braced herself before turning it slowly and entering.

Nothing had changed in the intervening years. True, many people had slept in this room, visitors and guests, but whenever she arrived it was always available for her. Taking a quick glance around she saw him standing at the window; his back was to her and the glass parted allowing in a cold breeze. "John," her voice was questioning as she stepped forward, shutting the door behind her.

He was humming deeply in his throat when her name rolled off his tongue. He turned to her then, his eyes raking up and down her body. "Beautiful as always." She stepped forward, not discouraged by his tone.

"Anything I can do for you, John?"

He was behind her in an instant, teleporting at will. His hands were on her hips as he started to guide her into a dance: one that had been his favorite many years ago. Allowing him the premise she began to sway to the beat they could hear in their heads. Eventually he turned her to face him. He looked older, she thought; the lines by his eyes were pronounced, but then again, he always looked older with no hair covering his head.

He took her through the entire song, ending the dance with a curt bow and a twinkle in his eye. She tried again, "John, what's gotten into you? We haven't danced for ages."

"Helen, my love," he moved in close to her, his hand cupped her cheek, and he gripped her waist softly. "What would you say if I told you I had found a cure?"

"Have you?" Her hands remained at her side until his head began to lower down to hers. His lips brushed each corner of her mouth. When she went to form a protest his lips claimed hers and she melted into his body. It had been far too long since anyone had kissed her like this, as an old lover would. And he was just that. Her hand found its way to the back of his head and held him to her. John's chest rumbled against hers in laughter. He began to walk toward the bed and she let him lead her, once wouldn't hurt anything; would it?

He stripped her and laid her down gently against the unused sheets. His chest was bare against hers when he pressed down against her body. His fingers inside her when he pulled the knife from under the pillow where he had placed it for safe keeping, "Where were you tonight, love? I've been waiting for hours."

She stopped, her heart began to pound in her throat and fear seeped into every pore. "Working." It was the first thing she could come up with and a line she had fed him many times, only then it had been truth.

John lurched forward and pressed his nose into her neck, "You do realize I can smell man and sex on you."

"I swear to you, John, I didn't!"

"Don't lie to me!" His voice rose as did his body. She tensed knowing the blows would begin to come. "Who were you with, Helen?" He avoided her face, always careful to never leave a mark there to turn her beauty. Her ribs were broken one by one. Each hit she cried out in pain, but he was in such a rage he didn't notice. When he grabbed her hand and bent the fingers back one by one and the twisted the bones around she was shocked. Torture had never been his trademark, but she was refusing to speak and answer him.

When he was done beating her he moved into her. His body was unrelenting and every time he thrust, her chest lurched in sharp shots of pain. She passed out before he finished and gladly remained that way for hours. When she reemerged into the conscious world, he was gone. Gingerly standing, she went into the bathroom to look herself over. She saw the blood dripping down her leg first in the mirror. The word was reversed but she knew exactly what it said, whore. It was carved deeply over her pubic hair.